CHILDREN, CHACHAN IS GIVING UP

 

“You need others’ help to succeed, but not to fail. CHACHAN THOTTU, MAKKALE,” the old man standing before us declared. 

Mr Mathew, whom people fondly called Chachan, was part of the group with whom I toured Vietnam and Cambodia. In Malayalam, Chachan Thottu, Makkale, means, “Chachan is giving up, dear children.” Some Malayalam expressions risk losing their warmth, character, and actual feel when translated. 

When the 78-year-old introduced himself that way during the ice-breaking session on our bus journey in Vietnam, his words struck me. I felt they came from something far deeper than the obvious. The itinerary was packed, and we hardly had time for personal conversations. But I could not wait to find out. What could have prompted him to say that? Barely had I unpacked and settled down after returning to India when I telephoned Mr Mathew. 

Our conversation lasted about 15 minutes.  

Mr Mathew was a surveyor by profession and had been instrumental in settling disputes between landowners in his native place. When neighbours are dependent solely on their land for a living, disputes and quarrels are natural. Land disputes can turn violent, especially when livelihoods are at stake. Mathew was known as an unbiased surveyor, and the police often called him to settle disputes. Mediation is not easy, especially when each party involved believed that its perception of the situation was the only truth. Many times, one or both parties accused him of being partisan and would resort to violence. He had been assaulted, abused and even stabbed. 

Chachan is a farmer by instinct and calling. His book, “Plan Cheyyu, Plant Chayyu” (Plan and plant) in Malayalam, is about his experience with land and what it can yield. He now owns a large farm. When the farm ran into difficulties, he diversified and started a homestay project. He even gifted a few of us, winners of impromptu competitions during the tour, a stay in his cottages for free. 

How I wished I was one of them!  

Chachan had seen poverty, experienced hardships, but today is comfortably well off and travels often. His wife, on the other hand, prefers to stay home, spending her time praying and tending to the farm.

“With all this success, why such a negative thought?” I asked. 

“Differences in perception and opinion are at the heart of many interpersonal conflicts,” Chachan said.  “Without realising it, and certainly not deliberately, our egos begin to dictate our positions in any situation. Perhaps that is simply how we human beings are naturally. We see situations only from our own perspective and begin to believe that what we see is the truth — and therefore, we are right. The long-term impact on our lives becomes secondary to the need for an immediate victory. Small daily victories make us believe that we are on a winning streak. One thing leads to another until it becomes our nature, and we hardly realise how far we have gone. Often, turning back is no longer easy. Being right becomes less important than being seen the winner.”

I could not help but agree. 

“In matters of dispute, there are always spectators. They may or may not be visible,” Chachan said.  “Unwittingly, people are performing for those they think are watching. The shouting, abusing, theatrics, or even violence are tools to impress others. They believe that this is how their position can be established. Yet, in many cases, their position may have little to do with what is right or true. That is when a strange thing happens. The issue itself becomes secondary. What matters is not whether the claim is right, but whether one can emerge looking victorious. For them, winning becomes proof that their perception was right.”

“Sometimes, the wisest thing a person can do is walk away,” Chachan said.

“The decision to give up, knowing fully well that the other person is being difficult, illogical or irrational, may seem to be a defeat or loss to the spectators. Such an attitude could invite losses. Yet in the long run, it pays.” 

As we talked, I could recall many—some who walked away from me and many more from whom I walked away. I cannot say who was right. I still believe I was right and had done my best. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't. I have lost many such battles and have won peace. After all, not every battle is worth winning. But some of them whom I let go or walked away from were part of me.

As we said bye and I put my phone down, it dawned on me that what Chachan had said was not about giving up in defeat. It was a mantra for success. Success often requires people to help us. Failure, however, needs no assistance. Ego, anger, stubbornness and the desperate need to win are quite sufficient. 

Note: The picture is of a stele in the Temple of Literature, Hanoi