Alibi to a weakness

I often wonder why God created that tiny little throbbing which we call conscience. It takes pleasure in constantly behaving like a nagging wife and never stops questioning whether you like it or not. If I did something wrong why does it monitor? Everyone knows, when the time comes I would be answerable to all my stupidities at the proper forum – whether in heaven or hell. But why on earth this tiny tyrant makes my life miserable now? Yesterday I felt like hearing- this person remained consistently irresponsible all the time. Oh my God it is terrible. For heaven sake, find some pleasant words to describe my activities. But that monster would not listen to any such thing.  I implored myself a dozen times- it cannot be true, can it be? The answer was faint and feeble. I could not make out what it means.

Most of us love to lead our life in our own way. We patent our information to masquerade as knowledge but conveniently forget it to be illusory. By the time realization dawns on- all our life seems to have been spent in meaningless exercises ending in sweet nothings. There would be absolutely no hope to retrace the steps back to start life all over again. How frustrating it sounds! And lo wisdom remains as elusive as it was from the beginning! The more I think of it the more I suffer. Having confessed all these to my inner soul I earnestly asked-did I lack sincerity in pursuing what I believed?  There was no answer and the only sound that emanates is a treacherous silence. Yes, silence has music of its own.

I had to immerse myself in Eliot to console myself-
“Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?

  Where is the knowledge we have lost in information.”

Still there was no answer. I left the ruminating at that thinking it was time I focused my vision on what is happening rather than what happened.

 At last the monsoon has arrived providing much awaited relief from the scorching heat. The trees have started looking lush green with glistening rain drops oozing out from leaves which were considered lack lustre only a couple of days back but the cuckoos have stopped singing as if to reiterate –if someone begins to laugh, someone somewhere else stops. Is it to justify the terrible stability of the world? Well, I am a novice if I didn't know.

Recently I read my friend’s blog and found he had kept a notebook of his earlier years reflecting his thoughts at different times. Once he suffered from severe throat infection and apprehending serious ailment he scribbled some lines which were very poetic. I enjoyed the poems; however I didn't ask him who the ‘she’ in his scribbling. Inspiration can be real or imaginary and I believe a writer is entitled to his privacy.

Raja Parba in mid-June is a four day celebration in our State marking the beginning of the agricultural year. The sun dried soil gets drenched with first monsoon rain to make it productive and people rejoice the days with indoor and out door games. Girls play swings singing Raja-doli songs. People living in urban areas may not feel the intensity of its celebration but we felt it in our villages in our child-hood days. Today incidentally is the Pahili Raja-the first day of Raja festival. Women are given a break from household works for three days. Unfortunately my culinary expertise is miserably limited to preparing raw tea and like every year my wife would again have to compromise her customary break. I feel sad for my incompetence but then why didn't she ascertain the expertise before marriage? Nobody denied her that right or was she too shy to ask? ‘Niskama karma’ or the desire less action is the central message of “Bhagavad-Gita”. She has read it many times. I am sure I don’t have to remind her to find what it means.

   

  

  

 

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Misplaced adventure

Yesterday I had a cute and exciting visitor- the daughter of my cousin who I imagine must be around two years old but how swiftly she assumed the role of an unhesitating boss! On arrival she took my wife to a corner and whispered in her ears, ‘give me hot mixture ’. My wife obliged but after tasting a few she declared it to be sub-standard and demanded, ‘give me some gravy instead’. It was well past lunch time, so my wife was apologetic but promised that a full mug would be categorically kept reserved in her next visit. The answer probably didn't satisfy her. She snatched the pen from her grandfather’s shirt pocket and apprehending further assault I smartly offered a piece of paper. She started scribbling on the paper with occasional shouts ‘don’t disturb’. The small child, like all children wanted to impress us. While scribbling she had a tricky glance both ways with intermittent twinkling of her eye to ensure unstinting attention of the onlookers. The behavior was amazing and as pristine as the first water. In my mind’s eye I could not believe, once upon a time I was a small kid too. Time has either deformed me or is deformed by me.

A piece of writing can be corrected or revised. Words uttered are impossible to retrieve but with some effort and if need be with apology, can be amended but life does not offer a second chance to get back the days lost in the wilderness. I often tease my better half by saying ‘I didn't prove to be a good husband since it is my first marriage and I lacked experience. Given a second chance I could prove to be a gem’. ‘What?’ she shouts back angrily but I disappear before she collects her missiles.

The other day she was unhappy that the ceiling fans were looking dirty because of poor maintenance. Most women take pride in keeping the house shining. The next day, when she was busy in the kitchen I took up her cause and started cleaning the fans. She was alarmed when she saw me on the desk top cleaning the blades with Colin and screamed, ‘a person had a fatal fall while cleaning the fans in your fashion’. I calmed her by saying, ‘look honey, I had escaped unhurt in unbelievable circumstances. Don’t scare me on these silly efforts.’  Then I narrated my misadventure during my teen age.

My father had three guns; two rifles and a shot-gun with valid licences. In those days gun licences were issued both for sports and protection.  Because of long association I was able to handle guns efficiently. A friend of mine, who was three years senior to me, used his father’s double-barreled gun occasionally. I remember, it was my second year in the college. My friend suggested we visit the nearby hillock to explore wild life. I was as adventurous as any young man of my age and agreed instantly. His younger brother, who was incidentally my classmate and another person- quite experienced in wild life were the other members of the exploring team. He took the double barreled gun with cartridges and I stole two cartridges from my grand father’s cartridge box. We intend to use the  gun only for protection. The hill had a reasonable forest cover and we enjoyed the smell of forest while climbing up. Although that weapon was new to me they insisted I carry the gun with two cartridges loaded on both the barrels. Other cartridges were kept by my friend. I and my friend were climbing side by side while others were following.  On reaching the top my friend suddenly stopped and pointed his fingers to the cave. Two wild bears, some twenty feet away were probably enjoying an afternoon siesta by leisurely lying in the mouth of the cave. They didn't like our intrusion more so the way the finger was pointed at them. The first one suddenly came charging in and I raised the gun, pulled the hammer and pressed the trigger. The bullet didn't fire. The bear stopped half way and returned to the cave only to come charging in unison with its associate. Again I pointed the gun, took aim and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened. For some strange reasons they retreated down the hillock making some wild sounds in their own language. I surveyed the scene. My friend had slipped when the first bear attacked and the cartridges were lying scattered. The so called experienced person had climbed up a tall tree and safely perched on it. My classmate was standing beside me raising a wide-mouthed axe. I examined the gun. It had two hammers and both are to be pulled to activate both the triggers but I had pulled only the left one for which the fist trigger was inactive. Our double barreled shot gun is different because it has a safe which has to be pushed up to make the triggers active. I was used to that gun only. All of them grumbled that I didn't take the shot at the right time. I explained, we are lucky that I could not take the shot for some technical reasons. The cartridges loaded on the barrels contained small pellets which could have inflicted small injury to the first bear resulting intense retaliation by both the bears. Our injury could have been much more grievous had it happened.

‘ How do you explain this miraculous escape?’ I asked my wife. ‘Your so called exploration is sheer nonsense’ she shrieked.  

I am sure, I have to take rebirth to study the minds of the ladies.