My Brain Has a Mind of Its Own

I have finally accepted an uncomfortable truth. My brain behaves differently depending on who is standing in front of me. With my parents, both in their eighties, my brain is expected to be obedient. It tries. Occasionally, it rebels.

My mother, for instance, will say, “It is cold. Wear a sweater.”

“You are feeling cold. Why should I wear a sweater?”

Fortunately, my mother can no longer use the most powerful weapon in her arsenal, “You will understand when you have children of your own.”

I am a senior citizen, not Gen Z. My children have long crossed the Gen Z stage. They are perfectly capable adults, with careers, opinions and strong views about practically everything. Around them, my brain immediately changes departments.

The moment I hear, “Mum, I have a problem…”

Before I can say a word, comes the familiar warning-

“Please don’t give advice. Just listen.”

For approximately forty-five seconds, I manage to remain quiet.

Then my brain whispers, But I know exactly what should be done.

I ignore it and continue listening. And then, when I think I have achieved emotional maturity, I hear my own voice saying-

“You know, when I was your age…”

Fortunately, my mouth has recently negotiated a peace treaty with my brain. It shuts down immediately. My brain is perfectly happy with this arrangement: no accusations, no constitutional crisis, no derogatory titles.

With friends, however, the constitution is suspended altogether.

Not just the brain. The knees, back, digestion and blood pressure are also ignored.

There is, however, one particular species of brain that fascinates me: the outsourced brain.

This type of brain appears to have taken early retirement, complete with full pension benefits. It is deeply committed to its opinions, fiercely loyal to its political camp and, most impressively, determined never to allow a fact to interfere with either. It receives fresh instructions every morning, neatly packaged and delivered through television debates, WhatsApp forwards, social media posts and loud speeches.

Facts are optional.

Thinking is outsourced.

Now and then, a politician says something so gloriously strange that I wonder whether the brain has been outsourced completely. The statement may make little sense, contradict something said yesterday or require a particularly creative interpretation. Yet somewhere, almost immediately, an army of people appears to explain why it is perfectly sensible. And that is when I realise, perhaps, the real political achievement is not making people agree with you. It is making them stop thinking long enough to defend you.

I sometimes envy the outsourced brain. What freedom! No troublesome questions. No uncertainty. No need to examine an argument when someone else has already supplied the conclusion. My brain, unfortunately, is not so cooperative. It questions instructions. It asks inconvenient questions. It refuses to accept every statement simply because it has been delivered confidently, repeatedly or in capital letters. A thinking brain can be terribly inconvenient, especially in a world where agreement is often valued more than questions.

Mine is, therefore, dangerously thoughtful. And I rather like it that way. At this age, I have earned the right to have a brain that doesn’t always follow orders, even if I have to negotiate with it every morning. The only problem is that I cannot even give my brain a proper political label. It refuses to declare loyalty to any camp. It doesn’t take instructions from the Left, the Right, the Centre, or even the family WhatsApp group.

My dimaag has survived parents, children, marriage, friends, television debates and WhatsApp University.

It does occasionally behave like a dimaagi…

Which, I suppose, is another way of saying that it is still capable of thinking for itself.

At my age, that feels less like rebellion and more like a small victory.