…of course, the problem is my eyes, for starters. That’s precisely why I ask for help in the first place.
One of the most common forms of assistance I receive begins with great enthusiasm and ends in complete confusion. Occasionally, it is accompanied by a skeptical look which, ironically, I don’t see but “feel.”
“Srini, it’s out there.”
“Where?”
“Out there… see that building? Right there.”
Me (silently): “Ah… so there is a building there.”
And I nod politely, pretending I’ve understood.
For me, the most dangerous words in the English language are:
“Over there.”
A close second is, “Just there.”
Then comes the silent nod.
Many a time during conversations, I’ll say something and wait for a response. Have you heard Silence? I am still waiting. The other person is nodding enthusiastically. I am still waiting. Eventually, the realization dawns: nodding is a remarkably ineffective form of communication.
I have often wondered whether sighted people secretly believe that pointing and nodding are universal languages.
Just yesterday I asked my wife where a bowl was. “It’s there,” she replied. I instinctively asked, “Where exactly is there? Thankfully, “there” happened to be behind the ghee bowl, and my fingers eventually discovered it. Proof yet again that my fingers have developed far better navigation skills than my eyes – and please do not let your imagination loose!
Restaurants provide another adventure. The first thing I usually need after arriving is the washroom. What can I say? When a good restaurant is over an hour away, nature has impeccable timing. The directions? “Go straight… it’s behind the red curtain.” Now, I am fairly sure someone once told me that bulls can’t see red.
On one memorable occasion, armed with confidence and very little direction, I marched straight into the ladies’ washroom before executing one of the fastest retreats of my life—mercifully before anyone had reason to ask awkward questions.
Finding my way back to the table is another story altogether. If I’ve forgotten how many tables, I passed or how many turns I took, out comes my phone. I then perform what I like to call the “purposeful wandering act,” hoping someone from my family spots me before I accidentally join another dinner party.
Airports, however, are where confidence meets reality. Recently, I decided to walk to my boarding gate independently using my Meta glasses. The plan was simple. The glasses would identify the gate and then guide me there. Unfortunately, the display board looked just as blurry to Meta as it did to me. Technology and I had simultaneously surrendered. Thankfully a friendly CISF security officer rescued both of us.
A little secret here: after years of travel, I’ve memorised the layouts of most major Indian airports. I now walk through them with great confidence. Whether I reach the correct gate is an entirely different matter.
The reality is this: good intentions are abundant. Useful directions are comparatively rare. Most people genuinely want to help. They simply haven’t paused to think about what helpful sounds like.
Instead of saying:
“It’s over there.”
Imagine saying:
“Walk about ten steps. You’ll find a pillar on your right. Turn left, and the lift is the second door.”
One sentence helps, and the other offers independence. There is a world of difference.
And because I couldn’t resist, here’s a Limerick to end…
When things were quite out of sight,
I asked someone, “Left or the right?”
They answered, “It’s there!”
Wondering, I sighed, where?
And mumbled, sir, there is a problem slight
Nidugondi Speak 