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