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Glimpse of Gandhi : Part II

Posted by ABC Monday, 6 October 2014 0 comments

“Yogesh…Shyam Lal…” I screamed at the top of my voice, as they were the only peons present on that day after everyone had left. They didn’t respond. I got up again to shut up this nuisance but the moment I stepped out of my cubicle, something cracked under my feet and I slipped and was dragged a few metres till I clasped the corner of a table and caused my head to bang against the adjoining wall. I could see myself lying on the floor in a pool of salt, white salt. What the hell was happening in the office? What was driving me insane? I failed to comprehend. Suddenly a strong gust of air caused the curtains to blow violently and the windows cracked open, bringing in shards of glass. The wind made whistling sounds as it passed through an orifice and scattered all the papers that were lying on the table. My heart throbbed as the memories of the brutality carried out at Dharasana Salt Works during Gandhi’s Dandi March raked up. I pinched myself for thinking ‘out of the box’ and started praying again to the Almighty. The God obliged and all these sinister movements calmed. A rat, as big as the size of a kitten, hopped over the table and disappeared into a hole in the wall. Gosh! I was so terrified that I could have mistaken a rope for a snake. It was only an illusion. Wasn’t it? I got up by myself and ran to my desk.

But it was not over. I had just finished a few reports when the lights went off. There was absolute darkness everywhere and the crickets came out to have a gala time. None of the peons turned up to set the generator in motion, leaving me at unease with myself. I decided to close my eyes and wait for the power to be restored.

“Tuck… Tuck… Tuck…” I could hear somebody’s footsteps followed by the striking of a wooden cane against the floor.

“Who’s there…who’s…?” I shouted.

“Security…Guards…!” I shouted again for help before I could run for my life.

“Don’t be afraid of me, son…”

I heard a sound consoling me as an old, lean figure emerged from the darkness. Terrified, I cursed myself for choosing this day to work when I should have been enjoying out with my friends. I wished I could find my friends in the darkness who would come and embrace me and help me get rid of this fear. But nothing of that sort happened. I was left deserted. Quite surprisingly, the figure didn’t intend any harm to me. All it wanted to do was a bit of talking. It came closer and closer to me and what I saw next made me suspicious of my own sight. It was Mahatma Gandhi; yes Bapu himself, clad in a khadi dhoti-kurta with his spectacles. Was I hallucinating? Yes, I was. No. I wasn’t.

“Bapu…?” I inquired in a breaking voice and was reciprocated with a toothless grin.

“Help me Rama. Help me.” I stuttered, still not able to believe what was there in front of my eyes.

“Prayer is not asking, my son”, Bapu began. “It is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”

How legitimate these words seemed to me. Why was I begging the all-powerful for help when I didn’t require any! Asking God for everything has become a human prerogative. Am I not supposed to help myself on my own? I started experiencing turmoil in my mind.

“Please get away from here”, I warned with a paper weight in my hand.

“Nobody can hurt me without my permission. You too can make an attempt”, Bapu replied in a soft voice.

Of course, I had no intention of hurting anybody. I was fighting my own fear.

“You got hurt, didn’t you? You were assassinated, weren’t you? Your assailant didn’t seek your permission, did he? ” I mustered some courage and began a conversation, now with some interest.

“Could he kill my thoughts? Nay. Could he wipe off my teachings? Nay. He took away my flesh but could not take away my soul. It was an act of cowardice. But I forgave him. The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong”, Bapu explained in the most convincing tone. These powerful words left me spell-bound and made me wonder how easy it is to douse the fire in the heart of a person by trampling over his ideas, by subjecting him to adversities, by stripping him off his resources. But his passion still lives on. Given an opportunity, this supressed flame rises from the ashes and brings the unfulfilled dreams to fruition.

Bapu could see through my mind. He could peep into my conscience. He shared some more words of wisdom as he continued, “When I despair, I remember that all through history, the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it – always.”

The fear in my mind subsided and I started enjoying the conversation.

“How am I to prepare myself if I want to realise my dream and sing the song of my watan?” I asked.

“A man is but a product of his thoughts. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end up really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I can surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.” Bapu hit the right nerve with each of his golden words.

“Does my destiny have a role to play in my endeavour? What if I fail even when I work to the best of my ability?” Bapu had aroused my curiosity and I started feeling more and more inquisitive.

“To believe in something and not to live it, is dishonest”, he said as he moved his cane from one hand to the other.

“Keep your thoughts positive because your thoughts become your words. Keep your words positive because your words become your behaviour. Keep your behaviour positive because your behaviour becomes your habits. Keep your habits positive because your habits become your values. Keep your values positive because your values become your destiny.”

In five brief sentences, Bapu had summed up all my apprehensions and provided me a remedy to all my fears. He had charged up the atmosphere with his noble words and had instilled a sense of self-importance in me. Seeing me cribbing about my work, he added, “Remember son, wealth without work is as deadly a sin as worship without sacrifice. Your future depends on what you do today.”

After a long time, I thanked my stars for introducing me to arguably the noblest soul that had ever lived in this world. I felt elated at being able to learn the lessons of life from a person whose life is itself an example to emulate. As I turned to Bapu to express my gratitude, he had already turned away to return.

“Stop Bapu. Please don’t leave me alone. Stop, please…” I pleaded. By now, I had hunkered down on the floor, on my knees. But he didn’t stop walking.

“Listen to the little voice inside you that wants to talk to you”, he mumbled. “This voice is easy to ignore but it tells you what you really want. This is the voice of the God.”

With these words, he disappeared into darkness and I found myself drowned in a delirium of ecstasy at being sermonised by Bapu himself.

The next thing I remember about the day is my journey back home in the evening. I am not sure about the truthfulness of my encounter with Bapu, but I am sure about the fact that he reiterated his teachings to me on his birthday. The message that he wanted to convey to the entire world, had been conveyed to me, that too individually!

Glimpse of Gandhi : Part I

Posted by ABC 0 comments

02 October is celebrated as Gandhi Jayanti in India and as International Non-Violence Day around the world, in the fond memory of Shri Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the father of the nation of India who led a life set by examples and guided the nation to the path of independence from the British colonial rule. He was a great political and spiritual leader who led an austere life and fought all adversities with his two great weapons, namely – satya (truth) and ahimsa (non-violence).

This year, the birthday of Bapu (as Mahatma Gandhi is fondly called) was celebrated by launching a “Swachhh Bharat” (Clean India) Campaign with an aim to fulfil his dream of a clean and healthy India. Scores of citizens across the country vowed to keep their homes and surroundings clean and pledged to devote at least two hours a week to realise this dream.

This narrative is a story of my fictitious encounter with Bapu at my workplace, the day he took a new avatar to reiterate his teachings. The characters referred to in the narrative are fictitious and any resemblance to anybody is, therefore, purely co-incidental.

October 02, 2014:

It was a bright Thursday morning. The sky was crisp blue in colour and was beautifully lit up by the vibrant rays of the sun at the horizon. The breeze was cool and refreshing and was punctuated by the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves. What a lovely weather it was, I thought, admiring the serenity of the environment. It was 8:00 a.m. and I was already prepared to leave for office. Unlike other days, this time I decided to take a bus to my office instead of boarding the Delhi Metro. I had barely reached the bus stop when I found the bus for route number 901 already waiting there for the passengers. Whoa! I got in as fast as I could and grabbed a seat next to the window. The conductor obliged me with the ticket and with that began the journey, a smooth ride in an air conditioned bus. Wait, gone are the days when the buses were rickety and the journey tiresome. Delhi Transport Corporation (DTC) has indeed undergone a metamorphosis in the last five years. The bus hit one road to another, stopping on several occasions on several stops and each time there was an exchange of passengers – inside and outside the bus. I could read the newspaper, nod occasionally at my fellow passenger’s words and crack a peanut or two each time the bus halted. Then came the most wonderful part of the journey when the bus passed by the Red Fort. A large number of school students had gathered at the ramparts of the majestic fort to take part in the Clean India Campaign. What a delightful sight it was to see young boys dressed as Gandhi and were joined by young girls dressed in colourful attire.

One could feel an air of celebration in the entire city. All government office buildings were beautifully decorated with marigold flowers and incandescent lamps and had a garlanded idol of Bapu placed on a high pedestal right at the main gate. After a brief exchange of morning greetings with my colleagues, I proceeded toward the conference hall, where all the employees had gathered to express their solidarity and read the pledge for a clean India. It was followed by distribution of samosas and laddoos (Indian delicacies). I found myself at fault in thinking of this event to be a ceremonial exercise or a mere political stint. Employees, right from the level of boss to the peon had actually made a contribution in this campaign and were equally enthusiastic to participate in more of such campaigns. The event concluded in about an hour and it being a gazetted holiday, most of the employees started leaving for their homes.

Alas! There were fault in my stars this day too or else I would not have been doomed to complete my assignments. I could see the jubilation in the eyes of my friends as they left for Cannaught Place to celebrate the day while I had to start the engine of my monotonous office routine. How envious I felt! By 11:00 a.m., there were hardly a couple of employees working in the office and we were joined by a couple of security guards. I started building my concentration and decided to finish my work as soon as possible. But time ceases to move when you want it to move and it ceases to stop when you want it to stop. With a deadline to meet, I was experiencing the latter situation.

It was around 1:30 p.m. when, working alone, I started feeling claustrophobic – a morbid fear of being in a confined space. Strange and spooky thoughts started surfacing in my mind which was further reinforced with the revelation of a few haunted experiences that happened in the past. The sound of the clock needle moving or the tube light flickering made me feel uncomfortable. And then suddenly something happened that made me shudder with fear. I could hear someone writhing in pain as if the person was being beaten with clubs or lashed with a whip. I swallowed a whiff of air and got up to find out the source of the sound. I chased the screams as far as I could and was led to the sixth floor, which was otherwise always locked. The door creaked as I opened it; there was no lock on the latch. I paced my steps on the corridor, took a left turn, then a right turn, but was still unable to hunt that sound. I went on to roam around the floor and reached a diversion. Barely had I raised my left feet to take the next step when a chair came rolling toward me. I was left aghast! In that dimly lit corner, the chair stopped and started revolving on its wheels. I could see a yellow shape rolling on the chair, leaning itself on the backrest and looking right into my eyes. My hands froze and my legs got buried in the ground. I felt choked and couldn’t scream. I found myself unable to show any sign of locomotion and could only recite a few prayers in my mind. Fortunately, it worked; the maha mrityunjaya mantra that I had learnt in my childhood was showing its strength to me today. The chair crashed against a wall and made a terrible screeching sound that could have made a person go deaf.

I felt emaciated as I got up and moved toward the chair. Voila! I finally found out the ‘yellow thing’ on the chair. It was a beam of sunlight that sieved through an old broken window and fell directly on the chair. The motion of the blades of an old rusted exhaust fan fixed across the window gave a flickering effect to this light. Oh sunshine! Thou art nearly killed me with trauma! The screams stopped and a group people emerged from the darkness. They looked like freedom fighters. Yes, they indeed were! In a trice they encircled me and started chanting ‘vande mataram’, gyrating on the floor. Was I hallucinating? Yes, I was. No, I wasn’t. I closed my eyes, with both my hands covering my ears. They disappeared in a while, but the echo of their chants didn’t. I summoned all my courage and started walking briskly toward the exit. The door closed with a bang as I left the floor.

I had a sigh of relief, gulped some water and spilled some on my shirt in my haste. I tried to forget what happened and resumed my work from where I had left and started working on a few reports. The mosquitoes hovering under my desk made me more and more impatient but the only help I could seek for myself was scratch my skin till it turned red. Another hour passed and the same fear started surfacing in my mind again. This time I had an ominous feeling that somebody was sharpening a sword by bruising it back and forth over a slab. This was further joined by zapping of electricity and sharp sound of snapping noises.

Continue reading - Glimpse of Gandhi : Part II

A peep into the past

Posted by ABC Monday, 14 April 2014 0 comments

It was a pleasant Sunday evening. The breeze was cool and the sky was crisp blue in colour, adorned with vivacious, chirping birds across its canvass. The sunshine was waning toward the west and it was an ideal weather to move out for an evening stroll. The only thing trying to thwart my desire was a never ending phone conversation with one of my friends. Finally I decided to bring the blabbering to an end and headed toward the wardrobe to fetch my pair of sports shoes.

“I will be back in an hour mom”, I yelled as I pounced upon a bottle of ice cold water.

As usual, the entrance of the community garden was guarded by a group of street dogs- black, brown, white, spotted ones…

The look that they reflected in their eyes was typical of the look in the eyes of a traffic police officer waiting anxiously at a traffic junction to challan young bikers. I scrounged for a packet of biscuits in my pockets so that I could appease the ‘guards’ to clear the way to the entrance gate. All that I could find in my pockets was a torn bus ticket and a few strands of cotton that must have got detached from the fabric over time. Nevertheless, I pretended to behave in as normal a manner as I could and tip-toed towards the gate. To my surprise, the dogs didn’t bark or wag their tails. Phew…I was in!!!

“Welcome to District Park”, the board at the entrance read.

What a lively scene it was! The garden was lush green, the grass was nicely trimmed, plants were meticulously decorated in the shape of animals and flowers were in full bloom – some of them I could easily recognise, others I couldn’t. I decided to walk the first round as briskly as I could. It was fun to watch pigeons, crows and sparrows sitting on a hose pipe, getting drenched in the water that was emanating from an orifice. I was reminded of my early childhood when I used to express my elation while bathing playfully in a pool made by inflating a tube. But the swarm of bees hovering near the pipe stopped me from going near it. I hate bees for their sting but I do love their honey, an inherent human trait!

In an adjacent sector, a group of young boys was playing cricket, in the typical Indian way – replacing stumps with bricks, a tennis ball in place of a Kookaburra ball, a bat with a MRF sticker on it particularly because Sachin Tendulkar played with a similar bat, two teams with a beech-ka-bichhu (a player common to both teams) who trebled his role as an umpire. I stopped for a moment to catch a glimpse of the majestic sport. The first ball was bowled and the batsman hit it over my head. What a reflex! I caught the ball with my left hand. Jhonty Rhodes must have felt envious had he seen this piece of fielding. I acknowledged the applause and moved away after handing over to them their ball.

I walked and walked, caressing the shrubs along the beaten path. I could feel the ladybird insects flying out of the bushes randomly and sitting over my fingers. I could feel the scent of the marigold flowers that were blooming in the bushes. And then the cacophony – a group of senior citizens were laughing wildly into the air and clapping madly and were further joined by a group of buzzing old ladies zzz…zzz…zzz… Indeed it was a good way of venting out anger and practicing Yoga and other therapies without hurting anyone in the vicinity. However, the louder they clapped the louder I could feel the ringing sound in my ears. I walked away quickly toward an open lawn where another group of old men were playing cards.

“Namaste uncle”, I said.

The level of concentration was so high that anyone barely noticed. With cards in one hand and a beedi (a cigarette made by rolling tobacco over tendu leaves) or tobacco in the other, they went on to play, win and lose as long as they could. Suddenly, an evil thought crossed my mind that I should throw a pebble at one of those bald men and run away. Before I crouched to pick up a pebble, something fell over my head. It was a dry hibiscus flower. Ouch…! The God was watching. I dropped the evil thought at once and grinned.

The rustling of dry leaves as I crushed them under my feet generated a rhythmic sound and reminded me of the days when I and my sister generated similar sounds by bursting bubble wraps that were wrapped around new electronic devices and crockery. I jumped over heaps of dry leaves again and again to experience the same thrill and happiness that I felt when while jumping over blankets and mattresses. Although they were not as soft as I had expected, they did leave a characteristic smell in my hands. I had just started sinking into oblivion when someone shouted,

“Bhaiya, listen…Bhaiya…”

I got up quickly and thought that it must be the gardener running after me to shower his wrath for the spillage. But I ran after the voice to catch hold of it before it died in the woods. It was a trio of poor children from a nearby slum. They were standing at the top of a heap of sand, swirling their torn rags like Sourav Ganguly once did when India won an important match.

“Come down boys. You might hurt yourself”, I shouted at the top of my voice only to realise that they were playing a prank. It was their way of drawing attention to their mischief. They would yell and slide down the slope of heap of sand and repeat the same. While some dogs stood there barking, others (of my species) hardly batted an eye. I wanted to join them too, but my sense of superiority held me back. I felt ashamed of myself and left the place before I was overwhelmed with emotions or I involved myself in a caste debate with my conscience.

The sky had become dark now. I could see the stars and the moon shining and their beam falling on the dense trees. I felt I was standing in the same dreamland that I was transported to when my mother used to sing a lullaby for me to make me sleep. I wished I could stay there longer but an uncanny fear of isolation and the creaking sound of crickets changed my mind. I ran toward the nearest exit that I could find and once again I was led to the road leading to my home, sweet home.

I stopped by the nearby temple, bowed at the altar and prayed to the Almighty. I dropped a ten rupee note in the ‘daan-paatra’ (donation box) as a token of thanks for the maintenance of the temple. The priest offered me a plate of aaloo-puri-halwa (an Indian delicacy). At first I felt shy in accepting the free meal but then I thought that refusing the same might offend the priest, particularly when he knew me and my family. I was reminded of an instance when I as a child gate-crashed a wedding reception and ate there to my heart’s content; undetected and unnoticed. I had my meal and took the blessings of the priest.

The day raked up nostalgic memories of my past. I wish I could live that day every day, forever and ever!

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Glimpse of Gandhi : Part II

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A peep into the past

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