Utterly
and absolutely unforeseen situation, sort of continuity of unpredictability I
have been getting buffeted with of late.
I am
sitting in a small town Punjabi joint family household. It is a big house, a
garish and gaudy one with all the signature esthetics of a place and people
hanging somewhere between a town and a village. The males in the household are
strapping, the females are heavyset and girls are diffident and dutiful,
silently plodding about and the young men are respectful. I harbor healthy
skepticism though. The face that we present to people may not be the one we
actually have. I just have to look in the mirror for confirmation. People are
hospitable, extremely so. It is a sprawling double story bricked house standing
shoulder to shoulder with other similar houses which constitute the colony.
We
are drinking, the whole team of eight including the drivers. The hosts are
flitting around and fussing about drinks, water and snacks. I am feeling a bit
ashamed. I know myself and my team. I know them too well. They are busy gorging
on salad, chicken and Panner, they are ebullient and talking a bit loudly. High
spirited they seem and indeed they are.
I
saunter out with drink in my hand and cigarette in the other. I am a bit tired
and sick of noise and meaningless banter. Outside it is calm, weather is balmy;
houses are a playground for yellow and white light and black shadows. It could
be any small place in the transition phase from a village to a town. I take a
walk in the alley of light and shadows. I wish I had worn a black T shirt, I
could have stood in one of the dark corners, unobserved and spied on people
getting on with their life but the very next moment I realize that they don’t
have life any different from people living uninteresting lives. People are
sitting on charpoys on verandas, gossiping, watching TV or eating. All the
houses have space to move about. The vehicles are parked in front of every
house, two wheelers and four.
I
stand there drinking and smoking in slow motion, it seems. The locals pass by
and turn their heads to look at me. In shadows and darkness I must look even
more out of place. It is amazing how hair style can change the perception. And
complexion, the way you talk, the accent and even the apparel.
Me,
I am a foreigner at first look, an outsider everywhere. Because I don’t want to
belong, I guess. Belonging pigeon holes you, takes your identity, if there is
such an entity and makes it do the disappearing act and thereby gives, if not
you then at least me, an uncomfortable existential pause.
My
team members have taken their walk outside the house after dinner. They have
come back after half an hour and now they are being grateful for everything and
thanking the hosts profusely. The pictures are being taken, promises are being
made to keep in touch and definitely visit next time.
Politeness
and gratitude.
Turn
back to late 1940s, two camps; to mid and late 1980s, two camps; to late1980s
and early 90s, two camps. Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus and SC/ST got it in the arse
with time.
The
driver of our team loses his cell phone. He is drunk. He goes bonkers and
accuses the hosts of stealing his 2000 Rs worth of phone. The hosts, younger of
who are busy playing games on phones worth 24000- 50000.
Reeks
of gross and blatant disrespect.
I
apologize on his behalf. The hosts are indulgent. They don’t really mind or so
it seems.
But
then the question is would the driver have accused some hosts with equivalent
house in Delhi or Chandigarh? Would he have accused if the hosts were not
Dalits?
It
is shameful, a disgrace and rest of the team members are twisting themselves
into knots, apologizing on his behalf. The host teenagers, accused of being
thieves, are amused. It appears they have seen it all and there are good
chances that they have. The household is in the business of making country
liquor.
I
find the driver’s cell phone under his bed. He now wants to know as to who the
fuck threw the cell phone under his bed.
The
next day, Nirankaris do what they do; donate blood and we do what we do, take
blood but this time we have set a record, 189 units of blood in a day by one
team. The whole team works tirelessly including the driver. The Driverman is
contrite, it appears. The people are cheerfully and religiously, it has to be
mentioned, donating blood because the Babaji has asked them to. The preacher is
announcing that Nirankari mission holds the world record of donating maximum
blood. It is true. The preacher comes to me later on and we shake hands. We
have met on different occasions in other camps. He asks me not to reject the
donors on medical ground. I tell him as always that I will have to. By the end
of the camp I have rejected five people. A few kids cry because they can’t
donate as their parents. A few young girls vow to gain weight to come up to 45
Kg .
I
keep getting calls from two other doctors and my wife to hurry up, finish the camp.
The docs tell me that it is not really good to work that sincerely. The wife is
worried because I have to travel at night and I will be too tired. I am worried
about availability of sleeping pills for impending night journey.
The
docs wait for me till 3 PM and they leave for state capital, reneging on their
promise to wait for me till 7 PM. The fuckers. Good for me though. At least I
am spared from tolerating substance minus conversations with them for 6 hrs.
I reach home at 7,go to the toilet (I couldn’t
bring myself to use the toilet in the town since I did not ‘know’ the toilet or
the hosts and the said toilet was not in a neutral place like hotel) take a
shower, pack my shit and leave for bus stand. I buy sleeping pills too.
The
bus starts. It is a ‘delux’ without AC. The co passengers are generally college
kids. The one in the adjacent seat covers his ears and selects ‘Nirvana’ on his
cell. I can hear he is listening to ‘Lithium’. The two seated in the front are
either drunk or drugged or both. On my left are a few girls.
Well,
who gives a shit. The bus starts and I take a few pills.
I
wait for the sleep and wait and wait……
The
chairs are making high pitched creaking noises with every lurch and every
pothole negotiated. The roads are lousy. I try not to think of anything but the
thoughts seep in and fade out like ghosts.
I am
woken up by loud argument. The girls are accusing the drunks/drugged ones of
stretching their legs too far. Both parties are sitting parallel to each other
across the aisle.
I
try to think and come to the conclusion that the men with altered senses must
be stretching as well as spreading their legs wide. Not a very easy maneuver.
I
drift off to an uncomfortable sleep, periodically woken up by centrifugal
forces of sharp turns. I fondly recall travel on the plains.
I reach training centre, Institute of
public administration in Capital at 7.30 AM. I am super groggy from absence of
sleep and presence of 0.75 mg of Alprazolam in my system. I check into the
guest house. The room has two beds separated by a low table. I turn to the
turnkey and tell him that I do not want any bastard in the room with me.
He
is non committal. He tells me that everyone else is sharing.
I
tell him that I fart, forget to flush the toilet and miss my mark while
urinating.
He
does not appear to be bothered.
I
tell him that I am going to buy a bottle of booze and won’t be able to finish
it in two nights and that’s what I always do when on tour. I further announce
that generally people at the front desk of Sarkari guest house are the
beneficiaries.
He
melts.
I am
a wily bastard.
I
decide to take a nap before the session starts at 9.30 AM.
The
nap lasts till 2 PM.
I go
up to the seminar hall. My colleagues from the college welcome me and direct me
to the dining area. I finish the lunch in 6 minutes and run up like an obedient
dog.
The
lecture starts on ‘Fundamental of Ethics’ by an Associate Professor of
Philosophy.
She
starts with a self written poem in Hindi and then quotes a few lines from Rig
veda. She talks about ‘Indian culture and heritage’, She elaborates how we used
to have better times, she laments the present time, she quotes a few more of
other Vedas and Upnishdas.
I
listen to the bilge for 45 minutes and decide to educate her.
I
tell her that Vedas are not exactly respectful to women and according to them
she should be pressing her husband’s feet right now, values change with time and
so do morals and ethics. I tell her that she is sounding like ‘Astha’ channel.
The last one stings her badly. She announces that she is a qualified lecturer.
I tell her that she is not talking like one.
I tell the trainees that best countries in the
world do not have any ‘culture’ or religion, I tell them that attempt to employ
solutions by someone sitting on the banks of Ganges writing some shit 10,000
yrs ago doesn’t help gray situations of present turning to black or white.
One
trainee, an old man, working as editor of some crap tells me that we had the
most advanced Hindu civilization on earth and we had everything and that we do
not require anything from west. I tell him to take off his clothes and
underwear and cell phone and live without electricity and vehicles and live in
a society without democracy right away and while he is at it, it would not be
out of place to throw away all the furniture out of his home.
The
dumb motherfucker is fuming.
By
the time I am through, I leave at least three senior most trainees super pissed
and the lecturer in a profound dilemma. Others have variable opinion ranging
from I being ‘extraordinary’ to ‘trouble maker’.
I
don’t give a shit. I have other things to worry about. Procurement of booze is
on the top of my agenda. Making sure no one else shares the room with me is the
other.
I
have come here not go get ‘educated’ or ‘trained’ by myopic Hindu centric fuck
ups yearning for mythical golden age that never existed.
I am
very angry for some reason. Part of the reason is the campus. It is a beautiful
place. The offices and training venues have everything required. The lawns are
manicured, the hedges trimmed, flowers well attended, no litter and no dirt
inside or outside.
The
government must spend a fortune to keep it like this. The institute has
faculty.
The
faculty, sitting and working in glorious isolation organizing pure and
unadulterated shit.
If
they take my feedback about the course, I am going to write ‘Pig’s excreta i.e.
shit produced by eating shit’.
The
lecturer comes to me after lecture and tells me that she was specifically told
to talk on ‘Indian values’.
I
advise her to have some spine and read a bit more than her subject in order to
see her subject in proper perspective. I inform her that the handout did not
mention any thing ‘Indian’. I tell her that it is travesty that ‘public
administration’ mentions and asks different things and a philosophy teacher
agrees without questions and panders to the ‘system’.
The
time is gone. I have vented out the bile of source unknown to me. I sit typing
this shit and looking at beautiful moths settled on the walls near the tube
light. I carefully cup them in my fists and let them out into the dark.
Tomorrow
is another day……
I
get up at 8.10, jump into the bathroom, do the deeds, take my book and go to
the dining room. Bread and butter along with porridge is for breakfast.
The
topic for the day is ‘Self awareness, ethics and values’ to be taken by General
manger, Industries, a man with perpetually smiling face. I take an instant
dislike to him. A constantly smiling face is as unnatural as continuously
scowling one. The director of programme introduces him and tells us that he has
prepared the talk in a very short period of just two days.
The
lecturer begins. It is Art of living discourse for next two hrs. A blatant
advertisement. For next two hrs he makes the trainees do different breathing
techniques and everyone does what is being told. He talks about past present
and future. He talks in soft voice with smiling face. The confidence he
displays is repulsive.
I am
suitably repulsed.
He
tells that Art of living is being taught in 155 countries and it has 50 billion
dollar business. He validates so called ‘indian’ system by telling that it is
being followed by non Indians. The Americans.
I
close my eyes and promise myself to fuck him beyond redemption.
He
leaves only five minutes for questions. I begin. The rest of the trainees are
pricking up their ears. I don’t blame them.
“What
you did today was totally shit. You just talked about art of living for two
hrs. I was waiting as to when you will say something about self awareness and
values and ethics. Art of living is a commercial enterprise. You people charge
money for the course. What you did was a blatant and crass self promotion in a venue
where it is unethical to promote money making enterprises.”
He
is silent but his smile is fading.
“In
other words you don’t have any sense whatsoever about values or ethics and you
have wasted my time”
He
musters some courage and claims that Art of living has free courses and in fact
there are more than 9000 who are beneficiaries.
“What?
Then what the hell is 50 billion $ turnover? Are you nuts? Don’t you think you
could have organized free course for us over here in these three days?”
The
director of the course comes to the rescue.
“Doctor
Sahib. It is very complex issue and cannot be dealt in three days time.”
I am
super pissed.
“Sir,
you have organized this whole training and I am sorry to day that you have
invited people who have no idea whatsoever what to talk about and how”
“We
can talk about it all later. I am going to get your feedback tomorrow in
valedictory session”
“Hell,
I am giving my feedback right now” I point my finger at the Art of living man
“He is an ignorant, zero dimensional moron”
I hate being taught by lesser minds.
They,
neither the trainees nor the organizers and certainly not the lecturer have
seen any man so full of bile as me. Who gives a fuck? Not me. First time, you
dumb fucks, there is always a first time.
The
fellow trainees get my point. They agree. But some of them don’t approve of my
aggressive approach.
Lunch
break. Everyone wants to sit with me and talk. I want to jump down the slope
and smoke well hidden in the thick foliage.
I would rather talk about perverse Japanese and German pornography than
to have predictable conversations with the people who don’t deserve any word
other than ‘admirers’
I
jump down into the thick foliage and smoke.
Post
lunch session is being taken by a psychiatrist. For the first time someone is
talking sense. He actually talks about Values, Morality, Ethics and Conflict
resolution.
At
the end of the talk, I congratulate him and tell that it is the first relevant
lecture since yesterday. He asks for questions and I tell him that since
yesterday I have been losing my temper. I tell him about what had transpired. I
tell him that I am feeling a bit bad since I was a bit harsh in expressing my
views.
He
tells me that indeed I could have done with a bit of politeness.
The
old man, I had advised to jettison everything he owns jumps in and begins to
say that I was too harsh.
I
open my mouth but notice that the Psychiatrist is waving his finger. I shut up.
I take a deep breath.
“Harsh
yes, I admit but you see I can’t take shit especially from people who should
know that it is pure shit they are purveying.”
Everyone
laughs.
It
is liberating to say what is on my mind. No compromises. What the fuck can
anyone do? I look for black and white situation. Almost all are in different
shades of grays.
I am
gray. All are gray. Read and know that nothing is black or white. History,
anthropology, sociology and literature amply demonstrate.
Accept
reality and don’t try to impose your brand of values. You are too ignorant to
know that you are ignorant.
You
can try but I better not be among the audience and please don’t ask me as to
what I think of you.
I
will fuck you up sooner or later for sure, for I am suicidal and you love life.
Tomorrow
is another day………………
