Howard Roark

The only hobby that I really have, in spite of quoting several in networking sites, is reading. Barring a couple of exceptions, I have never read the same book again. One of the books I cannot resist revisiting again and again is 'The Fountainhead', the classic by Ayn Rand.

Yesterday, I finished the book for the 'n'th time. As always, it left me dazed; the sheer boldness of the ideas and the presentation of such intangible thoughts have always mesmerized me, to say the least. As always, Howard Roark, the protagonist of the book captivated me, totally.

For years, Howard Roark has been one of the most popular characters in the world. Back in the days when the agents working in an Indian BPO had to take an American pseudonym to appeal more to their Western clients, Howard Roark was the most sought after name.

For the uninformed, Howard Roark is a brilliant young architect of the modern school, whose bold and innovative designs are rejected by large segments of society. He believes in the merit of his revolutionary designs and has the courage to stand for them in the face of an antagonistic society. He is presented as the author’s version of an ideal man — one who embodies the virtues of Ayn Rand’s Objectivist philosophy.

Roark is the antithesis of contemporary belief that an individual is molded by social forces. He is not the product of his upbringing, his economic class, his family, his religious training, or his social background. He is a product of the choices he has made.

Roark is an example of free will — the theory that an individual has the power, by virtue of the choices he makes, to control the outcome of his own life. A man’s thinking and values are not controlled by God or fate or society or any external factor — but solely by his own choice. Others (like Peter Keating) may choose to submit, but Roark will not. He is his own man. He is a brilliant thinker and he acts on his thinking. He is not a hypocrite.


This got me thinking. What if, Roark, retaining all of his other characteristics, had not been brilliant? Could he have afforded to live like he did? What would he have achieved even if he had lived the way he did, had he not been the best in his profession? Simply put, can a lesser intellectual mortal hope to be a Roark?

I had a classmate (let’s call him R) in my MBA. R was 22 years old, the youngest in our class. Nobody in the class really knew him let alone be friends with him. Even the professors, for some reason, always ignored him. In fact, we realized his existence only when, one day in the second month of our first term, the finance professor made fun of him with his mid term answer paper. You see, we were asked to calculate the net returns on two investment schemes and suggest which of them was better. There were fairly complicated formulae involved and my solution which had received ten out of ten was three pages long.

R gave the solution (unfortunately, the wrong one) in two lines flat. It did not involve any numbers or calculations; it was in plain English and based on simple logic. When our professor asked him about the calculations, he said that there was no need of any. There was a considerable mockery of him, but he did not react or accept that his solution was preposterous. He reasoned that even with using all the formulae of the text book methodology, the final answer could still have been wrong. The same way, his approach and logic had not been incorrect. But the final result went astray due to a bad assumption he had made.

I cannot help but compare R with Rand's Roark. Like Roark, R was shockingly original. He always presented something very novel and revolutionary. He was subjected to considerable degradation and humiliation. Others either avoided him totally or tried to help him, which R always refused. He was considered arrogant, brainless and lazy. Still, he refused to yield to others' standards of academic excellence. He always stood for what he represented and at no point of time, betrayed any of his ideals. He was a very sharp contrast to some others who seemed to shine the professors’ shoes for research assistantships and scholarships.

But, was he brilliant like Roark? Well, if he was, he certainly did not seem so. Throughout the two years of MBA, R was always at the bottom of the class. Not even in a single course, did he manage at least a ‘B’. His CGPA was 5.67 (out of 10), the least in our class. Even in extra curricular activities, he never stood out. The last I heard of him, he was doing a distance course in psychology and working in a C rated B school as a part time instructor for 'Business Strategy'. A very mediocre life with no achievements of any sort, at all. Therefore, I am forced to conclude that he is not an intellectually gifted individual.

In 'The Fountainhead', Roark says that man has always been an independent thinker and all the progress of the world has been brought by independent and original thinking. Roark, himself, was brilliant and the best architect among the lot. Therefore, he was able to make a difference to himself as well as to the society. He could erect some architectural marvels which were hailed as the best by certain sections of the society. Thus, he got an opportunity to put forth what he practiced. But what about the lesser intelligent people? Can they afford to live like Roark? Even if they do, what do they gain out of it? How do they contribute to the society? In my previous example, what did R gain? What did the society, at large, gain from him? In such a case, is it not more worthwhile to, maybe, live like a Peter Keating or a Toohey? Why not?

History has given us many achievers. People resembling all the four principal characters of 'The Fountainhead' – Keating, Toohey, Wynand and Roark have contributed immensely to the way we live today. They were successful; many of them went to become immensely rich, most of them changed the way people were living. In my opinion, therefore, it might be wrong for everyone to try living like Roark. Not everyone can benefit out of it. Not everyone is advised to do it.

Girl at the bus stop - Part II

I try not to appear too thrilled at the prospect of having a coffee with her. Inwardly, I am beaming like a little kid who came across an abandoned ten rupee note. I pause a moment as if to evaluate whether my busy schedule can accommodate a cup of coffee. Then I say, “Sure, where to?” She points across the road and says, “Over there”. I shrug and we start walking towards it. I think of a hundred ways to start a conversation but cannot zero on one. She seems absorbed in something and does not talk either. We cross the road amidst blaring horns and the mad rush of vehicles. She holds my arm lightly and my heart beat doubles. She releases it as soon as soon as we are at the other side of the road and for a fraction of a second, I am stupidly sad that the road is not wider.

“My boyfriend once said that I can cause traffic jams. Now, I know, he was lying.” “What?” I am flabbergasted. She smiles, revealing her lovely teeth. “I said somebody once said I can stall traffic at my will.” “You said your boyfriend had said it”, I say accusingly. I try with all my might to force a smile on my face, but it simply wouldn’t come. She shrugs indifferently. “My ex, actually. It lasted very short.” “Oh, I am sorry”, I manage to lie. She lifts her eyes, “Oh, don’t be. I am not. He was an annoying prick.” “So, what about your current boyfriend? Hope he is a gentleman.” I congratulate myself for phrasing it so intelligently. Surely, she would have to reveal whether she is with someone or not, now. Predictably, she says, “Well, I don’t have one now”, she shrugs again. Before I can say something, she continues, “So the lady is on prowl again.” We both laugh.

I guess that breaks ice and over the coffee at the road side, we start talking more uninhibitedly. I gently enquire about her family and she rolls her eyes. “Nosy, aren’t you?” I give my sweetest smile and manage to find out that her father is in some government service (I forget the specifics), her mother is a homemaker and she has an elder brother who works in Delhi. We finish our coffee and she thanks me for my company. “Oh, no formalities please.” I say magnanimously and she smiles. This brings our small date to an end.

That night, as I lay down mulling over the day’s events, strangely, I cannot think of anything else other than her. She definitely is the girl of my dreams. Calm, confident and self assuring. Wow, what a girl. And, she surely must like me too, the probability of it being towards the north of 99%. Else, she would never have asked me for coffee. I convince myself that she did it only to get an opportunity to talk to me. To know me and let me know about her. Else, she could definitely have had the damn coffee in her office, if she really wanted it. What could be the motive behind her rushing to the bus stop in spite of a ‘splitting headache’, as she had put it, and then wasting 15 minutes in a shackled tea stall on the side of the road? To talk to me, of course.

And that gripping of the shoulder while crossing the road. How can I forget that? She had said that she was born and raised in Bangalore. Said that she spent close to two decades of her life in that city and also knew all the prominent food joints and discos of the city. She must have crossed busy roads millions of times before. Why then, did she need to hold on to me?

And that short talk about her boyfriend. I remember a little incident in my office, a couple of weeks old. In a conversation with my boss, he had asked me whether I have a girlfriend or not. Though in not so many words, I had made it very clear to him that it is none of his business. And here she is, confiding in an almost total stranger, about her love life. Why would she do it, unless for an ulterior motive? Surely, both of these incidents relate, don’t they?

Am I in love? It sure looks that way. And the million dollar question is; is she attracted to me? She sure is, screamed the whole of my heart and a part of my brain. Yes, she is; I convince myself again. I could see that in her eyes, in the way she was talking to me. Oh, we have a cute little love story. A love story that started in a sultry bus stop of Chennai. Leading to… who knows? I decide to get closer to her. Find out more about her; try to make her accept me as a friend, the best, if possible. Maybe, start seeing her too. And finally propose to her.

I will first ask for her phone number. Will call her this weekend. Invite her to a movie. Better, call her for a shopping spree. No girl can resist it. Yes, that’s it. Will get her phone number tomorrow.

Suddenly, a wave of euphoria sweeps over me and with the image of the girl at the bus stop before my eyes, I become oblivious of the world around me.

Girl at bus stop - Part I

“You too are late today”, she says. “I know”, I reply. “My boss wanted to talk to a client just when I was about to leave and I had to stay back for it. How was your day?” “Fine, today I finished my piece of code and released it for testing. I hope the testers get kind. Else I am screwed”, she says. I cannot think of any suitable reply so I just say “Good”. She starts to say something else when the bus numbered 60 is spotted. I also notice it but pretend as if the bus never existed. “Ho… you are lucky. Here comes your bus.” “Oh, lots of people inside. I think I will take the next”, say I. “No, silly. The people standing inside are getting down. There are even seats available. Bye and have a good time”, she sings gaily.

I try to smile at her, curse the bus driver and make a deliberate slow walk hoping that the bus leaves before I get in. But the bus conductor sees me (bad), recognizes me (worse) and blows his whistle indicating to the driver to stop (worst). I board on the bus, turn around and find her smiling and waving at me. I too do the same and settle down beside a window.

I had first met her six months ago. It was my first day in Chennai and like all the people in Chennai who don’t speak Tamil; I was having a horrendous time. None speak Hindi and few, English. I found her in the bus stop, arms folded, cool and composed, looking confident of anything and everything. She did not look like a Tamilian and with the earphones on, was probably listening to FM radio. I asked, “Mount Road, bus no.?” I did not want to speak good English as I found that it embarrasses people who are not fluent at it. She removed the earphones and said, “That is ok, I speak English.” I said, “Oh, I am sorry. I just wanted to know which buses go to the Mount Road from here.” “60”, she said. “There are also a couple of others but I am not sure. Plenty of 60 s on the road, though. Look, there comes one.” Impulsively, I turn around and made a dash for it. Only a little later, I realized I did not even thank her. How mean it must have looked. I thought I would make it up if I meet her again.

It was again around a month later when I met her again. I was there in the bus stop desperately trying to shake off a guy who wanted me to buy some Tamil books. It was then that she appeared. “Mount Road, bus no.?” she said smiling. “Hey, hi. How are you? Long time, no see?” I greeted her like an old friend. I did not really intend to be so informal but the words had come out tumbling. “Doing good. So you recognized me?” she said. “Why, of course. Did not see you for quite some time. Were you out of town or something?” I enquired as politely as I could. “Actually yes. I was in Mumbai. Was working at the client site for a short while. So, got used to Chennai?” she asked.

I weighed upon the question a little. If I say no, I could take the opportunity to ask her something about Chennai and our conversation and acquaintanceship might grow. On the other hand, if I say yes, I might appeal to her as a confident and a capable person. I decided to take on a middle path and diplomatically said, “A little. Actually decent enough, but not very well though. So you are here everyday?” “At almost the same time. Between 7:00 and 7:30.” She seemed quite outspoken and looked comfortable. I liked her attitude. Her poise and grace. Her self assuring manner. No unsolicited bashfulness. Yet, so Indian. No airs or hint of arrogance, yet cool, calm and so confident of herself.

Over the next few weeks, I met her more often. I started looking forward to our brief meetings. Each not more than five minutes at the most. Some days, I missed my buses to meet her. Would wait for 15 – 20 minutes for her. Every time we met, it was always I who would have come to the bus stop first. Nevertheless, I was happy, took her for what she was, a stranger girl in the bus stop providing my otherwise boring, insipid life with a little life and romance.

Today is the first day when I find her in the bus stop before me. Is she waiting for me, missing a couple of buses in the process? The thought, in itself, is so heartwarming that I smile. I do not have a way of knowing it for sure so I believe it is true. “So, what’s up? You look great today”, she says. I smile and say, “You too”. She winks and says, “I know”. Then a brief silence as we both watch a fat policeman stop a mid size truck before asking for papers. I start to think hard. How do I proceed further than ‘Hi, how are you? How was your day? Bye.’ How do I get to know more of her? Abruptly, “Say, would you care for a cup of coffee? I have a splitting headache and I am badly in need of caffeine.”



(To be continued...)