Speaking with the Heart and Listening with the Mind

 

‘The art of conversation’ might be an old phrase, almost cliched but time-tested. At its simplest, a conversation requires at least two people to speak and listen in turn. But it becomes an art when the two are interested in what the other has to say and wish to come away enriched at the end of the conversation.

While speaking and listening are two integral parts of a conversation, listening somehow takes precedence for a conversation to be truly enjoyable. More than a skill, it is, in fact, an art that is honed with time. But one needs to stop and observe this art before desiring to master it.

We live in times when we want to become performers, vying for those 30 seconds of attention as it were. And we rarely come across people who can listen. This scarcity of listeners perhaps stems from the fact that many of us are lonely, stuck in a hamster’s wheel of routines. As a living, breathing, thinking species, we have so much to say, with barely anyone having the mindspace to listen. Of course, most of us have been both listeners and speakers depending on where we were in life… times when we longed to be heard and times when we listened with patience.

Oftentimes, those who struggle to listen do not have the vile intention of hogging the limelight but a hunger to be heard. Now, this hunger creates what I would call the ‘speed talker’. We’ve all met one. You meet them at the coffee machine and ask them how they’re doing, and by the time you’ve stirred your coffee, they’ve already stirred up three chapters of their life, and only then ask how you’ve been—if at all.

A speed talker, as only a patient listener would know, is always in a race. What if the listener loses attention? What if there is no second chance? The anxiety is perhaps less about being heard and more about not being heard. The talkers somehow manage to pull a thread out of the listener’s muslin inputs and spin a tarpaulin of their own. The listener’s thoughts get folded and tucked away unnoticed. The listener says, “I’m learning to play the ukulele,” and the speaker takes off, “Really? Do you know the Ukulele originated in Hawaii? I’ll never forget my trip to Hawaii. What a disaster it was! But then we travelled back via Japan…!” By now, the circumnavigation is well underway.

The listener eventually sits back and gives up participating in this phantom conversation—sometimes out of genuine interest in the speaker, sometimes out of self-doubt and often out of weariness. The self-doubt comes when the listener begins to believe that their thoughts and ideas can never be as important or colourful as the speaker’s own.              

The speakers, be it the boastful or the mournful kind, always have a way to make the conversation about themselves. Picture this. A small group of friends meet up after years, each with several years of a rich life behind them. But one of them becomes a self-appointed TedX speaker and makes the evening all about what they do, how life has shaped them, their criticisms, their opinions and so on. The listeners at the end of the meeting come away often feeling tired and empty, wondering if they were even required for the conversation to happen.

What is required for a conversation to be rich is perhaps not words but pauses. Pauses to listen, to ask each other questions. These pauses breathe life into the conversation and show that one cares. A good listener grants dignity to another’s story; a mindful speaker offers a thread worth holding. When both meet, conversation ceases to be a mere exchange but becomes meaningful time spent.

Pic Courtesy: La Conversación by Étienne Pirot (Etienne), Plaza de San Francisco by Havana Abderrahman Ait Ali, via Wikimedia Commons

A Master's Degree finally

Happy to share that I've completed my Master's in English from EFLU, Hyderabad.

Ironically, academics drew me in when I was a little too old to be a collegiate—first the Diploma at 31, and now this Master’s degree at 51. (. (I think I did well with a Gold Medal in the former and a 7.88 GPA in the latter.)

Barely 21 years old, I was restless and raring to go; I jumped into a job within months of my undergrad Exams. I stood my ground despite my father's requests and assurances that I really didn't need to work. Then, from one job to another, I went where life took me.

The decision to pursue postgraduate studies was neither an impulsive decision nor a pandemic-lockdown hobby. It was more than a bucket list item. I’d been bothered about missing an opportunity to study further for many years now.

So, after some research into different syllabi and wise guidance from a trusted few, I zeroed in on the English and Foreign Languages University, Hyderabad—a decision I’m glad I took for various reasons. Even before I signed up, I felt this course was brilliantly structured, extremely interesting and relevant.

The entire experience was as enriching as the course itself. I had to spend 15 days away from home every semester—something that I wasn’t aware of when I enrolled. This was probably the hardest part of the whole deal. Every semester exam would either coincide with or fall very close to my husband's or my child’s birthday or a work deadline. Prioritising work and family, I decided to skip two semesters, but I came back with gusto to complete the course. A few people in my circle believed I would drop off at that point, and many made fun of this "unnecessary" stress I had taken upon myself.

Getting away was the biggest challenge, but thanks to my employers and family, I managed to do it. And once I got there, I lived a story-like parallel life that felt surreal.

I roomed with girls less than half of my age and lived like a 24-year-old. All I had to do was take care of myself and study all day. The days were very long, with me waking up to chilly sunrises and hitting the bed a couple of hours before sunrise. My day involved attending six to seven hours of classes, and the only time I stepped out of my room was to drag my feet to the Hostel Mess (dining area), without bothering to change out of the PJs and flip-flops. A good day would have me doing the laundry or taking walks around the sprawling, gorgeous, green campus, smiling at lovebirds, the feathered and unfeathered kind.

Of course, there would be the remote handling of my own home thousands of kilometres away, be it ordering groceries or firefighting a teen’s emotional outbursts.

My batch was an interesting bunch of students: the mind-bogglingly hardworking, already armed with multiple degrees, aiming for more, driven by undeterred focus; some studying only to make their families happy, and a few, using the time to do something productive while waiting for the right job.

Especially interesting was a group of youngsters who had orchestrated a fine balance between the chaotic clamour of the head and the heart. I met students who pursued their academics and professions with the same passion as their other interests, like music, writing and stand-up comedy—interests that were more than just a ‘hobby’. This probably wouldn’t have worked during my younger days. My generation was predominantly driven by the head, always ready to drop their dreams at the whisper of a demotivating word or thought. As an aside, I want to say at the cost of repeating myself that now is a great time for youngsters willing to pursue multiple interests simultaneously, without being pigeonholed into one job.

Though I was one of the oldest in my batch and the other batches as well, I was glad that I wasn’t the only one. There were senior and retired professionals who were there just out of a passion for the language or a desire to learn something.

The rest earned after the struggle is sweet, but I will miss the moments of losing myself in the world of language and literature, the hours of focused study, the excitement of learning something new, the thrill of being able to memorise something, and the days of ‘me-time’ without much guilt. And yes, like I always say, success is a kick that drives you to more rounds of the fight. God knows what the coming years have in store for me, but I wait with a twinkle in my eye, with or without the cataracts.