Thoughts on a rainy day

My uncle is a voracious reader from his young days and my maternal grandfather had ensured a huge collection of books to satisfy his needs. In my childhood days-as a routine- we spend the summer vacation in my uncle’s place that paved way for my exposure to a good library quite early in my life. My uncle added numerous new titles during his student days and after. Probably that was the reason for which I enjoyed reading books and got new ideas when I was nine or ten years old. My passion for literature remained all through. My uncle is a remarkable scholar and academician and it is no wonder apart from critical appreciation in the state, his books and research papers are highly acclaimed in many western countries.

It was a proud moment for me when my uncle received the highest award of the state for literature for the year 2011 from the Chief Minister on 25^th July. The atmosphere in the auditorium was captivating when one finds many writers, publishers, critics and knowledgeable crowd in a single venue. Unlike other occasions I found senior citizens in equal proportion among the audience which reminded me that it is the mind that creates not the age. Literature is an all-embracing alchemy that links all which is reinforced by the presence of young faces in large numbers as well. But honestly I was a bit skeptical about the reading habit of young generation especially because I found most of them unenthusiastic about reading the literature in the vernacular. I do not know the exact reason of their apathy towards the literature in own language. Was it because of our over-dependence on English language and literature? Or was it because vernacular literature has failed to be as enchanting as it ought to have been! I wish it was only a passing trend without any permanence attached to it. We must enrich our language and literature to bring the ecstasy back that charmed many in their young days.

Coming back to mundane world, I never imagined, post-retirement scenario could be as frenzied as I experienced in the last few months. I do admit I was not among the better managers but the unfinished works had assumed such gigantic proportion that my best efforts proved to be too little too late. To my horror I found the records of the inherited land lying chaotically scattered in a briefcase in the most unsystematic manner for which I had to run from pillar to post to keep some semblance of scientific management. The task was never easy because I was unaware of the locations and used a guide instead to show me my own land. How ridiculous it sounds! That irritated my better-half so much so that she declared rather snobbishly that her parents had erred in judgement in selecting the most wretched and incompetent son in law. I cheerfully agreed to the suggestion stating rather boldly that the distressing decision of my parents was miserably similar in choosing the stupid daughter in law. I disappeared before she could find her bearing.

I don’t believe in pessimism simply because it tends to drag backwards instead of taking one forward. I am yet to find a person who is not afflicted by misfortune, disillusionment, sorrow, bad tidings and the lot at different points of time. It is common knowledge, life is not a bed of roses and at adverse situations there is no alternative apart from facing it headlong. Come what may, there is no point shying away from it. Why not put up a brave face with a sweet smile? As the poet says, ‘if winter comes, can spring be far behind?’ Of course in this part of the globe winter is not too harsh nor the spring distinctive. But certainly we have not forgotten the Sanskrit saying “Chakrabat paribartante Sukhanicha Dukhanicha” which signifies intrinsic changeability of ecstasy and affliction in rotation like the change of positions of a moving wheel. If transmutation of human conditions is the order of the day let us embrace sorrow and joy in the same vein. But my wife would never tolerate such sermons. She wanted results; effective and instantaneous. Where would I get that magic lamp to ensure what I wished?

It so happened that we got the opportunity to visit the nearby forest guest house to enjoy the rich flora and fauna of the area. She was simply fascinated by the dense forest and the rich trees all around her. It took many years to grow such diverse and rich forest I started telling her like a guide. After all, Rome was not built in a day-‘you must have patience to see results, honey’. She understood my hints and started fuming but surprisingly controlled herself to enjoy nature for the rest of the evening.  

       

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.

      

Introspection

It appears very exciting to consider yourself as great. People consult, sub-ordinates seek guidance, juniors pay respect, and members of the staff obey. You become part of the policy making body. How rosy it looks! But all these manifestations are attributes of the power you enjoy which is essentially co-terminus with your tenure. Very often than not one tends to forget a basic reality; the position one holds in his official capacity is not permanent but the qualities developed if any (worth emulating) are. Then the question comes – did I cultivate any quality which deserved notice? At leisure I take a dig at myself and repeat the question over and over again. I always get an impassioned answer-an emphatic ‘no’. Did I spend all my life creating a superficial halo which ended up in a smoke leaving nothing? I don’t admit pessimism and like all apologists consoled me-‘look man, you never imagined life was too short and consequently you forgot to draw up a road map for meaningful life. Besides didn't you guide some, love many and in the process didn't you get back a little bit of you in their unstinting affection’? Having satisfied with the reasoning I felt like having a self-pat in my back that blossomed in to a full smile. I was sure no one was looking from behind.

Sometimes I wonder if a little introspection could not add meaning to one’s existence! It may be embarrassing to own up the follies we commit in the past, but we cannot possibly justify the unjustifiable! What is the strength behind such arrogance? Is it really the ego? Or is it because to own up a mistake appears to be a super-human bravery! Whatever may be the reason I feel a bit matured and strong with some amount of self-talk in solitude. While I was having a similar session recently my wife probably overheard and teased-‘hey, you have started talking to yourself like old people’. I didn't correct her by saying –‘it is only the youth in me that talks’ because of the foreboding that she would again suspect another rendezvous with yet another imaginary lass the moment she got hints of the youth revisiting. I have told her on numerous occasions that the characters in my stories are purely imaginary without any resemblance to any person -past or present. But she would not listen to it.

My last blog got different reactions. My cousin commented the other day-‘do you really believe in wife management’? The friend of my brother-in-law who stays in Indonesia thought the idea to be hilarious and had a hearty laugh. But I am scared to join issues with my cousin because like all women she thought a wife belongs to a delicate category ‘who has been more sinned against than sinning’. In the traditional pattern the husband is the fallen guy and I know where the sympathy flows. Under the circumstances I must bow out from management and concentrate on appeasement instead. That would certainly win hearts not wrath.

  Summer continues to be harsh with mercury spiraling over forty degree Celsius but the evenings are delightedly pleasant. This is the peculiarity of this city. In our student days the city was much greener. Cool breeze used to flow as early as four pm in the afternoon but with the passage of time the construction of a concrete jungle has come in to the fore and completely changed the complexion of the city. In the modified scenario nature also plays a trick or two. Our childhood days in the village were different. My cousins used to drop in during summer to spend their annual vacation in our place. In those days our village was a reasonable summer resort because of the forest cover all around. Playing cards was an amusing past time and we really enjoy our summer. During those days, I don’t remember a harsh summer ever.Borrowing the idea from the Upanishads I often wish,

'From the unreal lead me to the real!

From darkness lead me to light!'

But is it easy? It is often said that human beings are more mysterious than mystery itself. All our efforts to interpret life and existence take a circuitous route to end up where it began. The famous physicist Niels Bohr once said, "We are both spectators and actors in the great drama of existence". If that be the case, let us play our designated role to the end and wait for the curtains to fall.

    

Dreams

I dreamt the other day that while climbing up a mountain I had a great fall but miraculously there was no injury. Despite the fall, I tried several times to climb up again but all such attempts resulted in repeated falls. It reminded me of Sisyphus and his unenviable efforts to carry the boulder up only to see it rolling down. Did I I become as deceitful as Sisyphus to earn such a dream? I contemplated the matter over and over again. It is true that while in service I had rarely shown my salary slip to my wife because of the apprehension of a long lecture on budgeting and consequential misunderstanding. I imagine most of the husbands would be accused of developing a liking for such innocent habit which would hardly merit as deception. I am inclined to believe that the practice is consistent with  righteous living without incurring the wrath of Dharma Deva. If that be the case how come I got singled out to be consigned to that frustrating dream! The built up emotion was so much that I shouted, ‘Injustice, injustice’ which startled my wife in the middle of her sweet dream and she woke up screaming, ‘why are you howling at this hour?’ Alas there is no business school for wife-management! Having started the day with an ominous presentiment, I became cautious of my movements and thought of postponing the day’s work to the next day. Electric bill, phone bills, medicine bill etc. got shelved. When my wife brought breakfast I was completely mesmerized in the postponement mode and without hearing her words shouted back, ‘not today, tomorrow’. She was bewildered for a few seconds but pushed the tray in to my hand in her inimitable style yelling ‘be sane at times if not always’. The sound rather than the thrust brought me back in to reality and the haze around my vision started melting.

Why do people dream? I was very curious, like most people to find meaning in dreams. In my adolescence I heard numerous theories relating to dreams. Some said unfulfilled desires find expression in dreams while some others say it foretells future happenings and very often than not it portends bleak situations ahead. But what appealed me most was the theory that if one dreams of luxurious living, royal grandeur and befitting treatment he would certainly end up as a king. I remember having invented many such dreams during my teenage with make belief stories to impress my friends and relatives who were gullible enough to believe those to be true. What I ultimately became-whether twice removed from reality or more than that is another story. Again I do not know whether my other friends were as inventive as I was then but I find most boys tell lies at that age. Of course I cannot say if it is equally true to girls too. In the early years in the college I searched the bookshelf in the reading room and found ‘The Interpretation of Dreams’ by Sigmund Freud.  Although I devoted four, five sessions to have an overview yet the half-an-hour recess was woefully inadequate to satiate my queries. The reference to disguised fulfillment of repressed desires, sex symbols, genitals, unconscious, subconscious etc. etc. did not register well in my young mind at that time simply because it did not provide an easy solution to interpret a dream. The psychoanalysis of dreams, the Oedipus complex and the Electra complex posed to be inscrutable theories alien to a science student.  

I had to back out from the mission half way. The rendezvous with interpretation having ended prematurely in the past, I thought of reviving it by further study on the subject but the task appeared as intimidating as then         because of various interpretations. One theory suggests that dreams are subjective interpretation of signals generated by the brain during sleep. Another theory suggests that dreams clean up the clutter from the mind to refresh for new ventures. It is also stated that dreams mainly occur in rapid eye movement (REM) stage of sleep-when brain activity is high and resembles that of being awake. All those materials and many others made me dreamless for about a fortnight that scripted my abandonment for the second time. I have to find someone who could interpret my recent Sisyphean experience.  

Of course day dreaming is different and quite pleasant. Essentially it is like enjoying the unachievable. Some years back a friend said he enjoyed day dreaming of winning a lottery of ten million because such thought brought meaning to his existence. He knew all along that it was only his imagination but the mirage is much more attractive than the green meadows. He used to purchase lottery tickets to keep his mind green and fresh.

It is true that we must have dreams to propel us forward in a positive way and to give sustenance to our existence. While harbouring a dream we also draw up a road map to ensure that it does not frizzle out as a day dream.

Post-retirement thoughts

Superannuation is a part of one’s service career and although everyone knows it would come ultimately yet very often than not people remain unprepared. Besides, the situation from hyper activity to relative inactivity is a depressing feeling defying comprehension. It is not that easy especially when it comes so suddenly. The other day one of my friends was very nostalgic about the years spent in service and he rued rather sadly that the mobile phone which had been a singing toy has lost its lustre by ringing occasionally, showing signs of exhaustion. I have a different experience altogether simply because I had been preparing myself for about a year or so to face the event. It would be a travesty of truth to say that I immunized myself from the paroxysms of separation. In fact I did feel the convulsions of missing my colleagues, my institution and above all the surrounding that I called my own. I was never crazy about authority and there was absolutely no problem when I lost it. Many persons suffer terribly when the baton of authority disappears but I had no such hallucination and I knew the brittleness of official power which evaporates the moment one demitted office. I had other plans after retirement. Writing was my passion during my young days but I was guilty of overstretching myself to the extent of spoiling my career for which I had no option but to distance myself from creative writing for a pretty long period. Even during service career I could not find quality time and concentration to revive my skill. Superannuation provided both and surprisingly, I got support from the domestic front too. My wife never believed that I could write short stories and unfortunately I didn't get new arrows in my repertoire to dispute her persuasion. So, just after my marriage when my relatives and friends talked of my writings and the laurels it brought along-she used to consider the narration as an extension of the enticement to lure her to an unworthy suitor. Pending opinion on disputed virtues, I had to look surreptitiously at the mirror a dozen times to ensure that my looks didn't suffer from any such ignominy. A true narcissist in the making perhaps, one may imagine. Now I am rather skeptical and doubtful if she changed her opinion (all great people never) but I find she has been tolerant over my indulgence and is less quarrelsome. That is some consolation indeed!

Mercury continues to soar declaring the advent of summer with all its attributes. In many cities energy outage in summer has become a recurring phenomenon and our city is no exception. I spent my childhood days in my village and summer was not at all agonizing then as we feel now in cities. We had a tall thatched house with wooden ceiling which kept the inward temperature comfortable both in summer and winter as well. Wooden plank ceiling was a middle class luxury then-which prevented vagaries of temperature to play down upon. Apart from that the forest cover, surrounding the village was a natural insulation. Electricity came to our village in mid-sixties when I was reading in High School. The lantern or the incandescent lamp was the source of light in the evening and admittedly it was a poor substitute for electric bulb but still life was not bad enough. Our progeny would never comprehend a decent living without electricity but they still enjoy their visits to reserve forest area and short stay in cottages or rest sheds in the reserve forest even without electricity. The reason is obvious-natural flora and fauna have tremendous charms of their own. The cool breeze, the music of the flowing stream, the bird songs of the jungle fowls in the morning and the sounds of the wild animals in the late evening are simply unique and beyond replication. In spite of our best efforts in implementing schemes for afforestation and the like, honestly we cannot recreate the scene and bring back the deep forest and the natural vegetation which grew of their own.

Post retirement I marked many changes in the surrounding. The road adjacent to our house transformed in to booby-trap than a road, the leaves of the trees have dried down, the sky has been constantly changing and by theory of relativity I ought to have changed. Surprisingly I remained unchanged or so it appeared. I looked at the mirror for the nth time but the figure didn't show any dramatic change. I asked my wife if it was not a bad omen. She stared at my eyes for a full minute and shouted-‘you have gone terribly insane’. The full meaning of her words dawned on me after a minute. I had an impression that after one year of retirement the spouse becomes irritated because of the constant presence of the husband in the house and bickering starts phase-wise; first disagreement, then minor disputes and finally scandalous scolding. But I have not completed six months of retirement and certainly her shouting didn't fit any of these. Suddenly my wife appeared from the kitchen with two cups of cold coffee and offering her sweetest smile said, ‘sip the coffee slowly and relax. It is summer and don’t think too much to find meaning in everything’. That left me at square one. I remember Bhagabat Gita and the advice of Lord Krisna-‘Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana’- You have the right to perform your actions but you are not entitled to the fruits of actions. But what is my action right now? Is it to hear the choicest invective from your better-half? I must find out.

   

Thoughts of April

The cuckoos have started singing but in contrast mercury soars abruptly recording forty degree Celsius.  With cuckoos singing how come it is not spring though early April is not summer either.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.   (T.S.Eliot)

 So April has arrived with all fool’s day. While going for a walk at five thirty in the morning we have glimpses of the missing spring with cool breeze, dew drops here and there but only fleetingly. True, it mixes memory and desire but spring rain is conspicuous in its absence. Dull roots continue to remain dull without stirring. It is time we redefined seasons because the traditional clubbing of months has lost its sheen or so it seems. It is not uncommon to see young men losing their temper by drop of a hat. Is it because of these unthinkable changes? I would refrain from answering and leave it to the wise to answer but I have a confused idea that anger survives of its own without being influenced by climate or otherwise. While thinking of anger it occurs to me that I can also be accused of irrational temper during my young days. That again has no reference to the angry young man but my only worry is nobody told me- it is no greatness to lose your temper. If someone cajoles me I am willing to confess- vulnerability to anger has been my constant forte. I am sure I would get numerous testimonials to this indiscretion. I am not sure that I would ‘Look Back in Anger’. John Osborne would have been a great source to explore it. I would have gone on length to describe my various encounters but I heard my inner voice-no one talks of weaknesses in public. Oh yes, ‘Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anyone’. I would leave it at that. That reminds me of a story. One of my friends was a good story writer and once he requested another friend to make a fair copy of the rough one of his story. At the climax of the story the protagonist became emotional and confided before the heroine ‘I silently love you beyond words…’ Instead of three dots the fair copy writer had made half page dots in the manuscript. That irritated the writer and when he angrily demanded an explanation, the fair copy writer innocently said, ‘Look mate, love is a serious matter and what transpired between the hero and the heroine cannot be confined in three dots. Probably you have never loved. It needs a lot of space you know’.    

Space is something that defies description. In a family everyone needs private space to become individualistic. Sometimes I wonder if joint family was not a magic formula to merge private spaces and aspire for collective space instead. But then agrarian economy was the bond that cultivated such system. The idea is repulsive now as most people will be suffocated in the collective space. Why do I need space? Do I need it to nurture my arrogance, my ego or to live a life of righteousness-in my own way-with dignified disposition least affecting others? All the three possibilities are familiar to me because I have experimented all of it at different times knowingly or unknowingly. Then the question comes, are those satisfying? I would leave it at that.

To my mind, satisfaction is a rare feeling that comes and leaves simultaneously. Very rarely one is satisfied and when it comes it stays only for a short period. I came to such a negative point of view on my research on the topic based on the questions I have asked my friends on numerous occasions-‘Are you satisfied with your job/assignment/love life/salary/career prospect/working conditions/boss/posting etc. etc.?’ The answer is invariably negative.  The magic potion-I advised my wife-is to remain content with what she gets. In that case, why we don’t go to Himalayas then-my better-half demanded. But dear, I may venture to cover the distance but you cannot because of the condition of your legs -I replied.  Wearing her newly purchased sports shoes she challenged, ‘let us walk for a while to find out’. In many countries people tack paper fish on each other’s back as a trick and shout ‘April fish’ on April fool’s day.  I do not know what kind of prank my wife wants to play on fourth April instead of first April.  

Smiles

It appears to me that nature is the store house of all beautiful things in the world. In my formative years I was fortunate enough to share the unforgettable moments in the lap of nature. Our village was surrounded by good forest, if not thick one. In my childhood days my Grandfather, (his body was all muscles) with a spear in hand, used to take us for a walk in the early morning. We walk through the single road surrounded by forest cover on both the sides. While passing through the road we inhale the scent of the jungle flowers which was really amazing. As the dawn progresses we hear the awakening sounds of the jungle fowls in combination with the bird songs creating an unforgettable symphony as if welcoming us to their kingdom.  The experience was sheer ecstasy.  Now after more than fifty years whenever I visit my village the scene and the sight saddens me deep down under simply because we could not preserve our heritage. We have a beautiful road now which has been under the process of being widened to a four-lane but no forest, no wild life. During my school days we occasionally go to the forest in a group to roam around and feel the smell of forest which was engrossing and enchanting. Such roaming even for a short period invigorates and inspires but perhaps we have cruelly deprived our progeny from any such delight. I have visited zoos especially open air zoos but roaming in the forest is always different. During my short tenure in the Forest Department I chanced upon visiting Similipal Tiger Reserve Forest and enjoyed the reserve forest with beautiful wild life. I had another occasion to visit Kaziranga National Park. The elephant ride early in the morning with wild life all around is wonderful and it brought back memories of my childhood days. Take a child to any part of this unbridled forest and mark how sweetly he/she giggles. This innocent smile is the gift of God but why did we become so callous to steal their innocent pleasure in denuding the forest cover? A smile costs you nothing but means much to the beholder. I believe smile is the best part of one’s personality. A smiling woman is much more beautiful than a serene lady. Should someone tell my better-half about this natural ornament?

After my retirement, I had promised regular walk but somehow the schedule for ‘morning walk’ got delayed owing to many factors including the negligence of both the participants-but my wife would never take her share of blame. I imagine, it becomes a sort of habit with the ladies of her kind to find a sacrificial goat for all follies and foibles to the extent of inventing one if not possible otherwise. That is how I land invariably in her scheme of things. My better-half is a rare addict of TV serials and If I venture to point out the late night viewing as one of the causes of missed walk of the morning, she would show her real fangs of aggression in serpentine style by hissing –‘take dinner at 8 pm or none at all’. She is aware that I would virtually be famished by midnight if I took my dinner by 8 pm and such arrangement is a good trick to ensure abject surrender. ‘Diagnosis wizards’ would be a small complement to recognise their talent in discovering male weaknesses. During his weekend visit our son didn’t tolerate any such nonsense and purchased two pairs of sports shoes for us so that the usual mudslinging cannot be a factor for skipping the schedule. So it took off at last. I had set the alarm at 5.30am and it is working for the last three days without any hiccups. Wonder of wonders she has started smiling once again.

I faintly remember a story read many years back. A person was very fond of wild life and wild animals. He found a python in the forest and brought it home for his private zoo. Initially the reptile was consigned to the bath-room but the window was too big a passage to script its escape-route. Thereafter the python made numerous appearances in most unlikely places startling the onlookers on each encounters. The reptile developed an uncanny habit of looking its figure in the mirror and was noticed twice in front of the dressing table but each time it managed to escape. The person was worried that such startling encounters would play on the nerves for which he set a trap with choicest chickens and a mirror fixed on it. Lo and behold the python was trapped majestically looking at the mirror with perhaps a pleasing smile!

With the festival of colours round the corner, I wish my readers a happy Holi expecting many smiles in return.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stray thoughts

We are accustomed to the traditional ideas for which it becomes difficult to accept something new. That is equally applicable in case of tax reforms also. I remember, many eye brows were raised at the advent of Value Added Tax in place of state Sales Tax. The reaction was quite understandable. Persons associated with traditional Sales Tax had seen it working for decades in spite of various shortcomings. They were apprehensive of the backfire of the new pattern but nothing untoward happened. Whether the progressive tax system worked as expected or not is another puzzle but people became used to it. Whether you like it or not, getting used to worked as a wonderful alchemy. I imagine life has a different take on it because stereotype does not inspire and we love novelty. It is said that at no point of time a person is identical with himself because time passes through us and changes us in the process. What we call satisfaction is only the amalgamation of the subject with the object of desire, but the object of desire gets modified from time to time as we are constantly in a flux. The resultant effect is sadness which prevails in view of the emptiness created out of dissatisfaction.   But how come people believing in Buddhism strive to achieve ‘Nirvana’? Why did not the object of their desire get modified? The great Buddha preached, desire is the cause of unhappiness. If one wipes out the desire, he removes unhappiness too. Then what is this yearning for Nirvana. Is it not a desire? In spite of my best efforts I never got the answer. Probably I lack some critical faculties to understand the mythical meaning.

Now I must come back to the mundane world with all attendant attributes like exultation, melancholy, pleasure, pain, expectation, frustration juxtaposed together like a mosaic we call life. Given a choice, like Sariputta I would prefer life to Nirvana.

After my retirement, weekends became much more attractive than before. In fact, during my service tenure I never realized that we have something as enjoyable as weekends. It would certainly be a travesty of truth to state that neither I nor my wife enjoyed the Government holidays during my service days. Indeed we did, but the difference is, those holidays were interlaced with official assignments as well, inviting a hell lot of pleasantries (!) from my better half. In retrospect I feel one could be earnest and diligent without compromising holidays but then the realization is too little and probably too late.   What differentiated the present weekends to the previous is the presence of our only child on each Saturday terminating the weeklong separation and our consequential appearance in malls, market places and add to it the journey to Her Highness’s delight-her mother’s place. I am not a bad driver but the lady preferred our son to drive us around.  We had an extended weekend last week as we planned a long drive and stay at Visakhapatnam for a couple of days. Visakhapatnam is a beautiful city with a long coastline to enjoy different sea beaches. The ornamental beach road is a delight to watch. The to and fro drive was wonderful because the national highway has been suitably modernized with no intervening railway level crossings which prevents you from getting tired. The people of the state are affable and their civic sense is commendable. We had a short but satisfying holiday.

The Muses failed again and I sat idly before the laptop expecting the unexpected to happen. I remember a story where the Ringmaster of the circus was intimidating the leading lady by saying, ‘if you fall down from the rope during the rope-walk I would get you married to that donkey standing over there’. The donkey overheard the conversation and was pretty happy that he had a prospect at last. I have begun to believe that  I live with that donkey’s prospect. Stray thoughts indeed.

The three Injunctions

There are days one feels desolate without rhyme or reason. Nothing seems to happen in your way nor does such feeling inspire confidence. The experience is tormenting because Muse blissfully goes to slumber and refuses to come to your aid. The situation is akin to, ‘Life is a tale/ Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury/Signifying nothing’. The soliloquy reverberates keeping you numb in the process. But there is hope remembering Beelzebub’s inspiring words in Paradise Lost “What though the field be lost? /All is not lost; the unconquerable Will, / And study of revenge, immortal hate, / And courage never to submit or yield “. Oh yes, it is the unconquerable will and the courage - never to submit- that pulls out from this melancholic impasse. Such a feeling is not an isolated incident. It has recurred many times in the past- ever since I started to understand the universe a little in my small way and more particularly learned to write.

Damyata, Datta and Dayadhvam-the three injunctions- be self-controlled, be charitable and be compassionate are the prescriptions of the Creator to regulate the unconquerable will. Did I transgress the injunctions in my eagerness to say more?

Budget, Tax planning, Examinations and Transfer are doing their rounds in March. In the process spring has become the subject of collective amnesia. Our children do not believe that there was one such season called spring in this part of the world. With the fading winter, who knows their children may be wondering about a season called winter. In my childhood days we had brief encounter with spring in February and March. The atmosphere was cool and pleasant till ‘Holi’-the festival of colours. The surrounding was lush green meadows with birds chirping their melodious best. With umbrellas around to ward off summer my son and his friends would call it a huge joke if I recount my rendezvous with spring.  Such are the vagaries of nature, or more correctly our atrocious lust for life in destroying forest and upsetting nature. Is it ‘Damyata’ or the self-restraint? 

People talk of corruption in high places and stringent laws to curb such practices. Probably we are oblivious of our own mind set. We are accustomed to acquire, possess, gain, expand, grab and the like. We must love to give in charity. ‘Datta’- give in charity basically means-charitable in disposition, in feeling, in understanding. Do not take what you have not given, do not take what you have not possessed. Have we understood all these? Have we changed our mind set to accommodate the prescription of the creator? Love always means to give and not to possess. Reverse is the current trend if you assess realistically. Where do we stand? Is it Datta? Many are cynical about my observations. I humbly concede to the correctness of their assessment. Please allow me to differ.

I have high regards for a dear colleague of mine, who is six years junior to me in service although two years senior to me in age. He was upright, honest and compassionate. He is very fond of his only son and got him married before his retirement. Like many fathers, he is an indulgent father and pampered his son like anything. I got the disturbing news that his daughter-in-law has threatened to lodge a complaint against him for dowry-torture. I was shocked and got to know that the lady never does her household chores and instructed her mother-in-law to do everything. She wakes up at 8 am in the morning, goes for different social engagement to return smartly at 1.30pm to take lunch. After the birth of the first kid she moves outside for other engagements and returns at 9 pm for dinner. Exasperated by her attitude, the father-in-law one day suggested that she should take care of the child and the household chores so that they could go for a pilgrimage. That angered her so much that she threatened of dowry torture.

Come what may, I would violate ‘Dayadvam’ the prescription for being merciful. God, forgive me for my cruelty but I cannot possibly forgive this lady for her cruelty too.    

  

Birthday musings

I remember I had twin brothers when I was ten years old but both of them expired within two days of their birth. My maternal grandfather said I had a strong horoscope which would never allow a brother. I was destined to remain brother less, apart from cousins, ever since. The rituals relating to new-born were also done away with because of this tragic incident. Probably that was the reason for which I never celebrated my birth day. My better-half after my marriage insisted that it be observed. Wear a new dress, go to the temple and pray for the wellbeing of all members of your family-what is wrong in it, she demanded. But I am an agnostic, I replied. Don’t be superfluous, do what I said. I was thoroughly domesticated by that time and faithfully obeyed the dictates of the high command. This year on eighth March which is my actual date of birth, I said- don’t bring candles because you will lose count of the numbers and those would be too many. If you still insist- bring a single candle indicating my first year of retirement. That appealed her. My son and wife conspired and bought costly dress which I don’t need after retirement. Birthday reminds me one thing-forget your age and if possible count it backwards. That gives me the satisfaction that I am getting younger-not older.

Loneliness is a theme that comes harping back constantly. The other day my uncle who is an outstanding scholar and academician told me-watch out, after some years it would be no surprise if someone finds half of the buildings of this city is occupied by old couples only. You may pride your young population but what you miss out is the empathy for the aged people. Silently I imagined the picture of old couples sitting in front of TV sets and watching the programmes mechanically without interest or enthusiasm. They need human company to escape from the onslaught of this unbearable ennui. It is time we understood the isolation of the aged. Again it is my better-half who ridiculed -age is catching up, that is why you are concerned about the aged. Were you that concerned at your youth? Goddess, don’t be my conscience to reflect on my mistakes in life, I shouted. Extoll my virtues instead. Did you say virtues-she demanded, which remained blank as a sheet ever since I knew you. Manifested ingratitude I cried, how could you be that cruel to someone after years of uncomplaining servitude? My better-half swiftly disappeared.

“What might have been is an abstraction, remaining a perpetual possibility in the world of speculation”. I love Eliot’s poetry because of its theme, its substance and the melody it generates. One feels like listening to the melodious ripples of the flowing water and lost in it.  

No one knows what is there in store for tomorrow.  

February musings

Summer has suddenly arrived or so it seemed. Till mid-February the weather was quite pleasant unlike earlier years and we were enjoying the exception. Yesterday while watering a few flower plants we have, I noticed the dryness and enhanced the quota of their fluid intake in anticipation of the approval of the home ministry. At bed time when I tried to switch on the AC for a few minutes it was immediately switched off with a stern warning-with soaring electric bills, forget AC till mid-May. It was followed by a long sermon- you are lucky to have electric fans at your home. Imagine how people were enjoying their lives with hand-made fans that too for years together. They were all strong and healthy unlike you people-popping up a medicine for blood pressure in the morning, then another before meal for blood sugar and yet another for excruciating body ache and finally a tranquilizer for sound sleep. I don’t take all those, I protested. The sermon was louder this time-I am not talking about you, I am saying about people in general. Exposure to nature is the best cure. But then why don’t we go to the roof top and enjoy pristine nature instead? Stop howling, it is already late- was the curt answer. So summer has arrived at my bedroom.  

Last year the summer was terrible and adds to it there was voltage problem. I was in service then. We had to switch off regular power supply to run the ACs with the generator so that regular classes of the Academy could function un-interrupted. Ours is a surplus power State I believe I asked the authorities of power Supply Company. It was Sir, but not now-they replied.  This past tense is because of your negligence or our over consumption, I enquired. Both Sir was the indifferent reply. I had to leave it at that. You cannot improve the work culture without a sense of belonging. Amazingly we lack that, I realised.  

In our city, we have incessant programmes throughout the year. Recently many people are simply crazy about the opera or ‘Yatra’ as we call such open air theatre. I marked yesterday that the men at the milk parlour were rejoicing the narration of an inspired opera goer, ‘the heroine cried her heart out so intensely that we all, including an indifferent person like me, sobbed in unison for several minutes’. In my childhood days the Yatra or opera was the major source of entertainment in a village. After completing the household chores the women folk join their men to witness opera which lasts about six hours –from 11pm to 5am of the next day. There was orchestra, a story, song, dance, duets and comic interludes which were exhilarating enough to unwind them for weeks.  Thing are different now with ticketed shows that start in the late evening for a duration of three to four hours. No more mythological stories-now all stories are imaginary reflecting the social milieu at large with improved acoustics, stage technique, light and of course female artists not men masquerading as women. To top it all the nomenclature of all plays can be called- sensational. Taste transformation-should we call it?

The girl of a reputed Jewellery shop was probably impressed by my new found wealth and rang me off and on with the pleading-prices have been slashed substantially, please purchase gold coin if not jewellery. I admit it was not her fault. I thought of purchasing an earring set as marriage anniversary gift to my wife and secretly went to the shop. In hurry I had chosen a defective set and more importantly it did not receive the approval of the recipient. So I had to take it back to the shop with the rightful owner on the anniversary day for its replacement. She chose a better set but was unwilling to purchase because of its price but I insisted on it coughing of a few thousands more in the process. That was the mystery behind her assumption. The poor lady does not know, it was my first ornament-gift after many years of married life that too in anticipation of retirement benefits.

During college days, one of my friends’ wrote, ‘death is not dyeing but life is’. The line sounded philosophical and impressive. Should we deliberate on the existential agony or accept life in its sublime form with pleasure and pain caressing each other? ‘Why fret about those if today be sweet?’ it is Omar Khayyam all the way that keeps me moving.

           

A sequel to the Story

Writing a story is not free from worldly hazards. It is like any other human activity which can earn you fame or notoriety and at times both in the same vein. I was contemplative of the subject because of my recent venture in honing my skills of story-writing which was my passion for years. My imitative took almost a week to give shape to a story, if it can be called one. After reading the story my wife didn't say a word and took to her bed rather early. I knew she did not like the tragic ending. But then nobody loves tragedy.
I often ask myself –what are the other options available to a writer in such a situation. Honestly I don’t find any. In some of the plays of earlier years a mechanism in shape of deus ex machina was employed which was a sort of divine intervention to give poetic justice to a situation which was grievously wrong. Unfortunately life is not a well-made play with a beginning, the middle and the end. When the very existence is an enigma, if one expected the sequences to re-enact –frustration would be the answer. I curse myself for remaining aloof from the filmy trend where hero always wins and all tragedies culminate in mid-summer night’s dream with hero heroine dancing together in a scintillating duet.
Back from imagination I found myself immobile with the surgical treatment of cataract. The super specialist in ophthalmology –who happened to be my brother-in-law, advised me rest for a week with no laptop around. After the third day I rang up and said, ‘how can you be that cruel in the post-surgical treatment? Hitler must be a pleasing personality compared to your advice.’ He grumbled initially but agreed for a check-up the next day. After examining he was pleased with the developments but said sternly, ’five minutes for mail and ten minutes for Facebook- that is all you get for the next seven days and mind you, for any violation the leniency stands terminated’. ‘But dear’ I pleaded ‘I don’t need laptop for those things. I need it for writing and your fifteen minutes quota is as good as nothing’. He threw a phial of eye drop and said ‘lubricate your eyes when you are uncomfortable with your vision but use laptop half an hour at a stretch and don’t use more than three hours in a day. I would ring up Bhauja to monitor your viewing and install CCTV camera if need be. I wish I could see the footage.’ These Docs are as suspicious as women I murmured’. ‘Did you say something?’ he enquired. ‘Yes I said-thank you Doctor’. He threw me a suspicious glance.
My friend rang up yesterday and said ‘I read your nice little story and enjoyed the writing I know of. Keep it up and we expect more’.
These sorts of contradictory reactions made me sad and happy alternatively and consequently leave me in an indecisive mode. Should I pursue my passion or concentrate on poetry instead? The friend rang up once again and said, ‘I re-read your story and believe me it is poetry all through’. I wish my wife heard it too.
   

Backdrop of a Story

I have started writing short stories quite recently after a gap of almost thirty years. The moment I begin to start writing, my wife would appear from nowhere with the pleading, ’don’t give me a sad story’. I don’t know wherefrom she discovered my potential to kill the characters. True I am not a vegetarian, but does that turn me into a potential murderer? Do I look like a killer or for that matter a mercenary? I must ask my friends but they would be equally biased because of their affection. Unable to find a solution, I started writing humorous pieces on post-retirement scenario making her the recipient of all satirical blows which she enjoyed without grumbling. I believe she enjoyed the stories, in spite of descriptive tantrums because she was portrayed as the heroine. Now, enough is enough, I declared. I have already written four pieces within three months of retirement. Don’t cajole me into offering you lolly pops all the time I said in disgust. Let us do something serious. She showed me the utmost indifference a lady can offer. I put my hands on my head cursing all gods that came to my mind for this predicament. But that is no consolation either.

Come whatever may, I must fight headlong and with that promise I began writing stories. I had uninterrupted existence for a couple of days but on the third day the uninvited intruder started throwing medium-sized pebbles in shape of questions, ‘so rustic characters with amorous scenes-that you call stories hey’. ‘Honey where do you get such vulgar ideas’ I retorted. ‘It is a love story and I hope it would be a nice one’. ‘So you are on a mission to recount all your numerous escapades with those glamour girls who flirt but never love?’ ‘Stop, stop what are you suggesting honey? I am a dignified person with decent disposition. You cannot accuse me of adultery’. ‘But your friends say you were a live Casanova in your college days’. Oh my God, those innocent looking affectionate friends have turned villains indeed. I must take these traitors to task but I cannot believe it. I became impatient and said ‘give me peace of mind to concentrate and complete’. ‘You have all the time in the world to complete it, but remember if I discovered traces of your exploits in any of the romantic dialogues with the heroine or whatever you call that idiot- the story will go to the flames I usually light every day to burn the weeds’. With those stern words she marched out of the room in military style. I took a couple of glasses of cold water to regain my composure. So the volcano is active again.

I confined myself in a room and tightly locked it inside, except in the dining time, to prevent different instrumental notes emanating from the chatter-box that I call wife. Story telling is not easy once your skills became rustic because of negligence. But I tried to revive it with emotions in late nights and could somehow manage to complete only yesterday. ‘Don’t forget the censor’ my wife reminded. ‘No I don’t, how can one forget it? Even the film people come crawling. I am a mundane human being, how can I forget You Highness’ scissors?’ I humbly submitted. ‘Don’t be over simplistic and don’t put up any drama. Tell me the story in nutshell before I actually went through’.

After the Post-graduate final examination the protagonist wanted to stay an extra day in the hostel to roam around the campus and bask down the memory lane. Accidentally he came across a classmate who happened to be a lady and requested her to stay back for a day so that they could make a stroll around the campus together to make it memorable. Initially the lady did not agree but to his utter surprise he discovered the lady in the college square waiting for him. It touched a tender chord and unknowingly they started loving each other. That is how the story developed. ‘The story sounds interesting and decent without Bollywood spices. But tell me what is the end?’ she inquired. ‘Read it yourself’ I said calmly.

Unfortunately the story ends with the protagonist expiring in a road accident and his lady-love, for the last seven years has been pining each moment of their immortal love that lasted only for twenty-four hours.

I do not know what would be the reaction of my wife at the end. But am I a potential sadist?

              

January-Part Two

During my formative years I had been asked time and again ‘What is your aim in life?’ I remember I had dissimilar answers on various stages. It is quite obvious because you cannot expect a youngster of eighteen to repeat what he stated as a boy at ten. Boys are very imaginative and are prone to influences that impressed them. I have seen boys declaring ‘I want to be a Joker’ after visiting a circus because he enjoyed the exciting and entertaining antics. What is so embarrassing to raise our eye brows? A joker may be his idol at that age. I for one never believed in asking a question like this except in interviews, that too if the attitude of a candidate is confusing. I sometimes wonder if the rationale behind such query was not obscure and dated. But then I am not an expert.

After clearing the written test for Probationary Officers of a Bank I was asked in the Viva-voce ‘Mr Dash, you look older than your age’. ‘How can I help it Sir? There is no way I could know my age except the documents showing my date of birth’, I replied. In contrast when I retired many said- you look younger than your age. Divergent views reminded me of Keats who once wrote ‘beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’. Here of course it is not the beauty but age. With a little liberty a Shakespearean quote could be twisted as, ’what is there in an age? A mind at any age could smell as sweet’. (Is it really?)

‘April is the cruellest month, but O sweet new one, Eliot would have changed his version had he seen you today. Welcome to the Department’. It was the month of April and the welcome message was written on the black board by one of our friends welcoming a new student who enrolled in our Post-graduate class. The new entrant who happened to be a lady blushed but others were enjoying the note. Youthful exuberance I suppose. The professor-a true Gandhian with Khaddar dhoti and kurta- entered the classroom and took attendance. While delivering the lecture he noticed some sensitive under current and suddenly looked back to find the source. ‘Who has written this?’ he asked. No one answered in spite of his repeated queries. Unable to find the duster he started wiping out the writing by his own dress while muttering ‘See what your professor is doing’. Tears rolled down his cheeks when he left the classroom. Our friend who later became a good writer, academician and social worker immediately rushed to the chamber of the professor and confessed. The professor initially did not believe at all but our friend was able to convince him. He was a brilliant teacher but very sensitive and emotional. I am yet to find a professor who teaches Shakespearian plays as beautifully as he was able to. He considers the students as his children and was a tremendous human being too. Alas, he is no more. I feel my wet eyes remembering him with love and reverence.

The weather in January remains cool and pleasant, offering ideal time for picnics and celebrations. So I was not surprised when my friend rang up and asked whether I would be free to attend the get together the following day. By all means, yes, I replied. He hesitantly asked again if he could count my name in the list. What is so offensive in counting my name, I demanded. He was apologetic and explained that he was under the impression that I would be attending the picnic of the Retired Officers’ Association scheduled on the same day and that was the reason for his confusion. I laughed and said that the problem had been resolved by our learned friend in the Association who refused to recognise my credential as a retired officer. “What credential” he was still not satisfied. I would explain that when we meet, I assured him.

Our learned friend had given me a ring earlier in the day and knowing my inconvenience in attending the picnic declared that I was not qualified to be a retired officer because I didn’t complete the probation. “Did you say probation?” I exclaimed. “Yes mate,” he replied calmly “for not completing one year of retirement”.

We had a hearty laugh together in the evening when I explained my disqualification to my other friends.

 In spite of all these the fact remains that I have retired from Government service. Charaibeti…charaibeti Go on go on until the road ends until there is no other place to go I chide myself. Don’t stop don’t rest till you are able to replace some one’s tear with a smile.

  

Thoughts of January

Probably after reaching a certain stage we are psychologically conscious of our position and responsibilities for which it is never easy to commit any mistake but once we start committing mistakes, the psychological barrier fades. Subsequent violations do not look as imposing as the first one. This realisation dawned on me recently while I was taking stock of my negligence in life. I imagine I could have been much more enterprising had I been a little careful and such thought made me sad for a moment. However, the penitence was short lived when I remembered ‘to err is human’. Is it the normal practice of other reprobates too? I must find out.

To lead a life of perfection is an aspiration that keeps us ticking. We strive to be perfectionist, but it is a huge task. Many years back when I wished ‘Happy Diwali’ to my boss he retorted by saying, “It is the darkest Diwali of my life”. Mr Perfectionist was upset that I could not achieve the target fixed by him for the month. He had distributed the tax collection target evenly and was expecting proportionate collection. I explained the pattern of tax collection and reasoned out the unevenness because of the market behaviour. The statistics of the last five years was illustrative of the pattern. He would not listen to it simply because a person cannot remain hungry for days together to enjoy a feast. You need ration every day to survive, he argued. He is an honest and upright administrator besides being a virtuous person but never accepts ‘no’ as answer. I had a very difficult time differentiating the animate with the inanimate and their existential requirements. But then life is not a bed of roses.

We consider people as performer who have dedication and hard work. Allurement for recognition and praise is perhaps the secret of performance. My grandfather used to tell, ‘nothing is more enchanting than your own praise or denigration of others’. Recently I discovered that the second one is much more attractive and entertaining than the first one. I heard that an educationist had a brilliant record of academic achievements but what engaged the attention of the people around him was his salacious rendezvous with the domestic help. Such are the vagaries of life.

I know an extremely dedicated officer who was some years senior to me. He is so dedicated that sometimes he forgets that he has a family of his own. We all consider him as an authority on tax laws. Surprisingly, after his retirement there was a departmental proceeding for his negligence in completing an enquiry. We all know that he was so involved in the Court cases for the Revenue that he had no time for completing inquiry. Time required for handling a tax case for the revenue depends upon many factors. One only wishes these factors be considered.    

About six months ago the participants of a training programme met me at my chamber and requested to address the trainees. I was surprised because the training programme was over and the relieve order was in the process of being issued, but they persisted with their demand which I conceded rather reluctantly with the rider that it would be matter of minutes. They agreed

What should I tell you now? When the curtain drops and a play concludes, what remains is the indistinct muttering in the wings. Should I get your indulgence to recount those mutterings? What I propose to tell is not part of the syllabus nor did we impart training on these issues. Imagine, after sixty-five years of independence some of our women folk still walk five kilometres to fetch drinking water. Our people continue to suffer the ignominy of indifference when they go to different offices to get their work done. Justice is denied to many for none of their faults. It is not that the God has failed, but rather we have failed our own people. You are all Government officers and part of the establishment that ensures transparency. Don’t you feel disturbed? If you could find time to think these mutterings for a minute and identify your role, I would be most obliged.

I hope against hope that they still remember.

January is refreshingly cool to think, meditate and reflect the events of the past. I chanced upon discovering my old diary of 1982 where I scribbled, ‘to love and to be loved/ Are both perhaps simultaneous desires/Hovering around relationship, old and new’. I wish it were true. 

Charms

Exposure to foggy morning made me indisposed for a couple of days. During this short interlude one day I heard a remix of old Hindi songs with some amazing metallic instruments. I was very curious to find out the musical instrument that accompanied the songs. My curiosity led me to the source of its origin and to my utter surprise I discovered that most of the cutlery and utensils were lying scattered in the kitchen. Immediately I understood the mystery behind the strange instrument.

My wife is very fond of music and listens to the FM station or CD whenever she works in the kitchen. That particular day she had prohibited my daily errands as I was not well and it was a foggy morning but the daredevilry in me refused to listen to her resulting fresh supply of vegetables from the market. That annoyed her so much so that she used cutlery and kitchen wares as missiles to unleash her anger. The rhythmic music created by the missiles in kissing the floor or the wall produced the mirage of a remix. I congratulated her for this rare symphony which she dismissed with disdain but I escaped unhurt because the armory was exhausted. These ladies are really charming in their annoyance.

Recently I have been brooding over Beckettian('Waiting for Godot' by Samuel Beckett) waiting. Is waiting has been our eternal situation? Do we always wait for someone or something which would change our life? I am not sure. Perhaps a person loves to dream because, expectations, remaining un-fulfilled can safely be dreamy of. That probably is the cause of our waiting for the unexpected- so alluring and attractive. Such waiting has a charm of its own.

All charms are attractive and enjoyable.  

I remember an incidence some eight years back. While moving towards the office, I saw a young and fully grown robust cobra near our office at Jeypore at 9.45 am. The driver quickly parked the vehicle and said, “Sir, I can catch this cobra for you to see,” but the reptile was so quick that by the time he alighted it was 100 meters away and quite safe. I heard later that the driver was capable of catching snakes by some magic charms. It reminded me another incident that occurred many years back. One night, during my school days, a cousin of my father had a cobra bite. He was immediately rushed to our family physician. Incidentally he was our relation and had retired as a Government doctor and settled in our village too. The Doctor plucked some Tulsi leaves, forced those leaves to the patient’s mouth while chanting some ‘mantras’. Thereafter he cleaned the wound and applied antiseptic. Within minutes my uncle was cured. It was a known fact that he had cured many such snake bite cases and none of his snake-bite patients expired during treatment. I do not know how it is possible.

Apart from magic and magical charms, many other activities become attractive in young age. During my college days one of my aunts, three years senior to me, gathered us all during a summer vacation to have a ‘spirit call’ session. As per the procedure, a cup has to be kept upside down in the centre of a circle. All the twenty-six English alphabets are to be written round the circle. Minimum four participants should keep their finger tips on the cup and concentrate remembering a deceased person they all know. After a few minutes the cup would appear to be moving and the questions asked by the participants would be answered. I always had a hearty laugh when the session ends because I knew all along that it could never be true but could be enjoyed as a good fun and relaxation.

Oration has a wonderful charm to keep the audience spell bound. I have seen many professors taking classes in such absorbing manner that we wished prolongation of the classes. A professor of physics, during my post-graduation, was participating in a seminar organized by the English department. He spoke about Gorge Orwell and ‘Nineteen eighty-four’ for about an hour in such a magical spell that none could move an inch. How a professor of physics could find time to be critically involved in literature is still a mystery but in our college days, most of the teachers were brilliant.

What the stars foretell is an amusing experience. I heard that one day a Lecturer of a college at the end of the session had suddenly picked up the right hand of a student sitting in the first row. He deeply studied the hand and uttered in a low tone, “Yes it clearly shows you are in love but you are to prove yourself in the studies as well to win her”. “But sir,” he protested, but the Lecturer left the class without answering. When the Lecturer was asked about the incident he confided that he did not know anything about palmistry or fortune telling. He had been noticing for about a month that the student was absent minded most of the time. He wanted to bring back his confidence. The story goes on to tell that the student did well in the examination and won his lady-love too. Probably we love to hear sweet lies and interestingly some lies become true. 

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

While ending this piece I am still apprehensive of the beginning of further assault basically because I have been consistently dismissive of feminine advice and the weather continues to remain foggy.

Events

The gentleman at the second row commented, “I wasted my time and money in watching this wretched movie”. But it is a good film reflecting the realities of our society, I argued. “Reality?  Nonsense. Who does not have agony, suffering, pain etc. in his life? We do not go on lamenting all those in public. People come to watch movie for amusement, relaxation-not to carry a heavy head back home to add to his overburdened misery. Cinema is for entertainment. Don’t you agree?”

This encounter occurred some forty years back when I, along with my friends, had gone to a show house to watch a newly released movie. I argued for the sake of argument, but he was correct. “Human kind can not bear very much reality” Eliot writes. How true! But there are movies with tragic ending which move us as deeply as some hilarious ones. The poet writes, “Our sweetest songs are those which tell us the saddest story”. I am reminded of a great poet-Sarojini Naidu

‘The bridal-songs and cradle-songs have cadences of sorrow, 
The laughter of the sun to-day, the wind of death to-morrow. ‘

The couplet has a sad note but leaves a deep impression. Basically, to my mind, it is the presentation and the treatment of the theme that affects our psyche and leaves a deep scar. That of course does not nullify the fundamental - art, whether literature, film, painting, dancing or any other art form is to give pleasure, to amuse and entertain. While posting the blogs it occurred to me that I deliberately avoided narrating my experiences in handling unjust interference of power centers. Quite true and that is the reason for raising the question-whether literature is for pleasure or otherwise. Having resolved the question in favour of the former, I would seek the indulgence of my readers to allow me to present the pleasant only with minor digression.

I started my service career as a lecturer just after completing my Post Graduation. This assignment offered me the opportunity to read more books as the college had a rich library. Students from eastern states had enrolled in this institution as it was a regional college. I had to prepare a lot before engaging a class mainly because it was my first assignment and secondly the students were young, inquisitive and very keen to participate in the concluding interactive schedule. I enjoyed their company.

Annual play competition was an attractive itinerary in the extra-curricular activities. One of my colleagues was an excellent Director. I had some experience in the dramatic activities in my school days where I acted and directed a small play. We decided to stage an innovative Odia play. We selected the book as well as the players. I remember, I had to spend the entire evening and part of the night at Nandan Kanan (open wild life zoo of the state) to record the bird songs and the sounds of wild animals at night to give sound effect of nocturnal-forest. I had to request my cousin (who was an AIR artiste then) to render a solo song without accompaniment for the supporting actress. Air-rifle of my uncle was borrowed to replicate the gun shot. The play was adjudged the best play of the competition. The Chief Guest, an eminent writer, actor and educationist was overwhelmed and embraced us for such beautiful production. The experience was simply charming.

Much water has flown in between. After a brief stint in education, I moved to Finance where I continued till my superannuation. Life moves on. You have lived much of your life, I told myself. Be patient to see the remnant. Don’t buckle or bend, stand erect to say goodbye at the end.

Expressions

Recently I was contemplative over the question, ‘Why one writes?’ It appears to me that in spite of all faculties for communication, it becomes impossible for a person, at times, to communicate emotional issues. Oral communication is probably inadequate to convey the feelings. Feelings are the language of the heart which the head fails to communicate. Does it mean that the love letters are manifestations of communication obscurity? I do not know. I must go to the youngsters to resolve the issue. But one thing is certain. A person always wants to communicate those things which he/she feels were not properly communicated or communicated inadequately. This urge for expression may be the answer I sought. But this answer is confined to soft instincts. You can not write niceties of pure science, mathematics or history in the language of the heart.

I embarked upon the subject because I had started writing short stories in late sixties which got recognition when I got awards in different occasions in early seventies. While analyzing the prime mover, it dawned on me that I had a bagful of thoughts then which did not find expression in my ordinary oral skills. I wanted to say more and found a medium in shape of story writing. That apart, I wanted to tell a story playing upon my emotions as well as borrowed emotions. In those moments I feel, as if I was in a trance, experiencing exactly the same emotions that the narrative described. Only those stories had larger audience.

  I am inclined to believe that greetings on occasions are expressions of the heart rather than head. New Year has remained a special event for me, over many years, not because of celebrations but owing to the camaraderie and bonhomie which are so infectious that one loses control over cerebral plexus and tends to become emotional instead. Earlier I was receiving and dispatching a fair amount of greeting cards which are now replaced by SMS and emails. But what stands out is a “Hello” from a near and dear one wishing ‘Happy New Year’. I know, in course of time, such greetings will thin out. But I am sure I will enjoy the fading fragrance of the expressions which are more eloquent in its silence.