Stiff Upper Lip

A few events happened over the last two days, which give reason for these reflections.

 

Yesterday, in an online training forum, I was there early, and a friend from a remote nation was also present. As we waited for others to join, I asked the customary question left to us by the British, “How are you?” Before I could finish my question, he had returned the same question. I gave my regular answer: "Good." So, I asked again, "How are you?" His response was not what I expected. He said, "The week has been tough; some catastrophic events happened at work, and I am still recovering." He did not want to explain further, so I said sorry and left it.

 

This morning, I received a message from an old acquaintance from whom we had asked for some help on a work-related issue. The message started like this: "Things have piled up unexpectedly, and I am at my wit's end." An unusual message from such a senior person.

 

It is not often that either I or others respond to “How are you?” like this. It is usually "Good," "Well," "Very well," "Great," "Fine," "All right," or, if you don’t feel particularly good or fine, "Not bad." The stiff upper lip response the British taught us has permeated every Indian language too! We have similar ways of responding in all languages.

Today is Sunday, and we will be in church. We will meet many from our ‘family.’ Most conversations will be similar: "How are you?" "Fine." There might be an occasional person to whom I might say, "I am not too okay," or "Things could have been better."

 

I wonder, what prevents me from being truthful about how I feel? I suppose it is the shame of being seen as weak, not wanting to burden others by pouring out my pain, or a fear of becoming the subject of conversation if what I share goes public. I suppose shame is the main emotion that prevents me.

 

I go for a walk these days in the morning. I pass three kinds of people on my walk: one group is plugged in, face down, walking purposefully; another group is straight-faced, looking ahead with no smile or welcoming facial gestures; and the third group, when I try to smile, seems surprised and looks through me. I have only found one person who smiled back!

 

But then, yesterday’s morning walk was different. A friend showed up (without much notice) and told me, "Let’s go out for a walk." Unusual in Delhi. The walk was refreshing; I kept talking about what I was really going through. So much so that I did not even give the person a chance to talk about what he was going through (he was much younger than me, too).

 

I wonder, if I pull off the masks of "good," "well," and "fine," what will I see underneath in all the people I meet? Like me, their own pain, struggles, and the complexity of life itself?

 

I am reminded of the story of a teacher (as the locals saw Him then—I know Him as a Saviour now) who walked the dusty roads of Middle Eastern towns. Though He was in His last few days on earth (which He knew), seeing the brokenness of the leaders around, He minced no words. “I’ve had it with you! You’re hopeless, you religion scholars, you Pharisees! Frauds! Your lives are roadblocks to God’s kingdom. You refuse to enter and won’t let anyone else in either. You’re hopeless, you religion scholars and Pharisees! Frauds! You go halfway around the world to make a convert, but once you get him, you make him into a replica of yourselves, double-damned.” And then He cried over the city where this was happening: “How often I’ve ached to embrace your children, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you wouldn’t let me. And now you’re so desolate, nothing but a ghost town. What is there left to say?”

 

Or later, on a Thursday evening, about to start a dinner, knowing that He would be killed the next day, instead of pouring out His internal struggles, He took a towel and washed the feet of those who would reject and betray Him.

 

Someone saw this, and that is why it is in the Good Book! There was no mask of "good" or "fine." But what was visible was not His own pain, but pain for what was happening around Him.

 

I wonder if, when my mask is pulled off, my heart will it pour out pain for Gaza, Wayanad, Manipur, Delhi, Ukraine, and the many locations from where heartbreaking pictures come up on my chats each day. Or my small pains? 

But then there is some one who is waiting to listen to my sorrows too!