Last Saturday we had gone to pick up our daughter's glasses from the opticians. The attendant there takes his own sweet time to roust himself from the chair when customers walk in and quite often grudgingly. On previous occasions, both my wife and I have noticed this and laughed about it, though it does get a bit irritating when one is in a hurry (which we always are). Anyway I noticed the guy sitting behind the counter as we entered the shop, and as usual by the time he hauled himself off his perch, we had taken a couple of rounds of the shop and tried on a few frames as well. I knew that we were going to spend the better part of the morning in the shop that day, as not only did the guy have to hike it to the back room five paces away to get the glasses, but that would be followed by the long and arduous process of invoicing and paying for them as well. Knowing this however did not diminish my impatience.
And that sense of edginess reminded me of a similar irritation a while ago at a hair cutting salon that I used to frequent. This was before the incident with the nose-hair clipping that I had written about in an earlier blog. As mentioned (in that blog) I stopped frequenting that particular establishment from that time on. Anyway that Salon is tucked away in one of the by-lanes, in between roadside cafe's, IT shops, laundries and the like. I am sure that most of their clientele work seven days a week and frequent the shop in the late evening after their day's work is done. Hence mornings were generally quiet with no line or queue to wait in.
So this particular time, as I was walking in that lane to enter the shop, I saw one of the barbers talking to a man on the threshold of the shop. I did not pay much heed but as I was being readied for the cut, this same chap comes in, goes to a corner and sits down on the floor. He starts unpacking his small backpack, out of which he takes out a grinder attached to a small generator. He slowly unravels the wires and connects it to one of the electrical mains in the barber shop.
The other barbers in the meantime started putting their scissors on the floor in front of him, and with his grinder running he commenced sharpening the scissors, one at a time. All of this is happening at the slow unhurried pace of a small village - not a throbbing metropolis that is Dubai. I asked my barber about this, and it seemed that this man came around regularly to sharpen the scissors, knives etc. of all the salons, butcher shops, vegetable vendors and restaurants. The scissors needed to be sharpened once every three weeks.
As the grinder finished honing each scissor, it was minutely inspected by each of the barbers. Six scissors had been given for sharpening and at the end of this whole process, each scissor was thoroughly inspected by each of the three barbers. A few were given back for rework, with gentle protests from the grinder who tried to explain that those had outlived their useful life. After all of them had been worked on to the complete satisfaction of each man, they were counted and recounted to make sure that it was actually six scissors and not five, and then a generous discount was extracted, before money actually changed hands. The price agreed had been three dirhams per scissor, but only two dirhams per scissor was eventually paid.
Of course during this entire process, my haircut was interrupted and paused every time a scissor was finished, increasing my frustration and stress. I tried to be obvious about it by fidgeting around in the chair and repeatedly looking at my watch, but the hints were ignored, if received at all.
As I left however, I thought about the contrast in the attitude to time and money. I could not get over how each barber counted the scissors, to make sure that they were not ripped off by paying for more than they had given. The trust in the artisans character, as well as his skill, were - well noticeably absent.
Every Dirham was valued, but even more important was their attitude to time! For them, time was elastic - it seemed to stretch out - an endless river serenely flowing by various spots to pause and to contemplate. Life was lived at a slower rhythm, where even mundane people and events were given the time required.
On the other hand I am always in a hurry - but to go where? To do what? I rush from one place to the other, from one task to the next - but why?
That day I finished all my tasks in a blur of movement, prioritising, organising and aligning to ensure that minimum time was wasted. But why? After this hustle and bustle of my morning errands was finished and I drove back at the speed limit - I reached home and hit a wall. I hurried back home - to do what? Saving the five minutes here and the ten minutes there, getting stressed about the traffic and the slow pace of work, landed up with me having more time to sit and do nothing.
I have been brainwashed into thinking that time is money, time is short - but is it really? Maybe for the Steve Jobs and the Einsteins, but is it the same for people like you and me? Is it mandatory that every day has to be started by jumping out of bed and then measuring how successful it has been by thinking about all that was achieved. Minutes and hours of every day have to march by like soldiers going off to war - each with meaning and purpose as they pass by to their inevitable demise.
Multitasking is the norm - we listen to music while excercising, TV while eating. We catch up with family and friends while driving, and even when we are with family and friends we catch up on emails and work on our smart phones.
What if we changed that paradigm to - life is currency? It is earned by savouring every moment - appreciating the now, rather than stressing about the next moment. That wealth is measured by moments of joy one takes in just being; by the happiness of savouring your favorite food or the time spent with your loved ones; by standing and looking at a busy road or an artisan at work. Literally by pausing to smell the flowers, savouring the sunshine on your skin or letting the smell of a bakery lure one into an unplanned breakfast - what then?
It all sounds so great and good, but does not last. The lure of real money is like a sirens song - too seductive
But what if life does not have to be a raging storm driven river? What if it is a languid stream that one floats on, as it takes us serendipitously to unexpected places? Would it be so bad?
