I’ve always believed we have little control over how other people perceive us. Now I am convinced we are just as helpless when it comes to our own impressions.
My husband and I were flying from Dubai to New York for a well-earned holiday last month. Potentially, the 14-hour journey gave me a chance to put on an ingenious thinking cap and let my imagination soar as high as the plane I was in. Yet, here I was stuck in a random train of thought, which seemed to chug along with a mind of its own.
My prayers complete after a thankfully smooth take-off, I had settled into my seat when the lady on my right wanted to know why my husband and I were not sitting together, but across each other on two aisle seats. Her question amused me but I could understand where she was coming from: an “elderly” woman with a stereotypical point of view.
“Actually Aunty,” I found myself addressing her, “We specially asked for aisle seats because of the extra room that comes with them. We even paid a premium for our seats.”
I couldn’t tell whether she approved of it or not. But it didn’t matter. She began talking about herself and in due course, I learnt a lot about her: she was a housewife from a small Indian town and was visiting relatives in New Jersey with her husband who, needless to say, sat right next to her. They had a son and daughter, both married and well-settled. They were also proud grandparents, with two grandsons. “Now that my responsibilities are over, I have a lot of time on my hands and want to travel before I get too old,” she said.
“Fair enough, Aunty,” I replied. She was a good neighbour to have on a long flight. Her initial curiosity quenched, she was not intrusive. Nor for that matter, a compulsive talker. She sought my help to get a movie going and soon became engrossed in the surreal mythological film she chose.
I have no idea how time flew. But when I emerged from a snooze, we were less than an hour from our destination.
“Aunty, did you manage to get some rest?” I asked.
“As one ages, it becomes increasingly difficult to sleep,” she said.
“What is your age Aunty?” I prodded, throwing all etiquette to the winds.
“Fifty two,” came the reply, leaving me dumbstruck.
“What about you?” I could hear her asking me.
Now how could I possibly tell her I was a peer? What on earth had prompted me to call her ‘Aunty’? How dare I? Trying desperately to recover from the self-inflicted shock, I hurriedly cut back my years and managed a “forty two” mumble.
The white lie, I hoped, would go as unnoticed as the camouflaged white on my head. Aunty - oops, the lady by my side - was nonplussed. Our conversation ended as a public announcement by the pilot said it was time for the plane’s descent. But as far as I was concerned, I had just crash-landed. My mind had a mind of its own.
