“More than
all the things that you tried to convey to me verbally, I understood this hand
gesture the best!”
An actor
known to me once recollected a scene from a film. He and another lead actor were supposed to
have a heated conversation about the girl that they both were in love with. The two male leads in the film despised each
other. And for that tension to come
through on screen, he suggested that the scene not be scripted, at least not on his
end. The setup for the scene is that the
other actor comes to his room to convince him to let go of the girl. At one moment in the sequence, in response to
the other actor making a hand gesture, he utters the line that I quoted
above. By now, you can tell that the other actor
– on screen and probably off screen as well! – was ready to punch him in the
face out of exasperation. When I revisited
the film, this moment stuck with me, for how it was a set of entirely improvised lines delivered seamlessly that made the scene work. Later, when I read
and reflected on improvisation as an acting technique, I felt that there was a
considerable amount of extrapolation that I could make to real life.
“Yes, and…”
A former
manager of mine used to truly believe in and demonstrate the difference between
“Yes, and…” and “No, but…” Observing him
from close quarters, I realized that listening intently demands not only
attention but also acceptance. And by
acceptance, I do not, for a moment, want to imply that we blindly accept what
the other person is stating. Instead, it
is accepting the other person’s right to an opinion. We may have a diametrically opposite opinion. The other person may even be wrong
factually. But by starting with a “no”,
we immediately shut the door to further conversation. Actors who are looking to improvise are
usually directed to build on instead of denying what they hear. In a personal or a professional setting, I find
that when I am able to demonstrate a “yes, and…” attitude, I can make the other
person feel respected and am able to work together harmoniously. Reams of social science research have pointed
to the value of the question “Why?” When
I think about it, its effectiveness does not come as a surprise. After all, the question is inherently a quest
to get to the root of an issue. When I
ask that question, I am able to learn new things because the other person feels
an increased willingness to share their opinions. Am I always successful? No.
But I never stop trying.
“May your year
be filled with pleasant surprises.”
Those who know me well will recognize the
above line. This is a standard in many
of my birthday wishes. As much as I strive
to customize my wishes for a person, wishing a loved one with the above line has become a constant. And that is because I am old
enough to have gone through my share of life’s pleasant and not-so-pleasant surprises. My life has had its share of ups, downs,
trials and tribulations. Yoga helps me climb
up the ladder of equanimity whenever my impulsiveness threatens to drag me down. I wrote earlier about the importance of “Why?” But it is a question that doesn’t always have
a place in the larger scheme of things.
For instance, if a negative development threatens to fell me, if I were
to stand emotionally paralyzed and ask this question, I would not be climbing
up the ladder. The negativity would make
me feel so heavy that I would bring the ladder down as I collapse to the
ground. But if I were to stay focused on
the present, something that meditation helps with, without bemoaning
the past or fearing the future, I can continue to climb up the ladder in search
of equipoise. Yes, pleasant surprises
are welcome. But if only life were to be
filled with that, then we would be on a planet called Utopia, not Earth!
“We had to bring
down the curtain.”
I have
watched interviews of theater actors and playwrights. One common question asked of them is what
they do when an actor messes up her or his line. Their responses are usually either that they
built on it or covered up for it. Or in
those rare occasions, bring down the curtain temporarily, apologize to the
audience and resume the play. As I think of
those responses, it is hard to argue that even in real life, we respond to unfortunate
developments in one of two ways. I know
that I am far too human to not err at all.
When I do, I do not see shame in apologizing for my mistake. I do look to introspect and learn
from my errors, be it of judgement or understanding. Relationships do go awry when people do not know how to move on. And when that happens, for that relationship,
it is…curtains. I suppose that not all
actors in the cast of our lives are with us for the entire duration. Is it ideal?
No. But sometimes, it is inevitable.
“All the
world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”
William
Shakespeare’s lines have a certain timeless quality to them. Most of my support system comprises of
believers. They are anchored by an unshakeable
belief that God has his own ways of testing their faith but that HE will never
let them down. Galvanized by their
faith, they accept the vagaries of fate in a balanced manner. That does not mean that they resign to it. Far from it.
Their faith enables them to alternatively stay calm, bide their time or act decisively when they need to. They embody
my favorite lyricist Vaali’s line, “Naayagan mel irundhu noolinai
aatuginraan…naamelaam bommai endru naadagam kaatuginran.” (The Almighty is
a puppeteer conducting the show of our lives with us as puppets.) It is a marvelous adaptation of Shakespeare’s
line. But it does not wholly apply to me. As a non-believer,
I rely on a faith that is rooted in the goodness and positive vibes of my loved
ones. They motivate me to
act with equanimity and equitability even when I don’t have a script to follow. Buoyed by them, I am able to pen the script of my life within the boundaries of the controllables. But unexpected twists happen. When they do, I am occasionally besieged by self-doubt. And when I am
in doubt, I improvise. Am I always as effective as the actor friend of mine? Maybe not. But I never stop trying.
