Dear...Uuuhh...Hmmmnn...
I am bad with names.
In a country where more people share their names than their love for cricket, my terrible memory does deserve some benefit of doubt. Besides, the human mind is immediately tickled out of its slumber when something interesting is brought at its doorstep. And since most people are not loved enough by their parents to be bestowed upon with an interesting name, my ill manners become even more pardonable.
A case in point being that no one ever seems to forget Rishabh.
Having scraped the surface of the problem, I am, but tempted to dig deeper. I would like to present a corollary to the statement penned by Shakespeare.... what’s in a name....
Seriously, what's in it? When someone introduces himself merely with a name, I tend to be sceptical. Does his identity start and end with a mere whim that his parents had when he was born? Is that identity enough for me to add another piece of information in my brain, which will elbow out what is already inside it?
I don’t think so.
I don’t know the names of all people working in my office; even in the creative department. 'Who’s he' seems to be my only contribution in an office conversation.
The recollection of someone's name is a mere testament to the fact that the person, in some way, is important or whom I deem to be important. In that case, even a whisper of that name paints his picture in front of my eyes, along with all emotions that I have experienced with regards to him or her. It’s more like a trigger that in an instant, displays the profile of someone whom I thought deserved to be profiled in he first place.
The more I think about it, the more I believe that my amnesia is just a filtration process that keeps out unwanted information and people out of my conscious or sub-conscious self. This theory is proven when I simply get pissed off with myself when I fail to recollect someone's name. This obviously implies that I ought to have remembered, given some special importance I have attached to that being.
There’s also another angle to this. I never ever remember the names of people and places that embrace the pages of a book that I have enjoyed reading thoroughly. This used to really bother me, especially if those characters have left behind an impression on me, why do their names fail to leave even a trace?
I think its because I get so engrossed in the story, the character and his activities that an effort to take note of the name would take away from the effort to remember what they did. The latter being more important, it seems pointless to pay attention to the former. Since the picture of the character, which is already framed in my mind, is absolute and poignant and compelling, I find it useless to define such an all-encompassing visual with a pithy word.
Sure, the flip side is that I can’t drop any names in a party.
In a country where more people share their names than their love for cricket, my terrible memory does deserve some benefit of doubt. Besides, the human mind is immediately tickled out of its slumber when something interesting is brought at its doorstep. And since most people are not loved enough by their parents to be bestowed upon with an interesting name, my ill manners become even more pardonable.
A case in point being that no one ever seems to forget Rishabh.
Having scraped the surface of the problem, I am, but tempted to dig deeper. I would like to present a corollary to the statement penned by Shakespeare.... what’s in a name....
Seriously, what's in it? When someone introduces himself merely with a name, I tend to be sceptical. Does his identity start and end with a mere whim that his parents had when he was born? Is that identity enough for me to add another piece of information in my brain, which will elbow out what is already inside it?
I don’t think so.
I don’t know the names of all people working in my office; even in the creative department. 'Who’s he' seems to be my only contribution in an office conversation.
The recollection of someone's name is a mere testament to the fact that the person, in some way, is important or whom I deem to be important. In that case, even a whisper of that name paints his picture in front of my eyes, along with all emotions that I have experienced with regards to him or her. It’s more like a trigger that in an instant, displays the profile of someone whom I thought deserved to be profiled in he first place.
The more I think about it, the more I believe that my amnesia is just a filtration process that keeps out unwanted information and people out of my conscious or sub-conscious self. This theory is proven when I simply get pissed off with myself when I fail to recollect someone's name. This obviously implies that I ought to have remembered, given some special importance I have attached to that being.
There’s also another angle to this. I never ever remember the names of people and places that embrace the pages of a book that I have enjoyed reading thoroughly. This used to really bother me, especially if those characters have left behind an impression on me, why do their names fail to leave even a trace?
I think its because I get so engrossed in the story, the character and his activities that an effort to take note of the name would take away from the effort to remember what they did. The latter being more important, it seems pointless to pay attention to the former. Since the picture of the character, which is already framed in my mind, is absolute and poignant and compelling, I find it useless to define such an all-encompassing visual with a pithy word.
Sure, the flip side is that I can’t drop any names in a party.
posted by Rishabh at 10:10 PM
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