Unbelievable

A couple had gone for a holiday to a famous tourist spot. It was then Puja vacation. The town was jam-packed with tourists. It was doing roaring business. All the hotels, guest houses and boarding houses were full. The couple knocked from door to door, but to no avail, not a single room vacant. At long last they got a room on the first floor of an old dilapitated wooden building at the far end of the town, adjacent to the railway tracks.
Dusk had set in. Leaving his wife in the room, the gentleman went out to purchase a few essential items. Travel fatigue and the tension in search of accommodation compelled the lady to throw her tired body on to the soft comfort of the bed. The whole day's fatigue brought drowsiness into her eyes and she had almost fallen asleep when a speeding train went roaring past along the adjacent railway tracks. The reverbaration shook the old wooden structure so violently that she was thrown off the bed. The lady somehow managed to steady herself and lay down on the bed once again. A few minutes later another train passed, again the violent tremor and again she was thrown off the bed.
This unexpected harrassment and discomfort naturally enraged her. With extreme agitation she ran down the wooden stairs to the manager's room and shouted at the manager, "What sort of hotel are you running ? What room have you given us ? Every time a train passes by I'm thrown off the bed."
The manager naturally objected, "The hotel is not classy, I won't deny that. The room is also beside the railway tracks. And people have stayed in that room before. But no occupant has ever complained that he was thrown off the bed everytime a train passed."
Hearing this, the lady became more agitated,"Do you mean to say I'm lying ? Such audacity you have ! You come with me, and I'll show you." She caught hold of the manager's hand and pulled him up to her room. Then looking out of the window she said,"A train is there at the station; signal is down, the train will come any moment now. Lie down on the bed. Let me see whether you're thrown off the bed or not."
The manager didn't get any scope to express his objection. He had no option but to lie on the bed.
At that fatal moment the husband entered the room. He was stupefied to see the hotel manager lying on the bed. The manager was also dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events. The husband shouted, "What the hell are you doing on my bed ?"
The manager hesitated at first, then stammered, "I know you won't believe it, nobody will. The truth is I'm waiting for the train." Luck favoured the manager. Because, just then the train rumbled past the adjacent railway tracks, and the manager's full efforts to hold on to the bed went in vain, and he was thrown off on to the floor. He got up and limped out of the room, dusting his clothes.

L O V E

In adjacent houses live two small kids, a seven year old boy and a six year old girl. As is natural, they are extremely good friends, one can't live without the other. Just like child love. But there came a pause to this affair, a sudden curtain dropped in this innocent love affair. The girl's mother observed that her daughter's little boy friend no longer came to their house; even when her daughter visited the boy's house, the boy did not play with her, totally ignored her.
To ascertain the cause of this sudden change, the girl's mother went to the boy's house and asked the boy, "Son, why don't you play with your friend any more ?"
The boy left without answering. Then she asked the boy's mother, "There was so much love between the two, what has happened all of a sudden ?"
The boy's mother replied with a smile, "Sunny's father has bought a guinea pig for him. Now the whole day he spends with that guinea pig. Where is the time for him with his love ?"
The story is not as humorous and light as it apparently seems. Instead of love many play with guinea pigs, just like the little kid.
The meaning of love is totally subjective; it varies from person to person. Many years ago, the villagers of a village in Bengal, where there was no Brahmin priest, brought a priest from Kolkata for performing the daily worship in the local Lakshminarayan Temple. The priest was given a monthly payment. A year passed by quite smoothly. But one day, it was seen that the priest was packing his belongings, ready to return to Kolkata. The villagers became morose and approached the priest with folded hands, "Thakur, what offence have we committed that you should leave us ? We're giving you your monthly payment in time, aren't we ?"
The priest said," It is not the question of the monthly payment; it is paid in all places and you have also paid. I'm not returning on that ground. I'm going away because of lack of love, which is lacking in your village."
Hearing such a strange and unexpected complain from the priest, the villagers were dumbfounded. Then the priest explained the matter to them very lucidly.
"Look, you people don't love me at all. If you had loved me, then apart from my monthly payment, you would have offered me your vegetables, clothing, ornaments at some time or other. But you did not. Then, you don't even love yourselves. If there was, then there would have been at least one marriage in the last one year; there would have been the birth of a child; then I would have had the opportunity to perform the marriage or the child's rice ceremony and I could have made some income. But that opportunity also I did not get in your village."
The priest was almost out of breath. But he had not yet finished. The last complain was most dreadful. After taking in a deep breath of oxygen, the priest continued, "Apart from all that, God also does not love you people. If He had, then certainly He would have called one or two of you to Him in the last one year. Then, at least, I could have performed the last rites and received dhoti, umbrella, a cow etc."
If we could say that the priest in the story was suffering from an ancient disease of lovelessness, then it wouldn't have been so bad. But it is not actually a love story. You may find a good many people who think that love is ultimately designed, love is just a game, a weapon to fulfil a purpose. We don't want to go through such complex questions. Even better, we go to actual stories of love. First, I'll relate two very old love stories. The first one may be familiar to all.
After returning from office, the husband stretches his tired body in an easy chair and shuffles the pages of the daily paper, which he has already read thrice in the morning. The wife hands over a cup of tea to the husband and sits on a chair beside him. The husband silently sips his tea and attentively goes through the paper once again. Needless to say, after returning from office, he has not spoken a word to his wife. Ultimately, the wife breaks the silence, "Dear, why don't you love me like you used to before ? Earlier, you used to speak so sweetly of love and our desires, but now you say nothing. You don't seem to like me at all." Hearing this plea, the husband looks up at his wife and says, "Who says that I don't love you or like you. I still love you as I used to earlier. Only I request you to stop nagging me and keep quiet. Please leave me alone and let me read the papers."
The second story is more pathetic.
Ramesh had a quarrel with his wife early one morning. It was a terrible quarrel. There was no fight or pulling of hair but sufficient abusive language was exchanged. It was Ramesh who had started the quarrel. But how could Ramesh stand up to his wife ? He retreated and ran out of the house.
Ramesh left the house without bathing and without food. He attended office in this condition. Office time was over and Ramesh was feeling guilty, which is a male's natural weakness. He thought he should not have started the quarrel. The whole day was wasted, he felt. Ultimately, repentant Ramesh phoned home, presuming that his wife must be similarly remorseful. But it did not happen the way he had imagined. He said "Hello" and his wife echoed "Hello". Enthusiastically he said "I'm Ramesh speaking. What have you cooked for dinner ?" Reply came from the other end in a bitter voice, " Poison. I've cooked poison for dinner". The good news unnerved him initially, then he said," Good. But you cook for one only. I'll have my dinner outside. You eat what you've cooked."
Love is mentioned mostly in the Bible. Page after page, chapter after chapter only love and love; love this person, love that person etc. etc. G.K.Chesterton had a witty remark regarding the Biblical love. Chesterton said, "The Bible has instructed us to love our neighbours, and again in the Bible it is written love your enemies." Following this formula, Chesterton commented, "Actually, these two kinds of people are the same." In other words, neighbour means enemy.
There's a small story connected with Biblical love.
A little girl's father's friend often visited their house and he used to tease her. One day the child became enraged and shouted at her father's friend in the angry language she knew. The strong words hurt the gentleman very much. Using his last weapon, he told the girl in a stern voice, "When you have uttered such strong words I will not love you any more." But the little girl, without being upset, replied, "No, that cannot be. You will have to love me." The gentleman was surprised and asked, "Why do I have to love you?" The girl replied, "Because in the Bible it is said that you should love those who hate you. I hate you, so you must love me."
Hate is mixed with love in a little portion. Not only hate, a little anger, a little jealousy, some sorrow, some pain - a mixture of all these go to make true love.
The English poet William Cowper had said "I still love you, I love you with all your faults."
A poet from Bengal had written, "I make the home for one who has broken it. I roam around crying for the one who has left me."
No need to discuss poetry, it gets complicated. Let me end with a simple story.
A pretty lady was walking along the street alone. Suddenly a man began to trail her. The lady realised the matter and after going a little further, she stopped, turned around and asked the man, "Why are you following me?" The man replied, "I've fallen in love with you."
"Love ? Do you know me ?" the lady asked.
The man replied, "May be I don't know you, but my love is pure. You can say love at first sight."
The lady said, "Is that so ? But why have you fallen in love with me ? My younger sister is following me. She's much more pretty than I am. Before falling in love with me, you better have a look at my sister."
Hearing this, the man was naturally a bit startled and paused and looked back. Unfortunately, he could not see any pretty girl. He saw an ugly elderly lady.
In the meantime, the pretty lady had gone a bit further. The man ran forward and caught up with her. With all the running he was panting and beads of persipiration had formed on his forehead. Panting, he asked the lady, "Why did you lie to me ?"
The lady questioned, "Did you tell me the truth ?"
After taking a deep breath, the man asked, "What lie did I tell you ?"
The lady said, "Didn't you lie ? If you had really loved me, why did you turn back in search of a prettier girl ?"

THE RICKSHAW

We all know that there are two types of rickshaw. Pull rickshaw and the cycle rickshaw. Pull rickshaws ply on the streets of Kolkata and cycle rickshaws ply in the suburbs of the city, in villages and smaller towns. But, whatever the appearances, the difference between the two types of rickshaws is not to be ignored. If the front cycle is romoved, there is not much of a difference between the two types. The actual difference is not of the rickshaws, but of the drivers, especially the temper and behaviour of the drivers.
The rickshaw puller in the city is aged, sedate, moving with the world in his own easy manner. Generally he's impervious to all relevant and irrelevant matters around him, except the rickshaw fare. He doesn't talk much about the fare. And that is the formula of his success. He speaks only once when the rider gets off his rickshaw. If the rider has not fixed the fare before sitting on the rickshaw, the rickshaw puller is likely to charge double the actual rate, leaving the passenger non-plussed. On most occassions the passenger has most probably come to meet his/her relative or dropped off at a road crossing. The rickshaw puller then comes to form and begins his tirade of insulting words in his Bhagalpuri language and collects a small crowd of curious on-lookers. The passenger, to get away from this embarrassing position, shells out what has been demanded. On a few occassions, the passanger hands over to the rickshaw puller the actual fare and walks away, ignoring his tirade of insulting language. But the rickshaw puller uses such foul language that will make a person mad and will make him want to return and give a fitting reply; the rickshaw puller wants just that. Because, in the meantime, he has collected a small curious crowd to whom he was expressing his grievance and tale of cruel injustice.
The nature of the cycle rickshaw puller is different. Most of them are young. While paddling the rickshaw, they hum the tune of popular Hindi songs. A few even sing their favourite songs quite loudly. The passengers generally don't raise any objection. Even if any passenger does object, the rickshawallah is least bothered. Most of the cycle rickshaws nowadays have a transistor fixed to the handle bar with one of the FM channels blaring out popular Hindi or Bengali songs. Many of the rickshaw pullers come from lower middle class good families, with some education. I know a rickshaw puller, a graduate and a very good reciter of poems. In fact, he has bagged several prizes in recitation. His rickshaw is specially designed and very comfortable to sit in. The standard rickshaws are uncomfortable and you're likely to slide forward if you're not careful. But you won't find such rickshaw pullers in Kolkata. They are all illiterate and hail from a neighbouring state. They don't have any connection with the city.
But the rickshawallahs in the suburbs are all influential citizens. They have connection with the main nerve centre of the town's life. They are involved with its rise and fall, joy an sorrow. They know all the respected intellectuals and professionals; theives and rascals; generally even their houses. But the rickshaw pullers of Kolkata have no knowledge beyond the big road crossing and market.
There's another big difference between the pull rickshaw and the cycle rickshaw. The pull rickshaw sometimes overturns, but the cycle rickshaw rarely does, although once in a while it does fall down a khud or into a drain. The overturning of a pull rickshaw apparently appears funny, at the same time sad. Three couples known to me fell from pull rickshaws. In all three cases, the couples were bulky. The rickshaw puller was pulling the rickshaw when, all of a sudden, the joint weight of the bulky couple disbalanced the rickshaw and it went out of control of the rickshaw puller. The rickshaw went backward in a ninety degree angle and the passengers were thrown on the road, while the rickshaw puller went up and hung from the handle of the rickshaw and ultimately fell along with it. Generally, in such cases, there's not much injury to the passengers or the puller, except for a few bruises may be. But the couples involved are a bit shaken and don't dare to venture on a pull rickshaw for quite some time.
The cycle rickshaw does not overturn in such manner. But its speed sometimes throws it off its orbit and it is very dangerous. If not carefully driven, cycle rickshaw accidents are much more critical. I was thrown out of a rickshaw once while taking a sharp turn in full speed.

THE RICKSHAW

FEELING GOOD OR SATISFACTION

A gentleman entered a shoe store to purchase a pair of shoes. After minutely examining the texture, leather and design of several shoes, he chose a pair and put them on to see the fitting and was satisfied. "Oh fine, they are excellent !" the gentleman exclaimed, and continued, "Now you can take them back, I don't require these. Please bring me another pair exactly like these but one size smaller." The shop keeper was a bit surprised and asked "Why one size smaller, are they for somebody else ?" The man replied "No, no. I'm purchasing the shoes for myself." He looked up at the bewildered shop keeper and with a weary smile and asked "What, you didn't catch on ?" The shop keeper shook his head and said he didn't understand this matter of purchasing a smaller size shoe.
It was a rainy afternoon, there was very little sale. It's been raining for several days and the roads were all slushy. There was no second customer and no new customer was likely at that moment. So he expressed his curiosity to know the reason for purchasing a shoe one size small.
What the gentleman said didn't appear to be irrelavent. After waking up in the morning, he goes to the milk depot to collect milk. There, sometimes in knee deep water, sometimes in the rain, and in other seasons, even after queing in line in the sun for more than an hour, sometimes he gets milk, on most occassions he doesn't. When he returns home with the empty bottle, his wife flares up as if he had intentionally not brought the milk or had drunk it and brought the empty bottle. There was no current the whole of last night; intolerable heat, frightening mosquito bites made the night unbearable. Now, this morning there wasn't a drop of water. After this, frightful marketing. Then followed by rushing to office in an overcrowded tram, tram derailed, late to office, rebuke of higher authority. He's a cashier where he works. Small change is unavailable, public playing dirty tricks, taunting comments, abusive language and on occassions even attempt to assault.
Having ample time and an attentive listener, the gentleman gave a detailed list of his daily mortification to the shop keeper. The shop keeper is not a man from another world, he's very much aware of these things; he also has to face some of these problems. But he has never thought of these things in a seriatim manner. But, even then, what relation purchasing a smaller size shoe has got to do with all these, he just could not understand. However, he got up and brought a pair of shoes one size smaller. The gentleman put the shoes on after a lot of struggle. On seeing his face it was evident that he was in anguish.
The shop keeper has, by this time, taken the gentleman as mad or a miser. But what the gentleman told him after he put on his shoes, not only stunned him, but assured him that he was not mad. The gentleman forcibly put the shoes on and, while limping across the carpet of the shop, told the shop keeper, " Just think that after limping along with these shoes on throughout the day, I come home at the end of the day and take off these shoes, how relieved I'll be, what peace, what happiness, what satisfaction. Morning till evening no milk, no power, overcrowded trams, pot holes, slush, abuse, humiliation. There's no peace, no happiness anywhere, only your one size small pair of shoes will give me extreme satisfaction in the evening when I return home and take them off.."
The matter of feeling good or satisfied is very complicated and totally subjective. At any moment of time or on any one issue, your satisfaction may not be the same as mine. I met a childhood friend of mine last year after a long time. At the end of a long conversation, he suddenly asked me "Don't you like loadshedding ?" Not only this, a sister-in-law of mine loves the smell of shoe polish; my younger brother loves to eat burnt toast; I even know a gentleman who, in the middle of the night, gleefully observes a cat fight on the roof with his binoculars. Mark Twain once stated, feeling good means to melt oneself into loneliness. May be this perpetual vagabond whimsical writer had discovered in his life that whatever you like or love or adore is your own, personally yours. Our whole life flitters away in search of the partner of our intimate liking. That invaluable partner may sometimes be our friend, sometimes our lover or wife, sometimes our child or pupil.
In the unsuccessful poet's language, being satisfied means living well. That poet's impression was that, in the manner in which the evening star looks comfortable in the midst of the white clouds, the manner in which the chrysanthemum nestles peacefully in the lap of the green leaves, our keeping well cannot be the same. Even then, if you think you're satisfied, then you're happy.

The Superannuated Man

The heading seems very familiar, doesn't it ? Borrowed from Charles Lamb. Remember him ? The soft and kind hearted gentleman, whose very nature flowed into his writing through his pen. I'm sure the big hearted man would not have minded my using the title, if he were aalive today, as I am in reality a superannuated man. I have the whole day to myself. When I sit down to pen something, so many topics crowd my mind, that I get confused. I fish out one from the depths of my mind, and post a few lines. Then another follows. There topics galore.

Then, one day, by tapping the key board, I managed to open my own blog. I decided to use this blog to post something big. But what ? I've prepared the Preface to the article, which is in the nascent stage. It's like cooking a curry, you know. The vegetables are there on the table to be chopped. The spices to be used are kept ready in hand. The pot is on the oven, the gas is not yet lighted. This is on one side. In another part of the kitchen, the meat has been chopped, mixed with spices and kept aside to be marinated for two hours. So, all the ingradients are ready. I'm now only waiting for the whistle to blow. But, who will blow the whistle?

Sometimes, a doubt arises. Who will read what I post ? Because, there's a big difference between a short article and a long narration. Continuity has to be maintained and should not be too exhaustive which will bore the reader. This makes me nervous and holds me back. But then, again, something in me pushes me to go forward. It tells me to post what I feel, what I think and what I see. It tells me not to think of it as a futile exercise. Until and unless you start, you won't know where you stand. So, taking heart from that advice, I shall start posting what has been in my mind for a long long time. Opinions are sought from readers for guidance. Criticism is also invited, but it must be constructive and not just criticism for its own sake.

Religion : Opium or Inherent belief

C ynics have labelled religion as the opium of the people. The subject of religion is very delicate
and sometimes very contraversial. Contraversy arises when dishonest persons exploit the belief
and trust of the masses.
I have travelled throughout Inida, from north to south and east to west and I am of the firm
opinion that it is the common from rural India who is the torch bearer of the great Hindu religion.
I'll relate just two incidents that I witnessed during my visit to Kedarnath in May 2007. Kedarnath
Temple and the adjoining mountains were covered with snow. I had put up at a hotel near the
temple along with an old friend. After keeping our luggage in the room we stepped out in the balcony. What we saw stunned us. Se veral people, men and women, were walking through the
snow and slush in simple slippers without any socks. The men wore ordinary dhotis and shirts with
a very ordinary shawl wrapped around them. The dhoti was pulled upto their knees. The women
too had on ordinary sarees and thin shawls. We stood on the verandah well protected from the
cold wearing woollen cap, jacket, thick trousers and thick shoes. You know where the difference
lay - we were visitors and they were piligrims.
The second incident on the same trip occured a day later on the way to Gangotri from
Gourikund.. We saw a tall slim girl carrying an old man on her back. Her feet was bare. She was
taking the old man for a darshan of Lord Shiva. In my heart she was Lord Shiva in the guise
of a maiden.


JK Ghosh