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.