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?