Count this as your life-lesson day. You are in the mall, negotiating an escalator. You stumble and fall. Instantly, ten concerned souls call out from various corners of the area with their free advice, “Watch out! Be careful! Take it easy!” all of which are too late for implementation, unless you plan to attempt the manoeuvre again.
Your lack of athleticism and failure to defy gravity doesn’t hurt you as much as the hindsight-based advice you receive from strangers. And when you get off the floor on your own, and huffily do not acknowledge their advice, they are mystified, like they really expected you to high-five them, or bow in gratitude.
All the same, you have made their day, bonding with them, they being the ones to whom it didn’t happen; and they look at each other, fellow advisers, comrades now, like they ought to form a club, or something. They stop just short of exchanging visiting cards. You note that nobody helped you off the floor. Instead, some of them had taken video shots of your tumble on their cell phones, preserving it for posterity. It may go viral, too, because of your unique backward rolling, never attempted before or since.
The thought comes to me that we are all serial advisers, and cannot resist advising, chipping in with our two cents. Somebody taking a tumble in public space, as in a mall, triggers advice from others around, irrespective of its practicality.
Rendering free advice is taken as a basic right. Since nobody will voluntarily seek our input, we tend to give the advice in a take-it-or-leave-it tone, securing ourselves against a possible rebuff. One is not sure if it is uniquely an Indian trait to be strident in giving advice, the unabashed shouting across the hall, addressing total strangers. Elsewhere, such a piece of advice might get a response, ‘Mind your own business!’ or a counter-advice on what one can go and do instead.
The reluctance to receive overt advice is because we are too set in our ways. Our ego comes in between. The problem may not be with the content of the advice, but with its format — how it is couched and delivered. Nobody likes to be seen to be taking advice, in public space at least. We don’t need the attention.
If we don’t take advice easily, how come there are so many self-help books out there — which are basically about advice — doing good business? Advice on health, nutrition, relationship, prosperity, happiness, you name it. There is a billion-dollar market for advice. Is it because of our reverence for the printed word, and the reassuring smile of the person on the cover of the book? The clue is, while we don’t like to be seen to be taking advice, we are willing to take a peek at the seven or fifteen steps to happiness or popularity, or a fitter body.
One explanation is that the purchase of a book is less attention-attracting than receiving in-your-face advice, in the presence of others. Maybe we like the advice, but we would rather receive it in a discreet environment of a bookstall, and read it in the privacy of home. Books fit the bill admirably.
They say role-modelling and setting an example are the ideal forms of advice, rather than preaching. The snag is that you never know how many people think of you as a model to strive for — they’re not going to come out and tell you. Plus, that is a long process, and doesn’t get the instant recognition you’d like.
The Socrates style of advice is the next best thing: listen well, ask questions and let people come up with their own solutions — there is more ownership there. And people go away thinking what a terrific adviser you are. Imposing your advice on others without engaging with them first leads people to be resentful and ask, ‘How come this guy is an expert on my life?’
It’s not necessary to be a guru, every time: shutting up is a good strategy. Above all, the important thing to remember is, nobody asked you.
sagitex@gmail.com
