Age does not matter when it comes to talking about childhood aspirations, says our columnist Suresh Menon.

Suresh Menon is a writer based in India. In his youth he set out to change the world but later decided to leave it as it is

Iwrote my first book – started it, actually – at the age of 10 or 11. It was a book on history. I remember the first sentence – I am not sure I had a lot beyond that. “Much of ancient Indian history is lost,” I wrote, probably reflecting the thoughts of a history teacher in school. Also expressing the hope that it would remain lost at least till the exams were done. Perhaps I did the field an enormous favour by not following through on that early urge (it had not yet matured into ambition).

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” That was the most common question I was asked in childhood. I didn’t know the answer then, and I still don’t know the answer now. But it was a question that put enormous pressure on children. The right answer those days seemed to be “doctor” or “engineer”. You said one of those things and the questioner retreated, satisfied that you were on the right track. Even as a child I was certain I didn’t want to be either of those things – a gene inherited by my son – but there was safety in the expected answer.

It was only later that I altered my technique. For a while I gave different answers to different people: lawyer, actor (leading to a quick intake of breath and a rolling of the yes by the aunt or uncle concerned), cricketer, businessman and so on. Then I made up professions to confuse the issue: tree lawyer, car professor, animal engineer. It was fun to watch people recoil. No one wanted to come across as ignorant so no one asked what these nonsense terms actually meant.

I was reminded of all this when I met a child recently and promptly asked him, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The words tumbled out before I could control myself. The question I had hated so much had now escaped my own lips. It was as if the head of Amnesty International had been caught torturing a student. It was embarrassing. For one, I had no interest in the answer, it was just polite conversation. For another, if he had answered “serial killer”, what should I have done? Gone to the police?

Do we repeat behaviour patterns in adult life that we detested as a child? Or is the “what do you want to be…” question embedded so deeply in our DNA that everyone above a certain age has to ask it of everyone below a certain age?

The child’s answer was original, though. “I don’t want to grow up,” he said. And he walked away, while I crawled away.