Pritam's Blog
Life Isn’t A Game Of Chess. Or Is It?
“What’s your most favourite childhood memory?” She asked, my therapist.
Now that got me into thinking. Flashbacks of this hero’s (oh yes, I am the hero of my life) childhood filled my vision. In black and white. Like they show in movies. The blacks and whites rearranged themselves - like it happens when you drop ink in a glass of water, but in reverse - to form a board of 64 squares - a chessboard.
I think that was one of my fondest childhood memories - playing chess with my grandpa, Daa.
I started playing chess when I was five or six. We didn’t have cable connection in our village. And Doordarshan was boring. So, our source of entertainment, at least in our household, in the evening was chess and books - two of the most beautiful habits I inherited from my otherwise ‘disordered’ (for the lack of a better word) family.
Daa and I would play chess for hours. Every day. It was like a ritual. And I would take forever to make a move. And he would say, “You know you can’t do like that. Most chess tournaments are timed. It’s not just about the accuracy of your moves but also about your speed. Just like life.”
I think this was one of the best lessons I had had from him, although it didn’t make much sense back then, in the context of life. But when I did understand, I also realised that when it comes to life, it’s more about ideal timing than speed. You don’t want to make silly mistakes by going too fast.
Daa would fuck up with my mind too when we played. I was good at Maths. When I had a Maths test in school the next day, he would say, while playing, “You are going to flunk tomorrow, you know? I can see it from the way you are playing.”
“Not now, Daa. Let me focus,” I would say, while thinking my next move.
“Life is also about multi-tasking. You cannot let the pressure of one task impact your performance in some other.”
Come to think of it today, a lot of what I have become is because of what Daa taught me. Pallabi says that my approach towards life is like I am playing a game of chess. I am so calm even when things are out of control, as if I am thinking, rationally, what my next move should be. She doesn’t use the word ‘calm’ though; she says that I am cold-blooded and that it’s scary. She says that since I don’t express what I am feeling, it bothers her. What if I am planning something that might come like an unpleasant surprise to her later?
“Do you do that? Hold grudges and take revenge later? When the time is right?” My therapist asked.
“Not with her. Also, I don’t hold grudges. I just don’t forget things. And I pay it back when the time is right.”
“That’s how holding grudges works. And you don’t forget things and yet you took 2 minutes to think of your answer, your favourite childhood memory.”
“I have so many. I had to decide which one to share with you,” I said sarcastically.
“Is that so? Anyway, what do you tell Pallabi when she raises her concerns?”
“That I love her. And she has nothing to worry because I don’t hold grudges against her. Because she finds the best restaurants in town and takes me there. Who would do that for me?”
My therapist made a face.
“Seriously. I told her this the other day.”
“And what did she say?”
“She was disgusted. She said she would leave me…”
“And?”
“And I asked her if she would take me to good restaurants once in a while after leaving me. And she agreed. And then I asked if I could go to her house after we have had our food, you know just to hang out. She was ok with that too. So, I asked if, after chitchatting for a while, she would be ok with the two of us lying in each other’s arms, for the rest of the night. And she started laughing.”
“You are so stupid, Pritam. I am sure you are bad at chess.” she smiled.
“Or maybe my life isn’t a game of chess, you see,” I said. “Let’s find out.”
“What?”
“If I am bad at playing chess.”
“I am quite good,” she said.
We played. And it was a draw.