I think I discovered the word sangfroid in a Wodehouse novel but I could well be mistaken. Memory can be a treacherous thing. A thought bearing no relationship to the truth can often flit into your consciousness and claim to be a recollection with such conviction, that you are convinced of its authenticity. You yield to its insistence but you retain a faint, niggling suspicion - a doubt that will plague you for the rest of your life. Did it really happen?
This feels like one of those instances. I have no way of knowing if it was indeed Jeeves (or perhaps Bertie) who had flung sangfroid in my direction, but in the interests of getting on with this story, let us assume it was. What I can be certain of is that I loved the word from the start.
Some words can enchant you the minute you set eyes on them. (Hullabaloo makes the list.1 Also, chutzpah.) Perhaps it is their unusual combination of letters. Perhaps it has to do with the way they sound; which would be ironic because I mispronounced sangfroid for years - adopting the English solidity of the two-syllabled ‘sang’ and ‘freud’2, and paying no heed to the French habit of swallowing hard sounds. Or perhaps - as with love in general - there is no explanation other than magic.
I suppose my attraction to sangfroid may have also been borne out of aspiration. I possessed so little of what it expressed that I had no choice but to admire the word, and, by extension, the people who personified it. Like this ex-colleague I met in my first week at work.
This person (let’s call her Cool Cat) was about to begin her career as a legal professional, the same as the rest of us. But where we were a bundle of nerves - knees quaking every time a senior partner frowned at us, hands quivering every time our phones rang - Cool Cat was calm, nonchalant, untroubled. Nothing, it appeared, could threaten her equanimity.
In those initial months, we were on probation, though our anxiety made it feel more like an inquest. We would remain glued to our seats lest a superior spot us loitering around the office. Even when we had no work, we would stare at our computer screens and try to look busy. We would hang around till late evening because none of us could countenance the horror of letting a call from the boss go unanswered. We were petrified of making a mistake, and convinced that putting so much as a toe out of line would get us fired. But Cool Cat played by different rules.
Every morning, she would saunter in around 11 AM (office hours began at 930 AM). After lunch, she would sweep the keyboard aside, cross her arms and lay her head down on the desk. Then, she would proceed to nap for an hour or so. Around 630 PM, she would gather her things, flash us a smile and leave. None of us could emulate this hero, this legend; all we could do was marvel at her powers.3
For years, Cool Cat has been my gold standard for sangfroid and I had given up hope of seeing anyone match up to her but earlier this week, I was - to my delight - proven wrong.
I do not know about you but I am not at my best when I am running.4 There is usually a great deal of self-loathing going on, leaving little room for other emotions. There is also, I am ashamed to admit, an unfortunate tendency to glare at walkers blocking my way. And there is certainly no patience for those trying to make me change my running route. Which is why, when I saw the Running Man, I was filled with both envy and admiration.
It was just past 10 AM when I noticed him. The surprise of seeing someone out on a run while the rest of us were sweltering in our air-conditioned vehicles soon turned to shock when we realised that he had, in fact, run onto the Bandra-Worli Sea Link. Cars whizzed by him, honking their disapproval, but the Running Man was unperturbed. He continued on his way, looking straight ahead and perhaps whistling a tune to himself. A traffic marshal, having reluctantly concluded that the paperwork triggered by an accident would be more painful than jogging a few metres, set off after him. It was when the traffic marshal panted up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, that the Running Man showed his true mettle.
The traffic marshal, no doubt annoyed by the uncalled-for exertion, wagged his finger at the Running Man and let out a stream of invective. I was too far from them to hear the words but I have no qualms in admitting that I squirmed in my seat. I’ve had cops reprimand me in the past and it is never a pleasant experience. The Running Man was, of course, made of sterner stuff. In one fluid, glorious motion, he simply turned around and started running back the way he’d come, as if this had been his intention all along. The traffic marshal looked non-plussed, half-delivered abuses still bubbling inside him. He stared at the Running Man’s receding figure for a few seconds. Then, his head bowed and his shoulders sagging, he started walking back to his post.
During this entire episode, the Running Man had neither stopped nor uttered a single word of explanation. Within a few minutes, his steady, languid strides had carried him off the Sea Link and back on the promenade, where he continued his run. As I drove past him, I thought I saw a smile playing on his lips. Not a smile of one-upmanship or relief, but of tranquillity. As if, instead of being almost run over and having a cop shout at him, he had just stepped out of a spa.
I couldn’t help but smile myself. Sangfroid. I may not have it, but it is always a privilege to encounter it.
Unlike sangfroid, hullabaloo’s origins are not shrouded in mystery. I remember precisely where I first read it, around twenty-five years ago: ‘The Adventures of Tintin: Explorers on the Moon’, page 40.
Of Sigmund fame, yes.
She would be among the first of our peers to quit, thus cementing her status as a visionary and a champion.
Hahaha! A great read for Saturday , visually seeing the man and the sea link and traffic havaldar and your voice running commentary talking about this! And congratulations on your milestone! U r now officially a platinum club member
Haha this is excellent. Also, all the brownie points for mentions of Wodehouse and Tintin, as well as gifs of Hugh Laurie-Stephen Fry and Captain Holt. PS. My first introduction of sangfroid was definitely PGW! :)