Organic Intelligence that outlived Artificial

The water geyser in one of our bathrooms had stopped giving hot water. Calling a plumber for a petty job was an expensive affair, and this had been my belief for several years. Following an argument with Priya about the delay in getting the issue fixed, I decided to solve the matter on my own organic intelligence.

“I will fix this today,” I proclaimed.

“The switch seems to be broken,” I said after carefully inspecting what was blocking the flow towards the hot water mixer. The next morning, I visited the hardware shop and got a replacement. I carefully interrogated the shopkeeper,ensuring its size and appropriateness. It was not a perfect fit but was able to perform the switching job.

Alas! The hot water flow wasn’t established even after replacing the switch. This was not a failure. You aren’t lost until you accept, I thought. I was in no mood to call the plumber. I had taken up the challenge myself, and Priya was aware of it now. It was a situation to safeguard my dignity and prestige in the eyes of my wife. But I was stuck.

“I do not have the necessary tools to open up the nozzle,” I declared, and used this as an excuse to invite the plumber. Priya looked at me without an expression as she recollected the bad fight we had, arguing over the delay in getting the problem fixed. I booked an appointment with a plumber from Urban Company.

“4:00 PM is the time we will get this fixed,” I informed her. Priya wasn’t really happy with everything I was doing to get it fixed. She had been bathing using cold water for several days now, trying to not use the geysers to save on the electricity bills.

The plumber arrived and inspected the situation. He used his professional tools to open up the angle cock and quickly concluded that it was jammed, which blocked the hot water flow even after the switch was turned on.

“I can get it replaced. Give me 15 minutes and I will get you a replacement,” said the plumber.

“No, it’s okay! I can get it replaced myself. I just wanted your expertise to troubleshoot,” I said. I made the payment to him and he left.

The switch wasn’t the real problem. It was the blocked angle cock. I went back to the hardware shop and got the faulty part replaced. I did it on my own. Did I really? Somewhere within my heart, I felt a vacuum—an emptiness of non-accomplishment. Lost in my own thoughts, I bought a Bosch DIY toolkit to fix the issue next time it would occur—unsure of what challenge may arise in the near future. Now I owned the toolkit but still lacked the experience and skills of the plumber.

“It’s fixed!” I shouted from the bathroom, declaring victory as I tested the functionality and got my hand burned by the hot water. Priya didn’t react. I realized that the time to rejoice over being successful was long passed, after spending days to get the problem fixed.

The Acceptance

It all started in my thirties.

It is hard to recollect when I saw my first gray hair popping out of my silky bunch of black hair—something that had been my identity, a reason for praise and appreciation, for over three decades. Days passed, and so did years, and I indulged in what most people racing towards their forties do: dyeing hair to make that futile attempt to look young.

I was not ready either.

The urge to color them grew stronger each time I saw my reflection in the mirror. The mirror—what a wonderful piece of invention it is. It shows you exactly how you look. Over the years, watching yourself in the mirror becomes an obsession—to look good and to seem young. Unfortunately, seeming young is closely associated with black hair, and gray hair is inappropriately taken as a sign of being mature, aged, or old.

Deep in my heart, I knew that someday I must accept the fact that my hair is graying and I am getting old. I have crossed forty. Am I in a mid-life crisis? Everyone goes through this phase. Even the Gen-Zers of today will. What is the modern life expectancy? How many more years do I have to live? Gray hair brings all such thoughts to your mind. Certainly, one is not ready for this phase, at least not instantly. For some, this non-readiness may take decades. For me, it was no different.

In a nutshell, a bold gray look is not easy to accept. I was hoping to carry this look after my fifties—it seemed obvious to own such a look after living on the planet for half a century. These were my thoughts to pacify myself.

“Your gray hair does not bother me at all,” said Priya one fine Saturday morning. “Why don’t you stop applying the black poison on your head?” she advised.

I knew this was not the first time she had given me this advice. This time, I was serious about it.

“You are the only reason why I comb my hair. Let’s accept this!” I declared as I hugged her tight.

It is important to be presentable, but at the same time, it is important to be original. Wearing filters and not revealing your true colors is unfair, and realizing this is maturity.

The Guest and the "Parasite"

My son sometimes dislikes my authoritative remarks to him when he truly loses his mind over petty behavioral aspects. Remarks such as, "Do not keep your feet on the sofa!" OR "Do not shout when someone is speaking on a phone call!" OR "Do not walk on the wet floor when someone is mopping!"—and the list goes on.

Sarthak, our ten-year-old son, watched him profoundly. And then, he watched me. He watched my ignorance. My smile—which did not suit me in such a situation, Sarthak kept thinking.

The fun continued until the rendezvous ended with a delicious ice cream party. Finally, the guests were gone. Minutes later, we heard Sarthak speak.

"I did not like the way their son behaved. Why didn't you say anything to him?" Sarthak asked me in dismay.

"If it was me, you would have thrashed me by now," he continued, reading my face while waiting for an explanation.

"We were their hosts, son! It would have been rude to scold someone who came to visit us," I said, trying to control the situation.

"Were we the hosts? Because he was behaving like a parasite!" Sarthak burst out laughing, and his elder sister joined right in.

I was flabbergasted, utterly unable to speak further.