Life’s little eccentricities

“A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.”

Going by the above definition, ours is an extremely civil society. We do not mind eccentricities—we discuss them, pamper them, and at times joke about them, but we do not discard them at all.

While reading a P.G. Wodehouse book one evening, this thought came to my mind about eccentricities—the so-called sprinklings of madness each one of us has. Have you noticed how almost all Wodehouse characters have these peculiar traits? There are some who steal pigs, others who impersonate a psychiatrist, and my favorite, one who paints mustaches on statues (for they like them better that way). Do they appear unreal to you in any way? Not to me, for sure. Those of you who have seen Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain (Amélie) would remember how most people around this girl have their own little eccentricities. There are those who collect torn pictures from bins, accountants who think they are perpetually ill and hate the phrase "fruits of thy womb," others who sneak peeks at neighbors with a video camera, failed writers who enjoy watching bullfights on TV, rejected lovers who spy while popping bubble wrap, a waitress who likes to crack bones, and even a cat who enjoys overhearing children’s stories. If you look carefully, you’ll find that eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride or maybe just a habit.

Geniuses and aristocrats are frequently regarded as eccentrics because they are entirely unafraid of, and totally unaffected by, the opinions and vagaries of the crowd. However, eccentricities are equally divided among all age groups, income levels, and genders.

I, too, am particularly blessed with such people around me. So much so that at times I wonder whether I am the one responsible for attracting such characters. Oh, but God bless them for being who they are. Life would be so dull without such characters around. I keep telling them that one is only given a little spark of madness, and one must not lose it. Generally, I find that people have these happy, obsessive preoccupations, which give them significant meaning in life. They are far healthier than most people because of these traits. It somehow makes them more human, more lovable, and more acceptable in my eyes.

I had a colleague who had only few interests: dogs, desserts and Indian classical music. The fact that his interests have no common point never occurred to him. He sings either patriotic or sad songs at parties and loves to cook desserts - that is when he is not busy talking to his dogs. Another friend was a compulsive shopper for books—which he hardly ever read. My mom rearranges fridge racks at least three times a day, and my current secretary always smiles his sweetest when someone is scolding him. Another colleague cannot help starting every sentence with “No, no—yes, yes… okay, okay,” and yet another (a lady) regularly forgets her bag, notebook, and even cosmetics in my room, then searches for them everywhere. My husband knew someone in college who could not reply to a question without first repeating the question. Then there’s my favorite category of eccentrics: the professors and teachers. Aha… what a collection we had among them! My husband had one who would bargain as a matter of principle on every small or big item—from rickshaw fare to vegetables—and usually ended up paying more than the originally asked price. He bargained again the next time—out of principle.

It’s interesting to observe people closely. A very senior officer in my service once told us how most people in bureaucracy are “I”-specialists who love to talk about themselves to no end. It was a wonderful joke, and all of us laughed, but then he continued for the next 45 minutes explaining, “But then I am not like that. I like to… I do not like to…,” and many more “I’s.” It was difficult not to find one of these specimens while I was in Kolkata—the city that takes pride in its eccentricities. I had an accountant who was a practicing tantric, another who did a Ph.D. in Latin to read *Paradise Lost* in the original. There was a boss who used to roll his own cigarettes to save money, and another who believed he was a reborn German soldier from WWII. Best of all, however, was my ex-boss, who loved to edit my drafts by replacing some words with their synonyms. By the time the final copy would go to him, he would find yet another synonym. After about six or seven such “corrections,” in 90% of cases, my original word was back in place, and the boss had a satisfied smile on his face—one typically seen on gentlemen after achieving a difficult task with perfection. 

In the Mussoorie academy, we had an economics professor who always started his lecture with, “Suppose this guy has 100 Pepsi bottles…” and another whose favorite adjective was “atrocious.” Then there is one interesting superior in my husband’s office whose favorite phrases are “I do not like to beat my own trumpet” and “I am an artist by nature.” The fact that these are sometimes followed by totally unflattering stories about his career never makes him see the contrast.

I am sure I, too, have some favorite words that could be considered eccentric. But then I have to rely on others for knowledge about that. Once, a cousin told me that I am a bathing freak, as I used to take baths four to five times a day in the summer months. My husband adds that I am a control freak, and my mom says I freak out if I see too much stuff in the house and start throwing things in the waste bins. So the common adjective is “freak,” and if, despite being a freak in one way or another, I am being accepted, I am sure ours is a civilized society.

Coming to the genetic aspect of eccentricities, I can confidently say, like Queen Elizabeth, that in my family, as in all the best families, we have our fair share of eccentricities, impetuous and wayward youngsters, senile elders, and family disagreements. To begin with, the eldest member of the family, my granduncle, at the age of ninety-two, gives everyone appointments to meet, including his maid and the postman. He even has fixed daily phone appointments with my aunts and uncles. With me, he holds a weekly phone appointment where the conversation must end with a Santa Banta joke. Then I have aunts who watch teary soap operas, discuss them incessantly, and then trash them as foolishness. 

It’s heartening to note that youngsters are also keeping the family flag high. My elder sister loves to visit markets and malls—where her favorite activity is to reject the stuff available on the racks. Mind you, the lady is quite fair in her dealings; she gives all markets and shops a chance to be rejected regularly. Then there’s my dear brother-in-law who hates curds but relishes dahi vada made from it. He cannot tolerate the smell of mango but loves to drink mango-flavored drinks. And then there’s his elder brother—my better half—who insists that potatoes cut into round shapes taste differently than those cut into fries. Sometimes I feel irritated by these habits of my family members, but honestly, life would be pretty dull if we all had similar habits.

After all, if you spend too much time being like everybody else, you decrease your chances of coming up with something different.