Awkward Memory Outages

Recently, a good friend was explaining to me how acutely stricken he was when he suddenly blanked out on the name of the wife of his closest friend and neighbour for fifteen years.  The fact that my friend turned beet-red in the face even as he was describing this to me a few months later, told me something should have been seriously out of kilter with him.  The neighbour had come asking my friend, who was trying to fix something in his car, where Sunita was.  Half concentrating on what he was doing, my friend turned and looked at the neighbour blankly, not comprehending why he was being asked the question, since he just did not `recognize' the name in that context.  He must have been gaping pretty stupidly for the neighbour to repeat the question irritably before moving away in his quest of a more responsive audience! For the next half an hour the witless man had ignored his car and struggled to retrieve that single nugget from his memory bank - who was Sunita and why was he being questioned about her?  Since the thorough internal search did not yield any dividend, he had to seek enlightenment from known external founts of knowledge; without losing time he turned to the one he had close at home. He explained the context to his own wife and asked her, knowing vaguely that he was well on the way to making an ass of himself and providing fodder to his wife for the next millennium to tease him. When his wife gave him that especially odd look (which translated into `why are you being more of a mutt today than usual'?) and exclaimed that the neighbour was indeed looking for his spouse, my friend soundlessly dissolved into a heap of embarrassment.  Deservedly so.  And he avoided crossing the path of his neighbour or his wife for the next few weeks (he would  have gladly avoided his own wife too, if he knew how), until he was certain  they had forgotten the rather humiliating affair.  His wife, however, ruthlessly and unabashedly uses that episode as an `asthra' to ensure that the friend maintains the desired degree of malleability and ductility at all times.

You say this happens to everyone?  Probably.  I see brain's memory bank as a whole lot of pigeon holes into which things are archived.  And the holes are all brightly lit, so that one can identify the contents during searches.  What happens when there is a momentary power outage, impeding retrieval of the desired information at a given moment?  Well, one struggles and turns beet-red, as my friend did.  One does not have to be with one leg in the grave or within striking distance of amnesia or Alzheimers to fall a victim to this pestilence.  This happens to healthy people in their prime routinely, so nothing to worry about except the immediate discomfiture.  There may be a thousand unconvincing explanations as to why this happens, but that is neither here nor there.

The other day, I woke up in the morning with a bee in my bonnet, as it were.  There was an intrusive buzz, which I could not banish despite concerted efforts.  I ignored the distraction for a while, but during breakfast it dawned on me that the buzz was actually the tune of a Thamizh film song.  With some unifocal effort, I could decipher the contours of the tune but my success trailed off beyond that. I could not identify or recall anything else - not the lyrics, not the singer, not the movie, nothing else.  I went about my chores for half a day, (which included two seemingly important conference calls on earth-shaking subjects like Liquidity Risk, Capital Adequacy, Governance issues) like someone who had a distinctly alien substance stuck in his throat, neither to be swallowed nor to be spat out.  All the while, this intriguing tune was playing in my mind as if in a loop.  When someone was expressing a serious concern about the extant asset liability mismatch and liquidity problems , I was screwing up my face in agony, trying to remember at least a few words from the lyrics of the song, so that full identification became possible by googling.  Another participant in the call, seeing me overwrought, thought that I was being uncharacteristically and needlessly emotional about mundane corporate matters and wanted to pacify me, offering me a glass of cold water.  Lunch and tea came and went without any improvement in the situation and I was getting increasingly agitated by my failure to put the finger on the nub.  I shed all inhibition about my singing ability or the acute lack of it and actually hummed the tune over phone to a friend, who revels in Thamizh film songs.  Unfortunately, to him, my off-key humming sounded like twelve different songs and when I rejected all his suggestions,  he angrily retorted that I ought to provide a more decent clue.  My glum look during dinner prompted my worried wife to ask what was wrong. Unfortunately she was no pundit with Thamizh film songs, so I did not see even a remote chance of her solving the puzzle for me.  A little after 2 a.m next day, when I got up for water, just one sleepy sip proved so potent that I attained `realisation' - the song came to me in a flash.  `Vannam Konda Vennilave' from Sigaram, a 1991 movie.  I hastened to listen to the song on Youtube a couple of times and with a sense of elation, went back to sleep.  What I wonder about is why and how did that particular song worm into my consciousness like a `canker in the bud' as the bard put it and why the resolution finally appeared on the horizon at that specific juncture.  I will never find out, I guess.

The other phenomenon that always puzzles me is that one can vividly remember inane things from one's childhood (events like the wild fisticuffs after a not-so-neutral umpire sheepishly made a ridiculously late no-ball call off the last ball of the match, to artificially `set-up' victory for one team just to hurt his `enemy' who was the captain of the other team) whereas much more recent events and people involved therein have already been consigned to oblivion by the memory.  How do you explain the fact that I can recall the seating arrangement in my VI class from about 50 years ago, can reel off the names of all classmates while ticking off their faces in my memory, but when accosted by a colleague of recent vintage, I had to awkwardly wait for him to re-introduce himself so that I got his name.  It cannot be because we have lived with childhood memories longer - not all are rehashed frequently in later life.  Is it because childhood memories are far more pleasant for most of us and are therefore entrenched well for retrieval at will??

 May be the answer lies in what my senior colleague proved once with evidence.  He had bustled into the room and asked a bunch of us if we remembered what the bank's revenue numbers were in the year 1981-82 (this was in 1985) and most of us just shrugged him off instantly.  Who was interested in remembering a three-year-old statistic from the bank's performance, now that the bonus has been digested?  This senior colleague then recalled not only that but various other related numbers, much to our amusement.  A few days later, he again barged in and innocently asked a couple of us `do you know which two batsmen were at the crease when Wesley Hall began the last over in the tied test of 1960 between Australia and West Indies?'.  At least three people had the correct answer (Grout and Benaud).  The senior colleague cackled and pointed out that we could not remember revenue numbers from 3 years back , but the other vignette came back to us after 25 years.  His theory was that people remembered what they `wanted' to remember.  Is that it?  May be, but then, strangely even when you maniacally want to recall something, that something eludes you like a veritable eel.

You know what is funny about this whole post?  I have been chewing the cud on this for quite a bit of time and even had a title ready.  It is a phrase used to signify something that is nagging and elusive, remains stubbornly nebulous and perseveres in being unresolved - an answer you know but cannot just put your arms around.  The problem is I have got hit by `memory outage', cannot seem to recollect what that phrase is and have had to resort to a lesser alternative.  It is not one of those run-of-the-mill phrases but something very catchy, used rather selectively but has deserted me completely.   I have asked a few people but they just look at me as if I have grown horns overnight.  It is a pity I cannot give any other clue, because I have no idea.  Can you help??







   

A different kind of migration!

If the reader belongs to the generation which went to school in the 60s and 70s, he/she would recall all those clarion calls made by ancient emperors when their borders were assaulted and the army was short of brawn and bodies.  The king asked each household in the kingdom to volunteer at least one able-bodied man to the war-front.   People did realise that the king was being nice and that `volunteer' bit did not deceive them;  they understood  it was actually a camouflaged mandate to be obeyed by citizens without demur.   Those who were not propelled to comply by bubbling patriotic fervour, were coerced to do so by the stalking fear of humiliation and ostracism from their own folk and the society at large.  The King himself was not overly concerned about the exhortation being labelled `sexist' in calling only able-bodied 'men', because even if the female of the household was bigger in frame, she certainly preferred that the lesser body be always carted to face the poisoned arrows, boiling oil and inebriated elephants running amok.  And more often than not, the men plumped consciously and wisely for what they perceived as the lesser of two evils and were probably happier staring down the dangers of war, rather than live the life of the downtrodden at home, greatly disadvantaged by their own inferior physique! A situation my dear father describes pithily as `the shade of the street-side neem tree being infinitely better than the discomfort of home'!!

One wonders what the citizenry's response would be, if such a clarion call were to originate from our current-day government.  Don't get this scribe wrong, he does not even entertain the vaguest intention of willfully maligning his compatriots as lily-livered.  He is just being a pragmatist in taking cognizance of all the morbid fears and diurnal concerns associated with modern life smothering down the nobler, patriotic instincts somewhat.  While we are good at vociferously demonstrating our love for the country through tumultuous street corner jamborees and in cricket stadia, with pizzas and ice-creams for company, it seems unlikely that we will extend it any further towards to the war-front.  That is probably true of majority of the citizens, this author included.  The overwhelming decree would be that the armed forces are there, they are the specialists and they will get our full-throated support.

What is this leading to, you wonder?? Against this background, think of the hordes of young men and women, voluntarily moving to USA at the mere beckoning, muted-squeak of the IT industry, forget clarion calls.  As a prologue to that, youngsters go by the planeloads thither, to equip themselves with higher education.  It would not be an exaggeration to say that many middle class households in the southern states (may be some other states too) have contributed at least one body to this cause or are in the process of getting that distinction - ah, finally I am relieved I got to the point this somewhat stretched analogy was building up to!  Easy to discern why, though - no danger of combat or bodily harm; on the contrary, the allure of a good life and shining future and why not!  Parents may even feel inadequate if their family is not represented in the USA - a reaction not very different from that of the the able-bodied man who had not gone to war at the king's behest in the old days.  But the `migration' in the title does not refer to the movement of youngsters for livelihood reasons, but what inevitably happens in the aftermath! This is about their parents flitting to and fro, for well-earned holidays and more likely, to provide the familial support that the youngsters desperately need overseas.

In any meeting of friends and families in Bangalore or Chennai or Hyderabad, conversation is not complete without parents exchanging their travel plans to be with the children in New Jersey or Bay Area or some other US city.  The party of the first part (Parents A) gleefully boasting of their forthcoming visit to the Bay Area in the summer months to the party of the second part (Parents B), in all probability means that retired parents are visiting, at a time of their own choice - summer, children who do not have the baggage of their own families to carry.  In response, the party of the second part mumbling something grudgingly about going to Chicago in November/December could mean only one thing -- that their married son or daughter had erred grievously in terms of timing the arrival of their next baby (who will not obviously tolerate the idea of being born outside of the US of A)  in the height of winter or some such similar unavoidable situation.   A typical Madrasi bone-structure (referring only to that which has truly thrived on the humidity and heat of the area for a few decades, has known no other clime and therefore is acutely allergic to anything alien) crackles and rebels at the very thought of being confronted by the icy cold winds of Lake Michigan.  Also, the concept of adding one or more layers of woolen clothing is anathema to a body, which is adept at shedding unwanted layers of clothing with alacrity.  Therefore, if  the party of the second part seems blatantly unhappy, even disconsolate in private, at the thought of having to visit USA in November/December, that indicates it is singularly bereft of options.  It is entirely another matter that what begins as enjoyable summer outings for the party of the first part could rapidly, meaning in a few years, degenerate into the nightmarish trips at inopportune times like the one the party of the second part is now faced with.  This transformation occurs expeditiously when the grown-up-kid in USA decides to get hitched, especially if the 'hitchee' is another kid from the same part of the world, in pretty much similar personal and professional situation as the 'hitcher'!!

For the parents, a trip to US always requires immense and careful psychological tuning, since it results in a temporary but significant life-style change; especially if the SOS arrives at an inconvenient time.  A lack of mental adjustment in the parents is made manifest in the way they diffidently approach the trip and stay there. When one is at the Chennai or Bangalore airport, waiting for the flight to New York or Chicago or elsewhere in the US, one cannot but marvel at the seasonal migration of older people to the US from this part of the world.  The stoic faces of the grey haired uncles and aunts usually give away very little about their state of mind. Some people just breeze through the journey and have a ball on the other side of the globe too.  But for many others, simple folks who have not travelled outside India much or have no craving for such expeditions, it is almost like they are waiting to be brutally launched into deep space without any protection or support. The glazed look screams that all is not well!  The 24-hour rigour of being boxed in an economy seat is sheer torture for most people.  Especially if some sensitive, arthritic limb also hears the pre-boarding announcements and commences those familiar but disconcerting, cracking noises in protest.  The anxiety of being deprived of the essence of life, curd rice, for the duration of the journey and the possibility of having to look at a neighbour tearing his chicken or fish with a fork, exacerbate the discomfort multi-fold for the staunch vegetarian.  If inability to sleep at home in the horizontal position was a minor bother for some, being vertical and sleepless during the journey becomes a major hazard.   If it is an auntie travelling alone, because the spineless uncle cried off and she happens to be parked next to a foreigner on board, the auntie's face remains furrowed into a crease and blanched for most of the journey - as if she has a ghost for company!  There is general trepidation whenever the foreigner tries communicating anything and the deer-in-the-headlights kind of reaction of the lady makes the former beat a hasty retreat, lest he is accused of trying something sinister.

The transit stop en route entails a veritable quest for the holy grail for some inasmuch as the routine chore of identifying the correct gate and flight in a German or French airport assumes gargantuan proportions. For no reason at all, it becomes an exercise of  repeated querying every second step without a clear understanding of the `faulty' pronunciation when the Europeans respond.  Visions of  the whole airport set up conspiring to detain them at the transit stop with some ulterior motive are conjured and the outcome is many more panic buttons are pressed and red lights flash for some time! Add to this, the prospect of facing the biometric ordeal at Immigration after a long wait, saving precious Paruppu Podi from being dumped by the suspicious customs guys with a lucid explanation, the loneliness of living without familiar neighbours, restricted mobility because of the dependency on someone else for movement, inability to go out and wander about in the neighbourhood as is one's wont - the list is unending, for some.

As my wife says every time we meet such parents when we travel, if, despite all this hardship, parents keep winging out to help their kids in the US during times of childbirth, illness, kids' own travels and all other assorted reasons, they deserve kudos for that.  That is the hallmark of that generation, generally speaking I guess - doing this for their children, despite their own apprehensions.  That is why this kind of migratory behaviour is special.  Birds and animals migrate because their current habitation cannot support them any longer with food or water or whatever. But this set of people migrate not necessarily always for fun or survival, but very often against their own volition because their current habitation is probably the best suited for them and they are forced to leave something they love - for the sake of others!!  I only wish they would learn to enjoy such trips.  And the hope is that the youngsters are gracious enough to do as much and more for their parents when the time comes and the need arises.  Actually, I know many who do.  Indeed, that is gratifying!!