A bore is almost always someone else. It’s the neighbour who drops in for a chat and overstays the welcome. It could be the babbler at a function who stands between you and the cocktails. Or it may be an uncle whose incessant chatter and adhesive company make you wistful for the delights of solitary confinement.
Rarely if ever does it strike us that somewhere along the course of evolution, we could have become prize bores ourselves.
The older we get and the higher we climb up the social or professional ladder, the more careful we need to be. Granduncles, aunts, bosses and men and women of high stature command the uncomplaining attention of their relatives and subordinates, and are unlikely to be called out and candidly told that they are getting insufferable.
Bore alert
So, here’s a “bore alert”, a ready reckoner that you are perhaps unwittingly but unremittingly taxing the patience of your friends and companions.
The first step is to run a check on our ego (many bores are egoists in mufti). A pumped-up sense of self-importance prevents us from realising that others may not be dying to learn of the celebrities we have rubbed shoulders with, the classics we have read, the places we have visited, the hearts we have won and the feats of derring-do of our youth… If and when people are eager to know our life’s highlights, they will step up and say so, and we can promise them an autobiography. Until such time, it’s best to keep our stories to ourselves.
Poor skills
Not all bores, however, have king-size egos. I know of self-effacing men becoming champion bores because they simply don’t know what to talk about. When in company, the need to say something — anything — compelling, and therefore, they make feeble attempts to fill the void with dull bits of this and that.
If you are in danger of falling into this trap, step back and say nothing. Being known to be the quiet sort is infinitely better than earning a reputation as a bore.
Since one man’s passion is another man’s poison, not everybody will find the same things boring. So it would help to know your audiences well before you engage them. Let’s say you have a lot to say about Moti, your dear Pomeranian. You launch into a no-holds-barred commentary about how the little fellow can sniff out people in the next suburb, how his way of expressing delight is to roll on the floor, with forelegs pointing to the tubelight, and what a wonderful watchdog he is.
Carried away by the momentum, you may even reveal that Moti’s toilet training can set benchmarks for the urban middle class — all spellbinding stuff no doubt, but only for kindred dog lovers. For the rest, you are a person to be wary of.
Audience feedback
Midway through your talk, it makes sense to sensitise yourself to audience feedback. You don’t need snores loud and long to signal that you have lost your listeners for good. Keep your eyes open for the more subtle signs — people trying to edge away from your circle, shooting agitated glances at the watch or wearing the distracted air of chaps who wish they are somewhere else.
If any of this happens, you are running close to the danger mark.
Bad listeners
Bores are poor listeners, and they do not respect the balanced equation that is at the heart of a normal conversation. While you go on and on, and the sole contribution of your listeners is an occasional ‘ah’, ‘oh-ho’ and ‘very nice’, there is obviously so much of give and so less of take that it’s time to wring down the curtain. Your final “Okay, goodbye” could well be the sweetest words for many.
If none of this works, there is always the clock. Kim Il-Sung, the late “eternal president” of North Korea, would talk to his subjects for eight hours at a stretch on tractor production. But he was trying his hand at changing the mindset of his people.
You and I have no such noble agenda. As they say, if we haven’t struck oil in half an hour, it’s time we stopped boring. Social psychologists say learning to be considerate of other people’s feelings can shape us into better-adjusted human beings. More to the point, we won’t be called a bore.
jairam.menon@gmail.com
