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“What is your point?” is a pointless question unless it is a pointed question. More often than not, it is asked after missing the point entirely. The real confusion begins when the repartee itself is blunt, with no point to pierce the discussion. It is like sharpening a pencil that has no lead inside—an exercise in futility, but pursued with great seriousness. And so, we continue to look for points in places where there are none, only to discover that even when you appear sharp, people may still tell you, “There was no point.”
So how good can a point be if, at the end of the day, you are told there was no point?
The paradox of the point lies in its versatility. A point can be sharp, blunt, valid, moot, or simply beside the point. It can be made, missed, stretched, or taken. It can come to a head as a breaking point, or be lost entirely in a meeting where everyone drones on without one. Sometimes a person “has a point” but makes it so badly that the point itself becomes pointless. At other times, people make a point with such force that everyone forgets what the point actually was.
In politics, points are collected like souvenirs. Opposition parties make points, ruling parties miss points, and bureaucrats spend their careers ensuring no point ever reaches its destination. In fact, Sir Humphrey Appleby of Yes Minister fame could turn a simple point into a five-page memorandum so full of other points that the original point was buried under layers of pointed irrelevance.
In arguments, points are weapons. A “good point” is like a rapier thrust. A “cheap point” is more like a slap with a rubber chicken. A “scoring point” can win you the battle, though not necessarily the war. And of course, when all else fails, someone will inevitably raise “the point of order,” which is usually to point out that someone else is out of order.
Then there is the social art of making a point without making a point. This is a talent most often seen in polite company, where people speak at length while ensuring they say nothing of consequence. Dinner parties thrive on this. Long speeches are delivered, and when the poor listener finally asks, “But what was the point?” the orator triumphantly replies, “Ah, but that was the point!”
Life, too, is riddled with points that aren’t really points. Philosophers ask, “What is the point of existence?” Economists ask, “What is the point of growth if it doesn’t trickle down?” Children ask, “What’s the point of homework?” Teenagers ask, “What’s the point of parents?” And parents ask, “What’s the point of teenagers?” In each case, the question is more entertaining than the answer.
The English language adds to the fun by scattering points everywhere. Compass points, decimal points, bullet points, PowerPoint slides—all designed to clarify, and yet more often they obscure. A presentation with too many bullet points is like a firing squad: you are shot down by information, without ever knowing what the target was. Decimal points, meanwhile, are the difference between earning ₹5.00 and ₹500.0—proof that a single point can make all the difference.
And then, of course, there is sport, where points are life itself. A team wins by scoring points, yet the post-match analysis always insists that the important thing was not the points scored but the “point of the game.” Fans then argue endlessly, missing the point while claiming to defend it.
But perhaps the sharpest irony is this: whenever someone dismisses your effort by saying, “There is no point,” it usually means you have made the most important point of all. For what is life if not a grand exercise in making points where none were expected, finding meaning where none was intended, and discovering humour where seriousness was assumed?
So, the next time someone asks, “What’s your point?” smile politely. Tell them the point is that there is no point, and that is precisely the point. If they frown, you may add, “But you do have a point in thinking I have no point.” This ensures that the conversation continues to circle around itself endlessly, like a compass spinning without a North—pointing everywhere and nowhere at once.
And perhaps that, after all, is the whole point.
Col KL Viswanathan
(The author is an Indian Army veteran and a contemporary affairs commentator. The views are personal. He can be reached at kl.viswanathan@gmail.com )
These pieces are being published as they have been received – they have not been edited/fact-checked by ThePrint.