Knocking on God’s Door

It is the month of July. It has been raining continuously for the past ten days or so. Having nothing better to do I have been thinking. You know the kind of thoughts that come to you when it’s just pouring and pouring. Whenever the intensity of rain subsides, I rush to go out for a while but by the time I have gathered together my keys, bag, money, umbrella, rain shoes, it comes back in full force and I am again left alone with my thoughts, watching the rain and getting lost in myself. The skies seem to have opened up completely and I am left wondering whether we are in for another deluge. Didn’t the same thing happen on 26^th July 2005 when all the major arterial roads in the city turned into slithering rivers and life changed upside down for many? That day, too, the morning had been fine; it was only from afternoon that the pattern changed. Our thoughts too change with time and season.

 It is on such rainy days that you think of Rabindranath Tagore and God the most. Tagore you can understand because of his repertoire of songs on the season but why God? Yes, that is the time I hold my conversations with God- questioning Him, thanking Him, complaining to him and even rebuking Him. I have seen that I remember God most when I am alone or distressed, in a fix or anticipating trouble or after having landed myself in the biggest mess.

My earliest interaction with my God goes back to the school days. That scourge of life-examinations- is what brought us together. Before touching an elder’s feet for that mark of dahi on the forehead, a visit to the puja room was a must. Please God, see me through this time! Let all the known guestions come. Or even better- While I am writing, please make sure that everything comes to my mind and slowly makes its way to the answer sheets in a state of free flow! I will not ask you for anything more! But this camaraderie always lasted till the examination; once over, God and I parted ways till, probably, the next one or just before the results.

In our childhood, Basant Panchami , in Bengali homes, was not restricted to offering Puja to the Goddess of Learning.  To us it meant a host of other activities too-early morning bath, donning of a new set of clothes, preferably the yellow sari, and gathering up all the major text books, especially Maths and Physics in my case, and placing them at the feet of Goddess Saraswati. Purpose being –Please Mother Saraswati, please help me pass these subjects. By the Goddess’ infinite grace I managed to cross the two major hurdles. Interestingly, I truly appreciated these two subjects only when, much later, I read Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’; that the whole mechanics of war, its causes and progress, could be expressed and analysed in terms of Arithmetic, Algebra ,Calculus and the Laws of Physics ,by a man of letters, is unbelievable! Perhaps, God, if you had sent us a teacher who could similarly have unraveled the complexities of Maths and Physics to us through such analogies from life or even the other way round, these subjects would have been so much more relevant and interesting to students like me.

Coming back to the point, this ritual I still observe with my daughter. The only difference being that the size of her text books kept growing voluminous as Microbiology and Biochemistry, Pathology and Pharmacology slowly replaced the more compact NCERT school books as she moved from school to medical college. Worried that the little shelf, where the tiny terracotta Saraswati stood, would collapse under the weight of the medical books, I took to the same tricks that medical students resort to a few days before their final examination. I replaced Harrison’s Internal Medicine and Bailey and Love’s Surgery with Davidson’s Medicine and the Manipal  Manual of Surgery. My reasons were in principle the same as theirs-less voluminous and more compact. At least, that way my deities would not be left homeless in case the whole shelf came crashing down under their weight!

My mother’s puja room was very ‘cosmopolitan’ and consisted of a few shelves filled with tiny icons, framed pictures, stone lingas, statuettes of Gods and Goddesses  collected from all over India cutting across all religions. From a stone Shiv-ling to a picture of Shiv-Parvati, little statues and pictures of Ramakrishnadev-Sarada Ma and Vivekananda, a beautiful miniature of Mother Mary with Jesus in an ornate frame, a black Krishna Murti  from Dwarka,  a framed picture of the Golden Temple, a tiny brass statue of Gopal , Shirdi Sai Baba in a metallic frame, all found their way to her shelves. She worshipped all and believed in the power of all. My father, egged on by us, often made fun of her and her ‘cosmopolitan’ Gods. Fortunately, for me, on getting married I found that in my in-laws’ home, too, the situation was very similar and my mother-in-law worshipped an array of similar Gods and Goddesses. So that made life easier for me and now I have kind of inherited some of these statuettes, icons, pictures who have slowly made their way to the two glass shelves in my home.  I pray in my own way, nothing hard and fast about the rituals I observe.

From a Hindu home to a missionary school, the transition never bothered us in our childhood or youth. It was the same. We said all our prayers in chorus as a matter of routine. I can still recall that the only time we made a dash for the school chapel was during the exam season or whenever we were in some tight spot. Singing hymns or carols, committing to memory the sayings of Jesus or celebrating a Christian Saint’s Day never gave either us or our parents any reason for concern. They were as much a part of us as the annual Laxmi and Saraswati pujas at home. It surprises me that nearly half a century on, parents are going overboard if their children are made to learn a  piece of shloka or doha,  or even sing an anthem or a patriotic song, penned by some of the greatest minds, which say or have any association with anything outside their own religion. Honestly, it would do the children of today a world of good if they really read or learnt about something or somebody outside what is being infused into their system by the unputdownable coaching centres. How else will the children of today learn of tolerance if we fail to show them the way? Probably, old habits die hard but till date I still find solace in saying the “Our Father…..” every day.

From my own experiences, and let me put it clearly, they are absolutely my own personal views, I have observed that we remember God in our moments of fear, frustration and failure. On normal days when life is going smoothly we really do not turn to God. We remember Him only when the ride becomes rough, when there is loss or failure, when something is longed for or when we are at the altar of success. That is the time we remember Him, turn to Him, ask Him, beg Him with the promise of loyalty and faithfulness only to be whisked off the path at the slightest pretext. Perhaps, I should say ‘I’ and not ‘We’ since these are all my thoughts. When something good happens it is very natural to be thankful but I have seen that this gratitude is momentary; yet, when misfortune befalls us, my first thought is “Why me and not someone else?”  I guess that is what makes us human- this very frailty of ours. Misfortune sees us raving and ranting against the same God whom we were extolling and praising only a few days ago. I am reminded of Kabir who so aptly said:

Dukh mein simran sab kare, Sukh mein kare na koye;

Jo Sukh mein simran kare, Tau dukh kahe ko hoye.

(In anguish everyone prays to Him, in joy does none;

To one who prays in happiness, how can sorrow come)

During our visits to the various temples and other places of worship across the country, as a child with my parents, I saw my mother seeking God inside the shrine offering her prayers there, while my father preferred to admire the temples, the churches or the gurudwaras from outside.  While one sought God inside the shrines braving long queues and making offerings, the other sought Him in man’s architectural brilliance and artistic craftsmanship and also by interacting with those working hard in trying to maintain the cleanliness, sanctity and discipline at God’s place of abode.

I guess each one of us has the right to seek our Maker in our own way since He is everywhere but if, in the process , we do learn a little about other faiths or  cross paths unknown to us, we do not lose anything. Doing good and getting it right is what really matters at the end of the day and discovering and keeping alive that tiny bit of the infinite in each one of us is what we can teach our children to strive for. Finding God is left to each one of us -He comes to you whenever and in whatever form you seek him as Rabindranath Tagore put it in one his gems from Gitanjali :

When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.

DS

Three Idiots

This is the story of the Goldilocks Family of Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear. Set in the cold winters of Delhi, the time zones may differ but their foolishness remains legendary.

Baby Bear

She was about 3 years old and studying in the neighbourhood play school with an Anglicized name of St. Stephens where there was no trace of any Christian Brother or Sisterhood. It was a house converted into a school with almost all the children of the Bhadralok families of Chittaranjan Park doing their initiation into the world of education in this famed institution. Baby Bear was in Lower KG and just didn’t like going to school one bit. Often early in the morning she would make a sad looking face and the Grandpa Bear would jump to her rescue to tell the Mama and Papa Bear not to send her to school that day. While Baby Bear would miss the school quite often, there was her next door neighbour Boy Bear who was ever so enthusiastic that he would never ever miss a single day. Spurred by his ever charged up parents, this Boy Bear would return home to tell her how wonderful the day in school was. Baby Bear was hardly upset but slowly the two of them became the best of friends. They would go to school together and often come home together, the only difference was that while the Boy Bear would walk to and from the school, Baby Bear found the comfort of either Baba Bear or Granny Bear carrying her in their arms.

Baby Bear and Boy Bear made sure they sat next to each other in the class. They both found joy in each other’s company and often shared their kiddo jokes. One day while the teacher, Mrs Bhattacharya, was busy trying to teach the children elementary math, the two Bears were seated in the first row of their class. Suddenly, the Boy Bear decided to have some fun. First Boy Bear would put his leg on the desk, roll up his trouser and Baby Bear would hit him softly with a scale. Next Baby Bear put her leg on the desk, roll up her trousers and Boy Bear would hit her with a scale. This went on a couple of times and both were having a good laugh. Their laughter was reasonably soft so the teacher never realized what was going on behind her back as she continued writing numbers on the blackboard. Just then Boy Bear told Baby Bear to continue keeping her leg on the desk in front while he went out for a bio-break. She nodded her head in acquiescence. The teacher suddenly turned around and saw the sight of Baby Bear sitting in quite a posture without any sense of fear or shame of having done anything wrong. The teacher walked up to Baby Bear and with her wooden scale and gave two tight whacks on her sole. Sensing trouble, Baby Bear quickly removed her legs from the table and put them down. When things had got back to normal, Boy Bear reappeared and saw Baby Bear all red faced and on the verge of tears. The school got over and the two bears walked back, chatting and laughing with a Granny Bear unable to understand the joke.

Later that night Papa Bear and Baby Bear composed their first limerick:

I am Miss Bhatta, I am Miss Bhatta, I am Miss Bhatta-charya;

And I am so angry, I am so angry, I am so angry at Mritti-ka.

Mama Bear

Coming from Calcutta, Mama Bear always found Delhi winter the coldest of all places she had ever visited including Shimla, Darjeeling and even Rohtang Pass. The chill of Delhi’s winds would pierce through the bones and it often seemed the end of the world.  Like all Mama Bears, this Mama bear also loved going to shops and fairs. Annual visits to Pragati Maidan were a must. Wrapped in inners, thick cardigan bought from Mohini Knitwear Sale of the previous season and a Kullu shawl, Mama Bear with Papa Bear and Baby Bear in tow walked into the huge fair ground of Pragati Maidan. State pavilions were her favourites but one look into the Children’s Section was mandatory to pick up a toy for Baby Bear. There were many traditional toy counters and the Bear Family looked at them. A window shopping of all counters was essential before deciding which toy or game would Baby Bear like the most. Then there were these new age battery operated toys which were becoming a rage among kids.

The family went to one such counter where the salesman was showing a toy which looked like a dinosaur standing outside a cave. Mama Bear asked, “Kya khilona dikharahe ho?” (What toy is this that you are showing?). The salesman replied with a smile, “ Su Su Dinossur!” Papa Bear and Baby Bear heard it right but in the din of the fair Mama Bear couldn’t get it right. She again asked, “What is it?” the salesman again replied, “Su Su Dinossur!” Papa and Baby once again laughed aloud. Mama still didn’t get the joke so persisted in asking the salesman, “Show me what this toy is all about.” She was quite commanding in her voice and the salesman showed her the toy which apparently looked as if the dinosaur was facing towards the cave with his tail towards Mama Bear. “What does this do?” Mama asked. The salesman now had to demonstrate the new toy in town. He pressed a button near the cave, the dinosaur turned towards Mama Bear and then squirted water at Mama Bear. Embarrassed she turned red, realizing now what ‘Su Su Dinossur’ was all about. Baby Bear and Papa Bear just couldn’t stop laughing. They almost fell down on the floor holding their bellies laughing. Mama Bear took it sportingly and she too began laughing as did the salesman.

Papa Bear

Papa Bear was a thoroughbred Dilliwala and winter had no fear for him. He was quite a favourite of his class teachers in school for his back had helped many of them perfect the fine art of caning. Papa Bear was then studying in class 9 and he had a teacher who was simply unputdownable. Spelling was never his strong point and school teachers in the seventies never kept name plates on the table for children to know their correct names. One day Papa Bear, who was himself a Baby Bear then, was absent from school and asked his Papa Bear to write a note for the teacher. Papa Bear pulled out a white foolscap sheet, folded it neatly on top and side for the margins and began writing the leave application. “What is the name of your class teacher?” he asked. “Mr. Anus” said Baby Bear. “No, it can’t be. Are you sure that’s his name?” “Yes Dad, everyone in the class addresses him as, Mr. Anus. I have heard other teachers also calling him the same.” Reluctantly Papa Bear wrote the application and put it in an envelope putting the teacher’s name on the cover. No sooner had Baby Bear given the envelope to the teacher than he turned furious and shouted, “My name is Innis….spelt as I N N I S!” The love story with Baby Bear with Mr.Innis had begun on a bad note, one which Baby Bear was to rue for the next 12 months.

One winter morning, Papa Bear was sitting with his three close friends, Anil, Sunil and Sumit, while Mr. Innis was teaching English. He was asking one student after another to read a paragraph at a time from Radiant Reader. Papa Bear and his friends that day decided to have some fun. They agreed to make the other laugh when his turn came to read. When Anil stood up, Papa Bear poked him from behind and Anil started laughing while reading. “What’s so funny?” asked Mr. Innis. “Nothing Sir, he is troubling me from behind,” said Anil pointing a finger towards Papa Bear. “Stand up on the bench.” Papa Bear quietly stood up on the bench to the amusement of the class. Next Sumit started reading but Papa Bear softly told him a line from a Santa-Banta joke and Sumit couldn’t resist giggling while reading the passage. “Now what is the problem?” Again the blame fell on Papa Bear. “Stand up on the desk!” And Papa Bear stood up on the desk. Despite looking a fool, it never stopped him from again making Sunil laugh as he began reading the passage. “You Bloody Urchin…I will now teach you a lesson you will never forget. Take off your shoes and hold them in your outstretched arms. If your arms drop, I shall chuck my shoe at you!” he said as he took off his slip-on leather shoe. Papa Bear did what he was ordered but soon realized that his arms had begun to ache very quickly. He requested the teacher to allow him to take a break and said he was sorry for what he had done. Instead of pardoning the boy, the teacher went and opened up the classroom door. Now, not only did Papa Bear’s own classmates see him standing in crucified stature but children of other classes also came in large numbers to see the circus. Red he turned both in pain and shame but, when the ordeal got over, all the friends gathered round him, his sadness gave way to happiness and they all had a good laugh.

Only Idiots can laugh over their foolishness and move on, the intelligent ones take it to bed and stay awake. No wonder the Bear Family were tied to each other by an umbilical cord that cut across different timelines and geographies.

The Three Idiots take this opportunity to thank all our readers for having tolerated us and encouraged us as we kept on sharing our blogs week after week- some good, some fair and others completely obnoxious. It feels wonderful having completed a journey of 100 blogs in 100 weeks without a break. When we started off it was all fun but gradually it became like a commitment which had to be met at all costs. Today marks the 100^th episode and so we lift our pens saluting you on scoring this Century of Blogs.

MS, DS, SS

The Search for Truth

It all happened in a single day in Kolkata recently.

Early morning as I reached the gates of Tata Medical Center, Kolkata, I was taken around the beautiful complex spread over a large area with the most modern equipment handled by the most humane doctors and nurses who were tending to the patients round the clock. It was during this visit that I was taken to Premashraya which is a home where patients and their families are allowed to stay at a nominal cost of Rs 100 per day for their prolonged treatment. There is however a floor set aside in the building for palliative care patients which means these people are in the sunset of their lives with doctors having given up all hope. There are a few trained sisters who are stationed there and I met the lady who manages the floor. She walked with me and stopped at one of the doors that was ajar. There was an old lady on the bed and beside her were a few people, surely her relatives. My companion told me that, in all probability, today would be the last day for the woman on the bed. I just stood still for about fifteen seconds, looked inside again and then looked at the sister beside me who, by now, had her eyes soft and moist. The person who said that death either comes early or late may not have seen this sick woman and her family who knew that today, the 8^th of December would be her last.

My next stop was at Ramakrishna Mission Shilpapitha, Belghoria. This is a poly technique institute, where children of underprivileged sections are imparted training and are made ready in various technical skills which help them get jobs in manufacturing factories. Students from this institute every year find themselves employment at reputed places like Tata Steel and Tata Motors. What caught my attention were the beautifully kept campus and the discipline with which the students and the teachers were doing their work, which was very unlike most educational institutions today. The head of the institute is a monk or Swamiji as he is addressed by all. Swamiji is full of life and energy and takes great pride in showing me around the campus and sharing an excellent meal with me. While talking to him got to know that Swamiji himself happens to be a B.Tech from Jadavpur University and later did his masters from Indian Statistical Institute, Kolkata. After completing his program, he went to work with Cisco at the United States.  After working there for two years, he felt a calling and he returned to India and decided to take to the life of a monk in the Ramakrishna Mission Order. Today, Swamiji, apart from running the Shilpapitha well, has another important task that he has been doing for many years now- he goes from one corporate to another, one affluent individual to another collecting funds for the institute. The monies collected go into buying equipments for the various labs where students practise and get ready for the real world ahead. Swamiji’s energy shows no let down over the years that I have seen him as he collects the alms for the cause he strongly believes in. Happy to have met the Monk who sold his Ferrari.

In the evening I went to my aunt’s house. She is about 95 years old and happens to be my mother’s sister. Since my visit to the city happened after nearly 3 years, she is almost in tears as she sees me. While I try my best to touch her feet, she just won’t let go of me from her frail hug. She is, today, unable to walk properly and keeps repeating the same things over and over again. I spend some time with her and, repeatedly, she says that she has no desire to live anymore. Why doesn’t the Creator call for her? She would happily go away on the last journey. With age comes inability to do her simple daily chores and for a person who I have seen as being most active, whether it was travelling to every tourist place in India multiple times or ensuring well-being of the family members and relatives, buying gifts for all and then in her free time going to supervise a nearby library and then annually raise funds for a few good trusts….you could count on her for anything. But today she seeks death, seeks end to loneliness and misery, an end to sleepless nights and waiting for someone to help her for the smallest of things. She, who gave up her entire life to ensure that the younger brothers and sisters were taken care of, today is at crossroad of life awaiting death.

From my aunt’s place I finally returned to my hotel room when I spoke to my wife. But before I could tell her the day’s proceedings she informed me that there had been a death in the housing society we lived in at Mumbai. The deceased was an old doctor who we liked very much. He was in his eighties and had been suffering lately. He used to be a man of good taste who would dress up neatly and talk very softly. He would go out for an evening stroll in the society garden where a number of old men would get together and have their quota of fun. My wife said that the man had turned very frail and turned dark. He was wrapped in a crumpled bed sheet and the ambulance boys took him away on a stretcher. As I put down the phone, I could visualize the old man’s smiling face. Did he die a contented man seeing his son turn to a doctor just like him, seeing his grandson grow into a tall and handsome lad or he too had his share of unfinished dreams, hopes and aspiration….no one will ever know as he went for his heavenly reunion with his wife.

It had been a hectic day so I decided to hit the bed early. Lying on the soft hotel bed I was suddenly hit by a realization about the sightings of the day- an old man, a sick man, a dead man and a monk. Were these not the same things Prince Siddharth of Kapilavastu saw which turned his life and he became Lord Buddha? Yes, they were. Were these signals mere coincidences or signals for me to renounce the worldly order and seek the Truth of Life? At that moment remembered the Four Noble Truths Lord Buddha spoke about under the Bodhi Tree and despite centuries having passed, the Truths seem truly universal and timeless. The Lord said:

The world is full of sorrow.

The cause for sorrow is desire.

Desire must be conquered to attain Nirvana.

It can be conquered by following the Eight Fold Pathwhich is the righteous way of living.

Living that night alone in a hotel room 2000 kms away from home, I dozed off for a while but woke up very early at around 5.30am decided to walk out….a walk in the woods….not really but in the darkness of the winter morning, the trees on both sides of Red Road appeared no less than the forest. The walk took me to the historic Victoria Memorial where I bought a ticket for a morning walk around the beautiful monument. Had never seen the monument from so close before that day and found it no less an iconic structure than the Taj Mahal and I am not exaggerating. The intricate marble carvings, the majestic dome and the exquisitely kept garden with lakes around makes it a must see place. In the garden were some huge banyan trees where I could have sat down, closed my eyes and meditated but then I saw a huge statue of Queen Victoria sitting on a throne perched up on a pedestal. Seeing the crows sitting all over her and dirtying her made me give up any desire to sit under any tree to attain Nirvana.

I just will not be able to give up my family and give up on my desires. I walked back to my hotel room but not before giving some of my desires a new lease of life by eating nan-puri at 6.30am in the morning, when not truly hungry, from a street vendor who had just started frying the puris in a vessel full of boiling oil; walking into an empty ATM and pulling out two 2000 Rupee notes even though I had no need for more cash and then taking a leisurely bath in a huge tub filled with warm water. 

Next was my morning agenda for the 9^th of December included going to a school run by government for girls at Ultadanga where there was the annual kit distribution ceremony to be done on behalf of the NGO we work with. The Nanhi Kalis sang and danced before us and brought a smile on our faces that I got reminded of the famous quote by Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore where he said with every child born the Creator sends out a signal that he is not all upset with the world he has created and there is hope for the future as well. I had come a long way from yesterday’s renunciation into the worldly ways today of children and hope for mankind.

The world is truly full of sorrows and yes the cause for sorrow is almost at all times our desires. Both the Noble Truths I accept completely. However the next Truth is the one which is most difficult to follow- conquering desires. And since I have failed to conquer desires, I shall remain in my earthly abode in blood and muscles ready to face sorrow at every turn. However, nothing stops me from still following the Eight Fold Path of Right Views, Right Thought, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness and Right Meditation. Nirvana or No Nirvana, Karma or No Karma but surely we can all live the right way and make this abode beautiful and a happy place for you and me.

Buddhang Sharanam Gachhami…

SS

PS.The last picture is from the movie 'Bucket List' staring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson

The First

May 28^th 1953.

Edmund Hillary’s Diary

“We are holed up in our tent. The weather has been treacherous. We have just got the news that the first summit team of Tom Bourdillon and Charles Evans have returned. Bourdillon and Evans had crested the South Summit—at 28,700 feet (8,748 meters), and were only 330 feet (101 meters) short of the top—by 1 p.m. on May 26. But Evans was exhausted, and both men knew they would run out of oxygen if they went on. They agreed to turn back. Had they continued, they would surely have been the First on the Summit. Someday surely they will regret the decision.”

“With 362 porters, twenty Sherpa guides and 10,000lb of baggage the party set out from the Nepalese base at Katmandu on March 10. Gradually we had made our way up to a point where we were all set to scale the final peak. My partner in the tent today is Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, someone who had been a part of a strong Swiss team in 1952 that included legendary alpinist Raymond Lambert. Lambert and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay had reached all the way to 28,210 feet (8,598 meters) on the Southeast Ridge before turning back—probably as high as anyone had ever stood on Earth till then.”

“We have to surely make an assault tomorrow as we had news that monsoon was set to arrive on 1^st of June when heavy snows would make climbing almost impossible. This is my fourth attempt at Everest and no way am I going to let it pass.”

“Tenzing and I had formed a good partnership throughout the climb from the base camp to where we are today. Tenzing was also the most experienced climber alive with six previous attempts in the past. No wonder our leader Col. Hunt chose us to be a team together.”

“I am still wondering about tomorrow when we reach the summit, the highest place on earth, why should I allow the Sherpa to step on top and claim any credit. After all he is just a paid person who has neither dreamt of climbing the mountain and is too naïve to understand the implications of reaching the peak for the first time in human history. He joined us for money that we have been paying him and many like him since we started on the expedition.”

“While I am frantically writing with shaking fingers, Sherpa Tenzing sits quietly in one corner of the tent with a look of contentment and joy. He keeps smiling back at me. I am unable to not understand this tiny mountain man who knows no fear. He seems happy at all times.”

“How many remember the sailors who went with Christopher Columbus and Vasco da Gama on their maiden voyages as they discovered West Indies and India? No one. The books and history will always show the name of one man only, the person who led the expeditions. In this case Col. Hunt had led the expedition and if at all anyone other than me whose name should figure when the newspaper headlines are written tomorrow, it should be his. Not of this Nepalese porter surely.”

“I am sure Norgay does not know how to read and write. So he will surely not see the newspaper or any book in his lifetime. To him this is one more expedition and an opportunity to make some good money from foreign mountaineers.”

“If I let him go atop the peak, I may have to unfurl the flag of Nepal as well. How will I place the flag with two triangles beside the Union Jack? No way. Tomorrow morning when the weather clears, I shall walk out of the tent with Tenzing and climb the remaining distance. Finally I shall step on the Mount Everest, thump my chest in glory and put the flags of victory on the peak, admire the view, take pictures before beginning the descent.”

“It is getting late so let me take some rest for tomorrow is a big day.”

“No sooner had I closed my diary than I saw Tenzing stand up and start walking towards me. He put his hand inside his thick jacket and I thought he may be bringing out his khukri which is the favorite weapon of the Gurkhas to kill their adversaries. I got defensive and put my hand to the axe lying beside me. Tenzing took out what appeared to be a picture with which he first touched my forehead and then handed it over to me. It was the picture of the Hindu God Shiva. The picture had become faded. Tenzing explained to me that Lord Shiva was the Supreme God. This picture had been given to him by his mother to ensure the God protects him whenever he goes for such dangerous adventures on the mountains. I am amazed and feel so small. Here I was being selfish just to stand on top of the peak and here was a simple soul who just gave away his lifeguarding symbol to me.”

“Next morning we took off together. Slowly but steadily, we made good progress till the two of us reached the Highest Point on Earth at 11.30am on May 29^th. We shook hands, in good Anglo-Saxon fashion. Tenzing clasped me in his arms and pounded me on the back. We spent only 15 minutes on top. Three flags were placed on the peak together- the Union Jack, the United Nations flag of a white globe on a blue background and the Nepalese flag.”

“As we made our way back down, the first climber we met was teammate George Lowe, also a New Zealander, and I said to him: "Well, George, we knocked the bastard off!"

“As we were leaving the mountains, our fame was spreading. When we came out toward Kathmandu, there was a very strong political feeling, particularly among the Indian and Nepalese press, who very much wanted to be assured that Tenzing was first. That would indicate that Nepalese and Indian climbers were at least as good as foreign climbers. We felt quite uncomfortable with this at the time. John Hunt, Tenzing, and I had a little meeting. We agreed not to tell who stepped on the summit first.”

"To a mountaineer, it's of no great consequence who actually sets foot first. Often the one who puts more into the climb, steps back and lets his partner stand on top first." The pair's pact stood until years later, when Tenzing revealed in his autobiography, Tiger of the Snows, that Hillary had in fact preceded him. Hillary always maintained, “We climbed Mount Everest.” Interestingly there is no picture of Hillary atop the peak. He, in fact, took a picture of Norgay on the summit but when Norgay offered to return the favour, he declined.

My mind wanders to July 20^th, 1969 when Neil Armstrong made his historic speech of “, one small step for a man and a giant leap for mankind,” as he put his first step on Moon. Should he have taken Edwin Aldrin with him as well? Edwin Aldrin was the pilot of Apollo 11 and Neil Armstrong was the Commander of the mission. Could Neil and Aldrin have stepped on the moon surface together? Today not many will remember Aldrin but everyone will remember Hillary & Tenzing- together, forever. In the race to be the Best and the First we forget the people who got us there and claim individual glory. Often what the materialistc world believes is a Giant Step Forward for Mankind’ is in fact a Giant Step Backward for Humankind. 

NB. This article is a product of my imagination blended with facts.

SS

Hau Gaon

Namaskaar Bharat.

I am Sankar Ram, the Sarpanch of Village Kuran. You will find it difficult to find Kuran on your maps so let me tell you something about my village. Kuran is a 100 % tribal (Garasia and Bhil) village of Block Bali in District Pali, Rajasthan. It is quite remote and the closest city is Udaipur which is 175 kms away. The village consists of 323 households settled in 13 hamlets. Only 39% people are educated which means they can sign. People here are mainly agriculturists with small holdings of land. Agriculture depends on rainfall and we grow maize in Kharif and wheat in Rabi. There are 36 hand pumps, a majority of them are non-functional and we also have six ground level reservoirs but there is inadequate water supply. 5% of the people have toilets and the rest do it in the open. There is acute malnutrition. We do have electric poles but we get power no more than 2 hours a day. We also have one primary school and one Anganwadi both of which are in a dilapidated condition and children don’t like going there. They rather play in the open and help their parents in daily chores.

About a year and half ago some people from Jaipur and Mumbai came to our village and they met me and the other village elders. They said they wanted to do some developmental work in our village and wanted to make Kuran into Adarsh Gaon or a Model Village. I smiled at them and asked what is a Adarsh Gaon. They allowed us to define what development ought to happen so that Kuran becomes a model village. I called a large number of villagers into a community hall and asked them what development they wished to see in Kuran. They got into small huddles and then a few women sat down on the floor with chalks in their hands to draw out a list of things to do. Take a look at what we did and asked for:

 

The people from the cities saw everything and then agreed to put in money and people over the next 3 years to create a Hau Gaon which is Adarsh Gaon in our language.  They started the process by doing a complete study of all the households which included number of people, education, health, agriculture, sanitation and financial condition. A complete base line study was conducted and a social mapping of the village was done. This would help us understand from time to time about how we were when the project started and how much progress had been achieved. All the villagers came together and stood under a peepul tree and took an oath that they will work with all their might to make Kuran into a model village.

Today after a year and half, I am happy to inform you about what has happened so far in my village on its journey to become Hau Gaon.

A Model Village Development Committee has been formed and it consists 19 members including me. This committee meets twice a month and plans the activities and reviews action taken by various sub-committees which looks after each of the priority areas like education, health, agriculture, etc.

Nineteen self-help groups have been formed and with our small contributions we have managed to generate over Rs 4.50 lacs as savings. This has helped us mobilise over Rs  10lacs from banks and the State Government.

Since we are were dependent on monsoon rains, the NGO helped us in a big way in conserving water. Over17 ha of land has been treated with various soil and water conversation activities like field bunding and trenching. 8 loose stone check dams have also been built in the village Kuran helping in soil and moisture conservation.

Agriculture too has seen much improvement. Over 120 households as compared to 68 in the previous year have adopted improved wheat cultivation practices. 50 households have raised vegetable nurseries and will transplant in their small holding. 49 households have planted fruit orchard-  pomegranate, Guava and lemon. Low cost drip irrigation system has been installed in the orchards.

 MVDC members were taken to place near Jaipur where a farmer has installed 6 Polly Houses. There they saw how modern techniques could be used to improve agriculture and earn more profits from small holdings.Two families of Kuran have been identified who will do greenhouse based cultivation with support from National Horticulture Mission.

 A lot of good has happened on the water and sanitation front. A 3 day sanitation drive was organized where the community mind sets were engaged and people who would defecate in the open were put to shame . I too went from home to home to encourage people to make toilets and children took out rally. Eighteen of our people were trained as masons and were shown how to build toilets. 42 toilets have been built and we will make sure every house in Kuran in the next 6 months will have a toilet of their own with adequate supply of water. 31 hand pumps have been repaired and fresh clean water supply has been made available at the school, anganwadi and primary health centre. The women folk in my village are also happy that these people have brought in new technology which allows the water to be carried in contraptions like a wheel which can be rolled and taken from source to homes. Even young children are able to playfully help their mothers in the work.

The anganwadi today looks so colourful and beautiful. It is today crowded on all days with children flocking there to play with the new games and toys and of course the building is so attractive. Take a look at the old and the new anganwadi.

The school building too has transformed and children are going there regularly. A number of our children dropped out of primary school. They have been taken to a month’s residential education camp after which they will be able to join back their regular classes. While a number of people in the village have mobiles, our children now are exposed to computer education. A Community Information Resource Center (CIRC) has been established and is fully functional. The CIRC offers digital literacy (one month Intel Easy Step Course) and services (photocopy, and online services and a total of 209 of our children have benefited.

No one would step out of their houses after dusk. Today we have 18 solar powered lamps fitted at all the key places in the village and we can now step out without fear late in the evenings. The lights are nice and bright.

 My people have also taken on to beautifying the village by planting trees along the pathways and we are also putting covers against each tree so that they can grow well without the fear of cattle eating them away.

A lot has been done. A lot more will be done. Elders of my neighbouring villages come to our village to see the progress. They have made a petition to the people who come regularly from Mumbai and Jaipur that they should transform their villages as well the way they have done with Kuran. There is an old saying that a journey of thousand miles begins with the first step to which I say the journey of creating a hundred Hau Gaon begins with Kuran. 

Padhaaro Maahrey Gaon Ma.

Dhanyawaad,

Sankar Ram

PS. Tata AIG, Mumbai along with Centre for Microfinance, Jaipur are endevouring this transformation project in remote Rajasthan as part of the CSR program.

UNBREAKABLES

Someone called it The Emperor of all Maladies. Many a life changed forever and no one as yet can claim to have won the war against the disease yet there are a few who not only have fought the Emperor but have survived. These are some true life stories of the Unbreakables.

She was thirty two, he was a couple of years older and they had a lovely daughter who was six when we met them at Mumbai in 2002. Let me address her as K. It wasn’t the best of circumstances as K was then at Tata Memorial Hospital at Parel. She was battling the Emperor and had come down from Kolkata for the treatment for they said this was the best place with the best doctors and facilities. She was an office colleague and had been a charming girl full of life when she had joined the company around a decade ago. She always wore long kurtas and with her curly hair and big glasses you could never miss her but the best thing about her was her happy nature and for that she was loved by all. The day we saw her, she was lying on the hospital bed with a friend or two in attendance and her biggest pillar of strength, her husband, who looked completely exhausted having lived through the nightmare for the last two years. The doctors had just told the husband that they had tried their best and his wife’s case looked incurable. There was little they could do so it was best to take her home where she could live the remaining days of her short life with her family.

The couple went back home to Kolkata. The woman wanted to live and was not willing to accept a NO for an answer. Both husband and wife searched for literature on the disease and places which offered hope. Their search zoomed on Christian Medical College, Vellore where they read that some people with the same symptoms and ailment had seen miraculous results. The couple left their child with her grandparents and went to Vellore and stay put there for months where she underwent treatment which many a mortal would have said no to but she wanted to live. When things had gone beyond repair, the doctors had even suggested if her brother staying abroad would be willing to give her bone marrow which was seen as her only hope, but the brother had shied away. Her lust for life was so desperate that the treatment at Vellore started having positive impact and slowly she started showing signs of improving. She kept going at short intervals to Vellore and in a year or two returned to near normal life.

We met her once again when she got a transfer to Mumbai. When many a meek person would have opted for an easy posting doing paperwork, she took charge as the Divisional Manager of an insurance branch which had a history of corruption and political interference. She not only took to the role seriously, she turned the office around to making it one of the best offices. She would travel by the Mumbai locals always carrying back with her the laptop for she would work late into the night. While she still had to go to Vellore repeatedly, she never gave up on life. Today, her daughter is in the US studying, the husband is doing well in a multi-national company while the Brave Heart goes on with her work as usual. Never does she ever complain about her health or curse the Lord for her fate. We do get some messages from her at times saying she has had to rush to Vellore and on other occasions recommends other patients to her doctor, her savior. A true fighter to whom the Emperor bows and salutes.

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Meet Syeda Noor-e-Jannat which literally meant Syeda, the Light of the World. She was the only daughter of her parents and she had everything going right for her- love of her parents, great friends to play with, huge pile of toys and clothes, in short a happy life when tragedy struck. She was seven years old when she was detected with Burkitt’s Lymphoma and her life changed forever. It appeared that for her father at Dhaka, the Light of the World had been lost for the happy kid. They tried local hospitals and after some time when Syeda’s health started deteriorating, the family came down to Tata Medical Centre, Kolkata where the long and painful treatment started for the little one. The girl retreated into her shell and would hardly interact with anyone except her mother who would constantly read her stories. It took the doctors three years of experiments, three years of fighting to save the kid, three years of care and love. Today Syeda is back in school playing, dancing, singing and taking to her studies as others in her class. The Light now shines once again for her parents. The Emperor is struck by the valour and grit of the little girl and once again dismounts from his white stead to kneel before Syeda.

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My third victor was a fifteen year old son of a farmer who earned no more than Rs 2000 a month.  Rajesh was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia. He was brought to Tata Medical Centre, Kolkata where he was put on a Chemotherapy protocol. Despite the painful and prolonged treatment, Rajesh was always in high spirits. He never let the ailment get the better of him. Even with the treatment going on, Rajesh prepared for this Board examinations. Rajesh also had interest in photography. He joined a workshop where he learnt more about the art of photography. Soon the talented young man kept improving his skills and more recently some of his photographs were put on display at London.

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Stories of K, Syeda and Rajesh may be rarity but still they are there. They are the few whose zest for life has sent back Yama to come another day. The lives of the Unbreakables shows that it is not all lost as long as you are ready to stand up and fight. And in this fight there are the good doctors and hospitals like Tata Medical Centre, Kolkata where such miracles happen. I am fortunate to be associated with TMC as part of our Corporate Social Responsibility. Equipped with the most modern facilities and some of the best doctors, TMC was established in 2011. Built at a cost of Rs 350 crores completely paid for by Tata Trusts, this hospital currently has 167 beds and caters to the eastern part of the country which has an extremely high incidence of cancer. The hospital also has a place to put up the family of patients within the campus. Today the hospital is wanting to expand more by adding nearly 200 new beds. Take a look at the hospital. The story goes that when the building was ready for inauguration, the locals of the area protested that they had given the land for building a hospital and not a hotel. In order to calm their nerves, the gates were opened and they were shown around the complex and they were all in awe and praise of the place.

Tata Medical Centre has a face for their fund raising and that belongs to another Unbreakable, Koel and I would request my readers to see the beautiful and touching film on Journey of Hope by logging on to on youtube at www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGrD9AtEdFQ (select the link, right click and scroll to the site which reads Go to www. and enter to view).

The smile on the little girl’s face says it all. Hope we beat the Emperor once and for all.

SS

The Side Effects of Being a Bookworm

Reading is injurious to health

I was never warned nor cautioned…in fact I was encouraged. A new book for every birthday, train journeys, exam results, Durga puja and at least three to four during the summer and winter vacations. The drug was freely given and the addiction persisted and grew.

What follows here is a retrospective, observational study about the adverse effects of the pharmacological compound that goes by the brand name of ‘story books’ in the Indian population. The age group included in the study ranges from 5 to 60 years and it was conducted over a period of 20 years from 1996 to 2016. The sample size was not fixed. It was divided into the study group that included the people commonly referred to as ‘the bookworms’ and the control group that included ‘everybody else’. The aim of this study was to bring to light the harmful effects of reading story books on the personality of the study group. The results and conclusions have been summarized below as a first person account.

Bookworms are very busy during the vacation time.

We prefer to begin piling our stock much before the vacation actually begins, that’s when the hibernation starts. The books for the next semester can wait for the term to start but not the story books. We prefer to stay indoors during the day and stay up late at night to finish the chapters. It is bothersome for the other inhabitants of the house since we will not budge to help out with any work, we are not lazy but we just need to know what is going to happen next. We will clean our bookshelves arrange the books according to authors but do not expect us to clean our desks.

Bookworms care more about the paperbacks than the paper notes.

We will drag our parents to stand in long queues, pre order the next book in series and end up buying hard bound new books even though we know that in a month or two the same book will be available at a much lesser price. But we are an impatient lot, we cannot wait that long. As I said, it is an addiction and we get a high by getting our hands on the first set of copies.

Bookworms are unable to like English being taught in schools.

We do not like the fact that excerpts from plays or novels are kept in syllabus. We need to know why Mark Antony decided to address his Friends, Romans and Countrymen or whether Brutus was truly an honourable man or not. And so we end up reading the entire play and not just the famous speech even though we know that we will never be asked more than one question from it.We cannot limit the number of words in a letter to 100 and in an article to 250. We just cannot express ourselves and feel constrained and almost claustrophobic when such limitations are put. We often resort to unscrupulous means such as making our handwriting tiny so that the space occupied appears to be limited even though our flow of words is not. While some of us become rebellious against this unjust system of curbing creativity by not writing a few answers at all, others could not care less and continue to let the ink fill the pages and smudge the hands knowing fully well that they will never finish the paper.

Bookworms can be very prejudiced.

We might not respond if you begin an introduction with ‘Myself Chhotu, from Mumbai’.

While we can chatter non stop about Bathsheba and Gabriel Oak, we might just end up completely ignoring you in the madding crowd if you say the novels you have read are Chetan Bhagat’s Revolutions. So we find it difficult to strike a conversation or to continue one after a point with the control group.We are a rigid lot. We prefer the feel and smell of rough yellow paper than kindle the desire to accept and adapt to the electronic world.

Bookworms can be oblivious to the world.

You can step on our feet, push us, squash us in the local trains of Mumbai, that’s alright; we won’t say anything to you while we are reading. We are more interested in whether Ralph de Bricassart reciprocates Meggie’s love or not rather than ‘Pudhil station Andheri’.

Bookworms can be extremely irritating movie companions.

We do not think any movie has done justice to the books. We will exclaim aloud time and again in the theatre “that is not what happens in the book” or “oh my God, they omitted the most important detail, the whole plot rests on that.” And no, you cannot have an opinion about the movie if you haven’t read the book.

Bookworms are pests when it comes to matrimony.

We can be a source of constant worry to our parents and grandparents when it comes to finding a suitable match. An ideal matrimony profile for us should read,

“Looking for a tall, dark and handsome gentleman with Sherlock’s brain and Darcy’s heart, as noble as Aragorn and as swashbuckling as Rhett Butler, with principles of Howard Roark, charm of Jean-Benoit Aubéry and the madness of Willy Wonka, as selfless as Sidney Carton who sticks with me through the best of times and the worst of times and who makes me an offer with The One Ring that I cannot refuse and for whom love means never having to say you are sorry.” Great Expectations. Period.

The perils of the world of fantasy are many, the study has been able to elucidate only a few. The data collected till now has shown that the benefits of reading far exceeds the potential complications and adverse effects. It is thus justified, according to the authors, to expose the child at an early age to the drug. The research is still continuing but the progress has slowed down as the bookworms are an endangered species now. The world will soon be rid of them. But the question that remains unanswered is, ‘Do we want that to happen?’

Till then…Mischief Managed!

MS

Confessional

Father, I want to confess.

Yes my son, you may.

Father hope what I say today will remain with you.

Yes son, it is between you and the Lord. Now tell me what you wish to confess.

I have sinned, Father.

What did you do?

I have stolen, I have flicked not once but many times over. Stolen from family and friends and people outside.

Tell me more, son.

It started every early when I was very young, maybe seven or so. My father would hang his trouser from a hook behind the door. Whenever I would get some time, when no one else was in the room, I would walk up and put my hand in his pockets. Often I would find some coins. Taking one or two would never be noticed or, maybe, my father, too much in love with me, preferred not to make an issue out of it. It went on and my cravings grew and so did my confidence. But I crossed my limit one day. I had a sister who was challenged. She would put all the coins my parents would give her in a box. This was no piggy bank but just a used tobacco box with a hole drilled on top of the lid. My sister would put the coins in it and bring it close to her ears, then give it a shake or two just to hear the sound and would smile. One day I opened up the box and took out a good number of coins. Feeling rich, I went to the market and bought a cheap plastic chess board. Next morning when my sister picked up her box she felt it light. She went to mother and said that the box was nearly empty. My mother, knowing her son well enough, straightaway came over and saw me busy practising my grandmaster moves.

“From where have you got this chess set? You stole money from your sister’s gullak….you thief….,”and her hands started falling all over me. It went on for quite some time till Lord Krishna in the earthly form of my father appeared and said, “I bought him the game.”

Love can be poison at times. Had he not protected me that fateful day, maybe I would have not committed many more of similar crimes in life.

Go on Son. Tell me more.

Father, this was when I was about ten years old. We lived in government quarters which were tight on space and we lived on budgets that were tight too. There was little of luxury that we had. One luxury I was fortunate to have was studying in a missionary school where many a Richie Rich and sons of senior bureaucrats sat next to me. One close friend was Harjiv. He lived not far from my place and would travel in the same school bus. We got along very well and there were many days when he would insist that I get off the bus and go to his home for lunch, after which we would draw and play and have fun. There were days when I would stay overnight at his place as well. His parents were also very loving and would take special care of me. They never differentiated between their son and me. I still remember one morning at the breakfast table, when I had no clue how to use the fork and knife while eating, his mother gave me my first lesson in table manners of knife in my right hand and fork in my left. They would even drop me back home in the car- my first car rides. His mother even gave me some of his good clothes which he would outgrow and I loved wearing those fanciful shirts that my parents couldn’t afford.

Why don’t you just tell me what you did, son?

Harjiv had a big collection of dinky toys. These were miniatures of cars of different makes and models. These ranged from the sports cars with Benson & Hedges written on them to Volkswagon Beetle. But I always had an eye on a James Bond Aston Martin car. It was a golden coloured car which had three knobs on left side below the doors. Bond would use these against his enemies for shooting them while driving. When you pressed the first lever, two guns would pop out from the below the bonnet. Press the second and a steel screen popped up behind the rear window. Bond had enemies who were everywhere. This screen protected him from the firing guns of the evil forces. The third lever was the best. Press it and the roof of the car would open up and the villain sitting next to Bond with a gun in hand would get ejected as our Hero saved the world on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

I flicked the car, Father.

Harjiv never mentioned it to me. Maybe, he had so many that he never missed it. I kept the car safely stored away in an iron trunk in my house. Would take it out and play with it, show-off with it to my other neighbourhood friends and put it back again. The toy was so good that I had it with me for over twenty years till we shifted to another house, possibly lost in transit or there was another one like me who wanted the car too. Today I feel like confessing to my friend. Hope he forgives me.

Son, is that all or you have more to share? I have many more waiting to talk to me.

Father, just two more for the day.

Ok. Go on.

Next when I was eleven and studying in class six. Among the many friends I had, there was Sunil who had come a year ago from another school. He was quite my size and a friendly sort. We got along very well and soon he became my best pal. He would sit next to me and I would everyday copy his homework early morning before the teacher came into the class. In turn, he would munch the mughalai parantha and other interesting stuff my mother would pack for me for lunch. It was a great arrangement and you could see us together everywhere in school. His birthday was approaching and I wanted to give him something. With empty pockets, wasn’t very sure but was on the lookout for something. Among the other school friends was Rupinder who stayed in a massive bunglow at Lodhi Estate as his grandfather happened to be a minister in the central government. I had taken some comics from Rupinder and returned him all except one…a big, beautiful comic book….Tintin in Black Island. It looked almost new.

How could I give Sunil just a comic? So I picked up one of the two new staplers Baba had got from office. These were the Kangaroo Brand staplers, which were small and cute, not like the usual big ones we were all so used to. I took one of them and along with it took a box of staple pins for the new stapler. Then I took a big envelope, put the comic and the stapler and the pins in it, and sealed it neatly with staples for the other remaining stapler. Pleased with the packing and the contents, put the same in my school bag. Next morning handed it over to Sunil…. “This is for you. Happy Birthday, Sunil.”

Sunil was thrilled. He still remembers the present. My father kept on asking me about the second stapler that he couldn’t find. He remembered it late into his life but I kept the secret to myself. Don’t know if Rupinder ever missed his comic book….maybe not. He had too many to worry about one old comic book and anyway comics are meant to be taken and never returned.

The next crime, Father, I committed was when I was twelve. It was summer vacation and the days were long. In the early morning, say around 5am, friends would call out your name while you slept in the balcony of your government flat. In no time you were ready to go either for a long walk which could be ten odd kilometres from R.K.Puram to Palam Airport to watch the planes take off and land or to go to a nearby park to play. We were back around 9 am and then in peak summer there was little to do other than play indoor games. We also had some young entrepreneurs in our colony. My first brush with start-ups, as they call it today, was to start a borrowing library. Ravinder and Sandeep were two brothers who gave me this idea and I lapped it up. We collected all the books and magazines we could lay our hands on, pulled out and cleaned a wooden shoe rack and placed the books on it. Everybody in the colony was informed about the library. They could borrow any book for 25 paise for a day. All details of the borrower’s name, address and date were entered in a long book maintained diligently by Ravinder who was the eldest of us all. Sundeep kept the monies in a tin box and also kept records of our daily collection.

It was so far so good but in some time we realized our readership had declined as people did not find new books there. They had finished reading almost all we had on display. We had to get more books. Ravinder came up with a plan. There was a market not far from where we lived in C- Block, Vasant Vihar. There was a book store which had many children’s books as well as comics. Ravinder said that in the afternoons the owner of the store went home for lunch leaving behind his twelve year old son to take care of stray customers. All three of us did reconnaissance a couple of times and knew the exact time when the store was in the custody of the youngster.  The plan was hatched and one afternoon the trio went over to the store. The place was completely empty with no other customer there….perfect. As we entered, the boy asked us what we were looking for and we told him magazines and comics. While Ravinder and Sundeep started asking the boy to fetch them some film magazines that were in the far end of the store, I sat down where the comics lay and quickly picked up 4-5 small sized comics and shoved them inside my trouser while pulling out my shirt.

My bad luck or my amateurish act possibly caught the eye of the boy who rushed towards me. “What have you taken? Show me what you have taken.” I stood there frozen like a fool while Ravinder and Sandeep rushed out of the store. I simply took my hand beneath the shirt and pulled out the comics I had taken…. “Oh Commando Comics….!” he shouted. By now I had come back to my senses and threw the books at the boy’s face and made a mad rush. As I was running out I realized that just next to the store was the Vasant Vihar Police Station. There were policemen walking in and out of the station constantly but I was hardly in any position to watch the cops. My life was at stake and my legs were to be my saviours. The boy ran out shouting “Chor…Chor…”but by then I had gone into an alley and neither he nor the cops saw me. Somehow I reached home, watching every step and every person on the road…I didn’t want to be caught. Exhausted I entered home and found the brothers waiting for me. That was the end of the library dream.

Son, all this happened when you were very young. I am sure you would have done even bigger things later in life.

No Father. That Commando incident was the last. The fear of getting caught by cops, thrashed and put behind bars haunted me for a long time and I didn’t do any more of this flicking business ever.

But why are you confessing after forty years.

Father, you are right. My parents and sister are no more. So surely they’ll never know the truth but I have friends who still are very close to me. Whenever I see them, I feel like confessing but fear that they will shun me after that makes me weak and I keep quiet. I’ve been living with this guilt for so many years and now I want them to know about it when they read this story. They will get time to think over the relationship….to forgive or not to forgive. I shall accept their verdict even though losing them now will be more painful than anything. But I still must confess.

Often parents in their excessive love for their children cover up the mistakes which gives the child the impetus to do more of them without fear. On the other hand, the fear of being beaten up and put to shame can do the child a world of good. No wonder someone wrote, spare the rod and spoil the child.

SS