Contradictions galore

I saw a person at the restaurant.  He was impeccably dressed, looked gentle, wished the gate-keeper good morning as he entered and wore a smile at people.  I thought of him as a gentleman.  He chose a seat at the centre table.  The bearer came to him.  He smiled at the bearer and ordered something, which the bearer took down.  A little later the bearer returned and told him what he ordered was not available.  I saw a twitch in the man’s face, and he started shouting at the bearer.  He told the bearer that he should have checked the position before he took the order… that he was a regular customer and not once did this happen… that he comes to the restaurant only for that item… … .  He threw expletives at the bearer and generally at the restaurant.  And walked out.

He left me wondering at my big mistake.  I thought he was a gentleman.  Well… he may still be one, but perhaps one that cannot take a disappointment.  For all that, not many of us handle disappointments particularly well, but the thing that got me astonished was the striking contradictions in the man.

I have a friend who is very intelligent, but extremely talkative.  He is so intelligent that I don’t do without his advice on matters of importance.  If I have to call him, I think well before lifting the phone if I have enough time.  It is very hard to focus on topics, for he often goes tangentially into unrelated stuff, and gives me a run for my money to bring the core subject back as the focus of talks.

There is a store nearby.  The owner started it as a petty shop a few years back and grew it into a sizable store with sheer enterprise.  But he is so forgetful that I often find myself in an argument with him (he was the owner cum cashier) over the change that he has to tender.  He forgets what he received, and asks me how much did I give him.  He looks at me with suspicion when he tenders the change.  He may be doing it to many, but still survived in business.

I once worked with a guy, who is extremely smart.  He took our organisation to great heights.  But he was eccentric, unpredictable, frequently changed his stand on matters, cared a damn for co-workers’ welfare and generally looked troubled.

Contradictions galore, I thought.  Everywhere around.

I couldn’t understand why people can’t stay in balance.  I thought to myself that I was blessed not to have such contradictions in me, until one day when my boss told me, “You are very efficient.  But you are lazy at the same time.”

We see several polarities in the society we live in.  Rich and poor, police and thief, the dominant and the submissive, … … .  Why can’t we have a better place, more balanced?

A while back I was looking to buy a car.  I wanted a particular variant, many features were amazing but the audio system was a showdown.  I asked if that could be taken out for I wanted to buy one of my own choice.  The vendor said, “Sorry sir, it comes as a package.”

Does life come as a package too?

The Dark Hour of Reason

It is hard to believe that there was a time when I loved everyone, hated none, smiled when others smiled and cried when others cried, didn’t discriminate, everything I did was a joy to others, and led an uncomplicated worry-free life.

I believed that everyone and everything was good and didn’t know malice.

I had a lot of restrictions though.  I was not allowed to walk out into the street.  My food, my dress, and everything that I used…. nothing was of my choice.  But I didn’t mind.

The world was such a nice place to live in.  But I didn’t know that I was destined to change… very shortly.   After all, I was a child.

When I grew and went to school, my sense of logic did weird things to me.  I loved some, hated some, smiled when others cried, thought what I liked was good and that I disliked was bad, that white is right and black is wrong, big is better and small is not… and what not.  I used to dream with eyes open, much to the dismay of my teachers.  Very soon my lessons said “all humans are brethren”, but the newspapers talked of an enemy.  I learnt to disbelieve what I read.

When I was more by myself, I started avoiding those that advised me and started hanging around those that encouraged my deeds.  I started thinking that I should be the lord of all that I survey.  I judged others but didn’t realise that others judged me too.  I thought others judge me by what I possess.  I thought it would be nice to have a bike or a car.  I tried to show in my world that I am popular.  I enjoyed visiting a vanity salon that charged me in hundreds but I bargained with the auto-rickshaw for five.

When I tasted financial independence, I behaved as if those that are less affluent are another species.  I liked to move with the affluent.  But I didn’t like it when the more affluent did it.  I enjoyed tipping the five-star bearer a 3-digit note, but didn’t think the beggar that tapped at my car’s window is worth a coin.

Along the way I had friends who died, met with accidents, went broke, fell terminally ill.  I choose to think that I am not prone.  Today, as a full blown adult, weared down by my own contradictions, I am led to think that most of what I learnt may need to be unlearned.

Why was I happier as a child?  I think I know, but I am conditioned not to acknowledge.

I agree with John Betjeman.  The hour of reason is dark…. pitch dark.

The Blind Harmonium Player

Some characters casually walk into our minds without our permission and refuse to move out.  Relatives apart, examples could include teachers, co-workers, friends, lost friends, those that we secretly admired or past relationships.  Strikingly, some may not be great personalities in the popular perspective, but have for some reason made an impact on us.  One such crossed my life early on… The Blind Harmonium Player.

As a child, I grew up observing characters, each different from the other, but this one stood out from the crowd.  He was blind and used to walk past our house every morning.    His wife used to accompany him.  She carried an earthen bowl, presumably to collect food if offered in alms.  He had hung on his neck  a small tin container.  That must have been for money if offered in alms.  He was in rags but clean.  Also hung on his neck was this magical instrument… the thing that stood him apart… and reserved his permanent seat in my memory… his harmonium.

His voice was magnetic… windy and slightly coarse.  He used to sing aloud, always devotional phrases.  My favourite was “Ram Ram Bhaja Re… O Ramaaaa … Shri Rama … Darshan do Shri Rama”.  He was blind and he was asking for darshan.  Perhaps not the vision of this world.  His deft fingers produced titillating music from the harmonium which along with his voice was such a pleasure to listen to.

He always walked in front, and she would place an arm on his shoulder and walk behind him.  I thought it should have been the other way.  The only why I could reason it out was that he had to play the instrument.  Or it may be that it didn't matter to them due to their perception of who was their guide.

They used to just walk our street every morning, not caring to stop at any household to seek alms.  No one in our street used to offer anything to them.  I neither saw anything in the earthen bowl she carried… nor heard his tin container make a noise of coin.  They simply walked past as a ritual.  But every day he would seek ‘darshan’ though.  I could not see a semblance of marital disharmony even in those times they were passing through.  Perhaps, they didn’t think the going was tough.

I think about it with awe even today.  With all the affluence people have today, relationships seem to lack even critical conviction and often objectives of partners are misaligned.

This daily ritual of walking streets went on for several months.  Until one day… when I heard him sing, but the tunes were not the same on his harmonium.  They were intermittent.  I jumped out of bed curiously to watch why.  He was alone that day, and was holding a broken cane on his right hand, tapping the ground before him for guidance.  He used his left hand to play the instrument.  The angst in his voice in pursuit of the ‘darshan’ was unchanged though.  I observed that day that he had considerably aged and was looking leaner and weaker.  And the tin container was missing in his neck.

In the days that came he came alone, and he grew dirtier.  In a couple of weeks, he stopped coming.  But his voice is still in the air when I think of him.  I hope he got his 'darshan'.  With the little means that he had he made an indelible mark.

Several questions remain till today.  Why did he not stop at households to seek alms?  How was that harmony possible between them?  How did they raise a living?  Being the nice ones they were, why were they not part of their own society?  His musical talent being brilliant, why could't he get the opportunity to be materially successful?

As always... I pretend not to know the answer, perhaps for fear of facing the truth.