Windowpane showcases the writing of the Clear Writing Community. Click here to learn more.
by Aaradhana Dalmia
Can we describe someone as being a casual liar? Someone who lies about small, seemingly meaningless, unimportant things, yet who would never lie about the big things, who values fidelity, truth, ethics. Posting happy pictures on unhappy days, not hurtful pictures and tweets with unqualified claims.
I have a compulsion. I’ll lie to you about whether I had dessert with lunch or how many cups of coffee I’ve consumed. I may say I have been home when I’ve been out all day. I even convince myself that the new series, the old rom-com, the stand-up comics are worth the time my eyeballs stare at them for. Leaving out information or details helps me deal with the act of having to explain. This has all worked fine, until now.
I am a mother now and I find myself flummoxed when I attempt casual lies with my child. I make excuses for not moving away from my laptop (even when I’m watching mindless videos and shows) to avoid playing with him on many afternoons, and he will give me a smile, sometimes insist, and on many days lie on my lap. I freeze. What just happened here? Why did he not ask for an explanation? How can he see my bluff and not call me out?
I even lie to my partner about small things in our daily life. Was I working or sleeping, working out or scrolling? Did I go get a drink or a coffee? He doesn’t seem to care. Do I find the ability to do this thrilling, and that’s why I continue doing it? But his reactions do not make me pause like my kid’s did.
Digging deeper, I try and go back to where it may have started. Why are these minute lies so thrilling? It started in my teens, when I would find it easier to lie than explain myself to parents who seemed to think there was always a problem they could fix. I began skipping and omitting. I became a master storyteller. Good grades helped. My stories held more weight. I could spend the night at a friend’s, be out clubbing without her and with other friends and acquaintances, get my parents to have me picked up from a café the next morning after breakfast and manage to escape unscathed. To every question they had trying to unravel the night, I had convincing answers.
I do not live with my parents anymore. I do not need to lie about the bigger stuff. In my subconscious mind the habit lingers. And I lie here and there. Will I escape the consequences of this casual lying? Do I need to wait for the day it even this becomes something so complex that everything I cherish may fall apart? I’ll look like a hideous hypocrite.
If this is a habit, I am beginning to think it is probably chipping away at my self-esteem and I have not even realized it. What else am I lying about? My state of mind, my ambitions, my desires, maybe everything.
A pair of eager and loving eyes look up at me, dragging me to play. This is real, I hope.
***
Aaradhana Dalmia is a PhD scholar of Sociology at the Delhi School of Economics. Her research interests are in the areas of environment, cities, governance and archives. You can follow her on Twitter here.
Subscribe to Windowpane — it’s free!
And do check out Amit Varma’s online course, The Art of Clear Writing.