I like to think of myself as an easygoing fellow. On a flight, when the man in the adjacent seat - and it is always a man - hogs the armrest, I let him. In the car, when my wife plays Love Nwantiti, I stoically ignore the bleeding in my ears and concentrate on driving. One must strive to live a life of equanimity, which means we should not let the abhorrent acts of others tempt us into agitation. But there are some deeds that are unpardonable; that are so vile that humanity, as a whole, must rise to condemn them. I am referring, of course, to illeism: the habit of talking about oneself in the third person.
I detest the practice. I am not saying we must make it a crime punishable by life imprisonment but we should at least debate the proposal. (Who does not want a world where one can listen to the radio without having to endure RJ Jeeturaj calling himself Jeeturaj every two minutes?)
If you are wondering why you’re being subjected to this rant, feel free to blame The Education of Henry Adams. It is an autobiography written by Henry Adams, the American historian, in which he refers to himself as, well, Henry Adams1. Illustratively:
To the boy Henry Adams, summer was drunken… His idea of color was a peony, with the dew of early morning on its petals.
The book won the Pulitzer Prize. I could not get past the first couple of paragraphs. Yet, deep in the belly of this tedious text nestles a line that had drawn me to it. While talking about a friend, Henry Adams writes:
One friend in a lifetime is much; two are many; three are hardly possible.
The man’s narrative technique may have been questionable but on the matter of friendships, his observation is flawless. He had, as Jeeves would say, touched the matter with a needle.
In the early 1990s, the British anthropologist, Robin Dunbar, sought to bring mathematical precision to the nebulous world of social relationships. Based on his study of primate behaviour, he theorized a connection between individual brain size and the size of a group. For humans, he settled on 150 as the optimal number for a community. The number is meant to be an approximation and there are further layers2. But 150 has achieved fame as ‘Dunbar’s Number’ and is commonly used to refer to the cognitive limit of human friendships.
In recent years, researchers have challenged Dunbar’s number and the statistical models he used. Contending that there is no maximum limit to friendships, new studies estimate that average human group sizes are uncertain and could rise to nearly 300. Robin Dunbar has not taken kindly to these claims, calling them “bonkers, absolutely bonkers”.
His outrage is understandable. If I had a world-famous theory named after me, I would also be miffed at attempts to denigrate it. But even otherwise, I am #TeamDunbar. Having 300 friends sounds absolutely ludicrous. In fact, even the idea of 150 friendships is frightening. I would instead peg the number somewhere in the low 20s.
I have always been terrible at making friends. When I was seven or eight and we moved to a new city, my mother forced me to hang out with the kids in our locality. Getting out of the house is good for you, she said, though to this day I contest that statement. It was a painful process but I eventually made some friends. (I am not in touch with any of them now but the training helped.)
Later, in school, and then University, my social circle grew. The friendships I made were deeper. Some have endured, with shared experiences accreted over time strengthing the bond. Some others now reside in a state of hibernation - the birthday wish, an occasional call, a rare meeting. Many have died. The problem, as Taylor Swift said, is me.
I do not enjoy long conversations on the phone. Video calls are hell. To most party invitations, I instinctively say no. When made to choose between staying in and stepping out to meet people, I invariably pick the former. This unsocial conduct comes at a cost. My failure to make time, to fan the flames of some friendships, has turned them to dust. It is a sobering thought but one I could bat away with a somewhat selfish justification: this is who I am.
Until now, that is.
Since I began my writing journey, I have made a few discoveries. I have realised, for instance, that the romantic notion of a writer who scribbles away in a cabin in the woods caring nought for the world, is hokum. (To me, at least.) I want people to read me and I care - far too much, I know, but let us not discuss that now - about their opinion. This means I must take my writing to them; which is just another way of saying, I must take myself to them. For a nobody like me, attracting readers is akin to attracting new friends. You need to show a part of yourself to the world and hope they like what they see. It should make them curious, coax them to dive deeper and learn more about you. You do not get discovered unless you put yourself on the map.
In the past couple of years, I have joined writing communities, book clubs, and WhatsApp groups. I have forced myself to attend meet-ups and book discussions. It has been challenging, yes, but also rewarding. I have found fantastic writers and learnt a great deal from them. I have found people with whom I can discuss how it can take me more than one hour to write a single sentence - and how incredibly frustrating and satisfying the process feels.
This wilful socializing has given me a measure of satisfaction; but it has also brought guilt. I am now left bereft of my excuse. I had converted my asocial nature into a protective totem. It had become the shield which guarded me against the expectations of friends. I never call, I never meet, I never hang out - I could defend every allegation by simply saying: this is who I am.
Not anymore.
If I can battle my instincts, beat them into submission and compel myself to socialize for the sake of my writing, I can - and should - do it for other reasons too. To my friends who are reading this, you deserve better.3 Know that I am trying and I will do my best to keep in touch. (Don’t worry, I will not call. I am not a monster. I’ll drop a text. Soon. I promise. But don’t hold your breath.)
He was a member of the Adams family which produced two U.S. Presidents: the imaginatively named, John Adams and John Quincy Adams.
According to this theory, the layers of social connections include close friends (5), good friends (15), friends (50), meaningful/stable relationships (150), acquaintances (500), and people you recognize (1500).
To my friends who are not reading this, you are dead to me.
Hi Rohan. Really enjoy reading your newsletters.
I must say, every time you reference your wife, she comes across as a top-notch person.
Great music choice! You must be proud.
I feel your pain about putting yourself out there when it doesn’t (or didn’t) come naturally to you. I did that too and there were definitely lot of gains. But I am now feeling like going back into my cocoon and not feeling compelled to “put myself out there” when my livelihood doesn’t depend on it nor does it bring my joy anymore. I’m beginning to feel like I can use my time and energy for other things instead. I suppose it’s about finding that fine balance - and what that looks like or means evolves over time. Wonderful post!