The Hindu Business Line : Between killings, bans and passing time

The general newspapers had fouled the morning mood with reports of killings across the country. How many killings can one take with one being as gory as the other? Business papers are no different with the poor paying for the wiles of the rich.

Possibly, the western press is more honest in their comments on the US financial system. They dare corporates and bankers and some of the details on the lives of the poor prove nothing much has changed. The US press was lead into the Iraq war by Bush and when they realised they were wrong, they apologised. One is not sure whether that can be said of the Indian press. They don’t say sorry.

As an antidote, one switched on the computer to gaze at the pictures of the Velvet-throated Nuthatch sent by my friend Madhukar Rao. Taken in Kodagu, the bird is indeed likeable and after a few minutes one felt cleaned up. Rama had gone out to look up her friends busy with the Navaratri kolu leaving the writer alone on home duty.

One dusted and wiped the floors followed by drying out of the clothes cleaned by the washing machine. Then came the cooking. “Keep it simple. Just dal, rice and a sabji,” was the order as it took an hour to prepare lunch. Being alone at home, one enjoyed the little moments of having a quiet smoke. The police have banned smoking in the public and smokers have no votes on the subject. “It is for your good health,” says the police and skip the mention of making some money on the side by nabbing and letting go a smoker on the road.

In this blessed country, any luxury is frowned upon and Gandhiji is invoked every time, especially October 2, for imposing any ban. Madhukar Rao in his blog asks why inaugurate any ban on October 2. In cosmopolitan Mumbai, taking one’s girl friend out is a sin; drinking in a bar is a crime; smoking is banned; celebrating Valentine’s day is spoilt by politicians; gays cannot lead their own lives.

Wonder what one can do in cosmopolitan Mumbai city. Turn rishis and migrate to forests; but there are no forests with every corporate keen on usurping a forest to set up a factory. Simply said, there are no options or futures for an ordinary human being wanting to be left alone. He will not be left alone.

Switching on Doordarshan Sports to watch replays of Beijing Olympics is a safe alternative as no IAS or IPS officer can pull you up. But you cannot do it for long. One shut out the TV and looked at the trees in the housing society with the rain tree displaying pink flowers.

There was a knock at the door. Fearing the wife, one hid the cigarette in the bathroom. Opened the door and was happy to see a postman from India Post. These days they do not come in brown uniforms. He handed over an envelope, offered a teethful namaste (with Deepavali coming up) and one gave him a Rs 5 note. In glee, one rushed back to one’s cigarette before opening the letter from my friend Lachman Singh, who has left Mumbai forever.

The letter in Hindi started: “Bhai Sahab, Kya ho raha hai (What’s happening).” He has stopped praying or lighting a diya in front of his old gods. “Hum sub kuch chod diya hoon (I have dropped everything); na akbhbar na kitab padtha hoon (Read neither newspapers nor books),” he wrote.

My aged friend goes for short walks and they can be in the morning, afternoon or evening. He spends hours under a banyan tree near his home watching birds and the old sadhu who comes for an afternoon rest. “Kissise bath bhi nahin kartha hoon; kuch matlab nahin hai (I do not speak much as it makes no sense),” he says while mentioning the time spent with the sadhu, who also does not talk.

When in the mood, Lachman feeds him while the sadhu does not insist on anything. In the evenings, school kids from a partly existent municipal school collect under the banyan tree to play and generally make some welcome noise. Lachman and the sadhu seem to like these hours. The long letter ended with a few lines of some Hindi poetry which translated into English ran: “Lachman Singh/Loved a flower/Like a prayer; Tried to care/for every soul in repair./Nothing less/Nothing more.”

As a postscript he added: “Buddha experienced wisdom under a peepal tree. I get my ration of wisdom sitting under a banyan tree. Ye bus apke liye hai (This is only for you).” One misses Lachman Singh but was not permitted to dawdle as Rama came home by two in the afternoon and we had lunch. “The dal is surprisingly not bad,” she said as the lady does not believe in wholesome compliments.

After food, she stepped out to see a few more friends and one laughed at one’s luck to have a rare post-lunch cigarette. That day the afternoon seemed to have too many hours and one settled down to write a reply to Lachman Singh.

One wrote: “Your hut and the rice fields are no more having been consumed by the newly widened Linking Road. The other day, Ramji bhai was asking about you. “Kuch khabar hai (Is there any news?)”, he asked. But we have our morning cups of tea at the tea stall which has been renamed.

Your favourite bottle brush tree with its suspended scarlet flowers and sunbirds is no more. In a rush/ the owner brought down/the bottle brush. To park a Nano/ With the eyes of a bug, says a poet. For these times, children’s books well brought out by Puffin are best. There is this book – How I taught my Grandmother to read and other stories — by Sudha Murty. Please try to read this book of ordinary tales and tell them to the kids who play in the evening under your banyan tree.

Sudha Murty, wife of Narayana Murthy of Infosys, teaches her grandmother Krishtakka, the Kannada script and on Vijaya Dasami day presents her with the book Kashi Yatre writtten by Triveni. The grandmother falls at the feet of the granddaughter in gratitude. That rarely happens in India, not even in mythology.

“After all, you taught (sang) me Tulsidas Ramayana on our walks. Fairy tales are the best for old age, if not all ages.” One doubts whether Lachman Singh will buy the book, having given up the habit. He can, of course, live on his own stories.

P. Devarajan

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