“Oh, you’re such a genius!”
These are words I have heard more than once
in my life. Although their content is quite flattering, but somehow the way
that they are delivered imply that the speaker is not being fully honest. There
is a hint, a tinge of sarcasm, irony, even.
Such comments are quite often also followed
up with a statement to the effect of “You think you are quite clever, do you?”
– My response, that I don’t, really, but people keep telling me that I am a
genius, is then normally met with either an ‘all is forgiven’ laugh, or a toss
of the pony tail and walk away, depending on the person and the circumstances.
What, then, is a genius? How does one
measure geniosity? Is the ability to make up words as one goes along a symptom
of geniciousness? If so, then I would probably qualify. However, many people
set great store by getting a certain score in one of those “find out how clever
you are by telling us how many dots should appear on the next domino in this
sequence” books, available at your local redhi
waala for a small consideration. I did one of those tests back when I was
about 8 and there was only one channel on television, and remember my score
being above average but not quite making the genius grade. So much for tests
telling you how smart you are.
Its like intelligence is a disease, to be
measured and marked and then treated accordingly. “Sir, normal limits for I.Q.
are between 120 and 145. your current I.Q. stands at 165, which is in the
danger zone. Anything above 180, and you are severe danger of developing
Subdural Genioma of the Marzipan. We prescribe that you immediately cut out any
books which are not thoroughly recommended to you as the latest fad reading
from your diet, and take one Mithun Chakraborthy film a day with water before
going to bed.”
Knowledge of Ancient Greek, Vulcan and
Elvish may get you cachet in certain (extremely geeky) circles, but would
probably be of limited use on a desert island. You know, the type with a single
palm tree and a beach, and sharks in the water. That is where you need a
different kind of intelligence. Firstly, you would need the intelligence to not
put yourself in a position to be on an island which happens to be outside the
delivery zone of any of the major fast food chains, and doesn’t even house a
boutique hotel with a personal butler to respond to your every need.
Failing that, you need McGyver-Q. remember
that TV show? It used to come on PTV in the 1980s. That guy was amazing. Put
him in a room full of all kinds of random junk, and before you could say “Damn!
That was fast!” he would have fashioned himself a bullet proof vest, flame
thrower and cookie oven with which to vanquish his enemies. OK, so maybe the cookie
oven was to woo the damsel in distress in this episode once the vanquishing had
been done, but you get the general thrust of things.
Although I have to say that I was always
slightly suspicious of how the barn/attic/garage where he found himself always
had just the things needed in that particular situation. He never had a moment
of “Oh, this would be handy if I was being chased by a band of Polynesian Head
Hunting pygmies, but is completely useless to my current predicament of being
chased by Mongol Head Hunting horsemen. It is like those shows on the cooking
channels where the Chef at Home decides to just pull something together out of
thin air and always has the exact ingredients in his larder for a beautiful and
delicious looking three course meal for his family as well as the guests who
happen to ‘drop in’. I suspect that in both cases the Hand of God is at work in
making sure that the right ingredients are in the right place or, failing that,
the Hand of The Assistant Prop Supervisor.
[As an aside, McGyver-Q may be a phrase that is on its way to
obsolescence, just the way that “Submarine Roundabout” has all-but-done. This
phrase is like to be replaced by the term “Grylls Intelligence”, named after
the famous survival expert, grub eater and sometime khakis model.]
But I digress, a luxury one can ill-afford, what with attention spans being what they are. I guess the point of improvisational
cooking shows is to teach the world an important life lesson: there is an
element of genius in all of us and, given the right environment and circumstances,
each of us can manifest this. Take for example the mother who manages to get
three children up, washed, breakfasted and ready for school on time every day.
If that does not take a level of genius in multitasking, then surely there must
be some Dark Magic afoot.
And then there is what one of my sisters
call ‘emotional intelligence’; another Dark Art from what I can gather.
Apparently, I don’t possess much of it, so am unable to decipher the Secret
Language of The Opposite Sex, despite reading several forwarded emails that
purport to teach you exactly that.
So what, then, is a genius? Is it someone
very good at maths, very good at deciphering picture puzzles, very good at
changing several diapers in rapid succession, or none of the above? I am quite
inclined to think that it is more like all of the above. Or rather, any of the
above. So the next time someone crosses their arms at you, taps their foot, and
tells you in a stern tone that you are SUCH a genius, take the comment in its
spirit. Smile, nod in a germane manner, and thank them for the complement. For
you truly are, in some way or another.
Originally published in Dawn, Jan 2009.
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