Today morning as I stood at my own front door, feeling
rather exposed and ashamed in my nighty and with hair that stood on end, one of
the housekeeping ladies began to rant at me in Kannada that I only caught the
sense of (again another cause for guilt and shame). I just stood there
open-mouthed, and felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.
The dregs of sleep still clouded my view of the world that
had woken up and got going hours before me. With my late-night habits and
frankly nebulous schedule, (and yes, the privilege that comes with being able
to sleep in when I liked), I was anyway in a half-sleeping half-waking state,
but having the lady completely lose her shit in front of me for the first time
in the 6 years I’ve lived here, made for a surreal experience. I felt very
little answering anger, just surprise and curiosity at her outburst.
For one, it wasn’t a particularly huge transgression, I had
forgotten to leave my pail outside for the second day in a row, and ran to get
it only after she rang my bell. There were reasons, though it is of course not something
she should care about. Granted. I am usually a rule-abiding person, leaving the
bins out well before time and in the ways stipulated by the building association.
Their having to ring the bell on 2 consecutive days was irritating no doubt, and
slowed them down by about 1 and a half minutes; minutes which snowball into a big
backlog I’m sure, given that there are so many flats in one building. Also they
work their way downwards from the topmost floor, 9 in our case, and I’m sure the
ladies had had to already encounter a few more similarly annoying, entitled residents
who had tumbled out of bed and presented their pails sleepily like
second-floor-me; when they were breaking their backs living and working from at
least 5:30 in the morning.
Not to mention, that in the times of Corona, they were
anyway risking their lives dealing with the bins of so many households; being
obliged to wear a mask in hot and sweaty conditions. And then there I appear,
tousle-headed, well-rested and BARE faced; and it just didn’t seem fair. I can
only imagine the new stresses of working an already horrible job.
All those things aside though, it’s obvious that she didn’t
stand there yelling at every resident today morning. What startled me about the
anger and frustration that came pouring out of her mouth (she was saying she
won’t keep doing this, she had work to do, from the next day she would just go,
and wouldn’t bother ringing the bell) was that it came immediately after I gave
her a sheepish smile and said “Sorry. sorry.” This is what I have been getting
at this entire time. It was almost like the apology was what triggered the
final explosion.
I honestly don’t know how human beings are in other
countries, having only visited some of them briefly. But here apologies are a
different beast altogether.
Now let me break down that statement for you as both a
serial apologizer and someone who expects formal apologies in return.
I have no idea why, but I have always been the sort who is
particular about thanking people or apologizing for even minor things. This isn’t
a humble brag, I know perfectly good people who believe that saying ‘thank you’
and ‘sorry’ too much to a person who is close to you is something that gives
offense, since it involves being overly formal.
So, I have been
barked at for saying ‘thank you’ “too much” – “Stop saying ‘thank you’ am I not
your….?” (insert suitable relationship). But that also means, that if someone
has, without a trace of doubt in my mind messed up, and messed up BIG, and everyone
is saying so; I am a stickler for a formal apology. They may send me flowers,
knit me a sweater or sweetness may run from their mouths like a hive that has
sprung a leak. Or, they may turn up two years after completely vanishing,
despite requests to explain what I had done wrong, and make fun conversation, acting
like everything’s “chill” over cups of coffee. Obviously hoping that I’ll just
take the damn hint and move on.
But I need to hear the exact words “I’m sorry”. Most
IMPORTANTLY not accompanied by ridiculous gaslighting counter accusations, or
some kind of sarcastic twist. A real-life example: “I am sorry that I
thought you were close enough to me to understand that I didn’t mean it when
I said “You’re a bad mother”. Or, “I’m sorry I sent the message
insulting you by name… to you by mistake. I meant to send it to someone else,
you weren’t meant to read that.” (again, true story).
No, if it’s an actual, sincere apology; for me, the healing
may start all around, and you actually need not knit me that sweater. Give me a
little time, and I may forgive you.
But here comes the rub of it. It is perceived as a weakness.
He who apologizes, somehow loses in the game of life. It is the social equivalent
of an animal avoiding eye contact, tucking it’s tail between its legs and
bowing its head in front of an alpha. It is losing one’s self-respect; it is tantamount
to falling at another’s feet. It is to show you are weak. So, they will hang on
to that apology like it is a piece of their soul, and would rather twist facts
into humiliating untruths that reflect badly on them, rather than say those
simple words.
Now this philosophy I have never managed to understand. I
myself am quick to apologize if I perceive I have done something wrong, or even
if I feel I haven’t but the person is hurt. To me, if I genuinely feel bad, it
is a much easier way of expressing remorse than knitting someone a sweater;
making hideous jokes in a gradually deepening silence, and so on.
‘I’m sorry.’ Easy peasy.
But when I do, it is very often misinterpreted. I have
observed that because I use apologetic body language and a remorseful expression,
coupled with the universally understood words ‘sorry’; it is as good as a red
flashing sign appearing on my forehead. ‘W-E-A-K’.
A corresponding light bulb goes on over their heads.
This one looks like the doormat I can finally let all my anger and frustrations
out at. Everyone needs that one dim-witted target who doesn’t answer back or
take revenge! The miseries, angers, neglect that everyone carries around with
them, all comes out then.
All the while, the people who had heaped scorn and pain on
them, slamming down the pails belatedly, slamming the doors on their faces,
treating them like pariahs, not paying their bonuses; get no word of
remonstrance.
After all, at least they did not say, ‘sorry.’
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