When Adam and Eve lived in the garden of Eden, there was peace and tranquility everywhere. The asp could not stand this and whispered something to Eve. She tempted Adam with an apple and as if that was not enough, donned a fig leaf in a strategic location. Eve thus became the first manager. the term 'manager' is apt for nothing ages more than a woman.
Then came Abel and Cain. Cain slew Abel for fear that he would inherit only half the earth. Thus when a lack is felt, a manager springs up. Insecurity is an important causative factor in a person's need to dominate his fellow beings. Just as it is very difficult to be idle for a long time or to sit consciously without thinking, it is very difficult not to dominate, not to manage.
The urge to manage is a "Rajasi Guna". Though not a "Tamasi guna", it is not a "Satvik Guna" either. One can not be saintly so long as one has a compulsive need to manage others. One who has this urge is basically a weaker person than his fellow beings. You do not envy managers, you merely sympathise with them.Love good managers as you love good women. Do not hate bad managers as it does not behove a man to hate woman.
The extent to which we wish tomanage others, bears a fair co-relation to the extent of feminity in a person. No man is all masculine barring the mythical Arjuna.
Now, the point is how not to manage ? Management schools take two years to teach people how to manage even though the motivation to do so is present in most weak men. i shall tell you how not to manage. Like all habits, trying to kick the habit can cause repressions. Do not therefore try suddenly not to manage. The best way to cure yourself of this habit is to manage fully to your heart's content till you reach the highest position on the earth if not the universe. Fear of being dominated by others will take you higher and higher.
Once you have reached your level of incompetence, you would rise no further. You might have become the Chairman of a company but you would chafe under the glare of president of a bigger and mightier multinational company.
Once you have managed everything, the downgrade would start. However hard you try, you may not succeed. If you have been the President of the United Nations, you might have to be satisfied with merely the Presidency of a country.
On the contrary, if you try to avoid managing even what comes to your lot, you would find yourself a harassed man. If you do nothing, you may find yourself managing a lot more than you did when you were active.
a realization would then dawn on you that happiness in totality is the same for everyone. You would then do whatever comes to your lot with happiness and all that Gita or for that matter, any religious scripture preaches, would come naturally to you to practise.You would enjoy managing those to be managed by you and enjoy being managed by those who can not help managing yoYou might well ask me if I am not trying to manage the managers by writing this. The answer is yes and no. Yes, to those who however hard I try, are not going to believe me. No, to those who would believe me, when I say that I wrote this primarily for my enjoyment. If you too enjoy it, I would have reason to respect you !
Monday, August 22, 2011
PREETY, OUR HOUSE MANAGER
Preety, our daughter is a spastic. I might enlighten all those of you who do not know what a spastic or a patient of Cerebral Palsy is.
A spastic is an individual who is fully developed mentally. In some respects, they are perhaps even more developed than average human beings.The word spastic owes its origin to the word 'spasm' or jerky movement. Muscular co-ordination is lacking in spastics. Their movements are jerky and quite often they can not make the smooth normal movements of their feet or hands or for that matter any of their limbs including the tongue.
Our brain has many departments. Some control our vision, some smell, some memory and so on. There is one that controls the co-ordination of voluntary muscles. We have voluntary muscles and involuntary muscles. Involuntary muscles are those, for example that come into play when we instictively withdraw our handswhen we accidentally touch a hot object. Voluntary muscles are those that we use consciously for carrying out some task. The centre of the brain that co-ordinates our voluntary muscles i.e. the one that makes the limbs to do what we want them to do is the one that is affected in the spastics. It does not work properly. As per present knowledge, when this function is paralysed due to one or more of any number of reasons, the person becomes a spastic.
My guess is that they either belong to a different species than the ones from which the present day human beings evolved. It is also possible that they are humans belonging to a different time scale, something on the lines of extra-terrestrial (ET) beings. We may call them extra-chronological (EC) beings.
Whatever it be, Preety is a spastic. She can not stand up, walk, sit up properly, eat or dress by herself. She can not even speak. Communication with her is by gestures or by asking questions whether this is what she means. By shaking her head she indicates yes or no. We have to find out what she wants by the reductio ad absurdum method!
She is either in bed or in a wheel chair all the time. She is fond of current Hindi film music, likes to listen to the radio or watch TV. Her reactions to films shown on TV are quite normal for a girl of her age. She likes the company of girls of her age, is extremely fond of her brothers and makes no bones about being partial to our elder son.
Whenever anything is misplaced in the house, we only ask her and as she observes everyone in the house, she is able to tell us where the misplaced article is. When a particular maternal aunt of mine visits us, she immediately instructs her mother to bring tea and Paan. Similarly, when my paternal aunt visits us, she is never allowed to go without partaking of a meal. The reason is that the aunt like her own self is a daughter of the family and traditions must be observed. She recognizes the steps of my elder brother on the staircase and makes a sound reserved only for him.
We can not scold anyone younger than her as it is her prerogative. the hierarchy must be maintained. If we intervene in any quarrel between her and her brothers, even if we take her side, she turns against us. she makes use of all the tricks at her command to see that her brothers study.
She remembers the birthdays of everyone in the family and begins planning the guest list, the menu and so on much in advance. The birthday boy or girl as the case may be must be kept out of all the planning as the celebration and the birthday gift must be a surprise. The gift has to be handed over by none other than herself.
Her sense of timing is very good as if a watch is implanted in her brain. She asks us to switch on the radio or the TV for her favourite programs without looking at the clock and is always right when she says that it is time for a particular program.
Previously she tried to manage the entire household whether it was cooking or looking after the guests. gradually, it has come down and now she tries to manage only those activities that are relevant to her. her every action tells us that she has perhaps been a manager in a previous form or birth.
Sometimes I wonder if our present day managers or leaders in any walk of life or for that matter our politicians would become spastics in some future birth. Think over. Similarities are many.
In reality, she is like a piece of modern abstract art. Only the painter knows what it is and that too at the time of painting it. In her case, God, our maker alone knows or knew while making her. It surely is not common to be a common man.
A spastic is an individual who is fully developed mentally. In some respects, they are perhaps even more developed than average human beings.The word spastic owes its origin to the word 'spasm' or jerky movement. Muscular co-ordination is lacking in spastics. Their movements are jerky and quite often they can not make the smooth normal movements of their feet or hands or for that matter any of their limbs including the tongue.
Our brain has many departments. Some control our vision, some smell, some memory and so on. There is one that controls the co-ordination of voluntary muscles. We have voluntary muscles and involuntary muscles. Involuntary muscles are those, for example that come into play when we instictively withdraw our handswhen we accidentally touch a hot object. Voluntary muscles are those that we use consciously for carrying out some task. The centre of the brain that co-ordinates our voluntary muscles i.e. the one that makes the limbs to do what we want them to do is the one that is affected in the spastics. It does not work properly. As per present knowledge, when this function is paralysed due to one or more of any number of reasons, the person becomes a spastic.
My guess is that they either belong to a different species than the ones from which the present day human beings evolved. It is also possible that they are humans belonging to a different time scale, something on the lines of extra-terrestrial (ET) beings. We may call them extra-chronological (EC) beings.
Whatever it be, Preety is a spastic. She can not stand up, walk, sit up properly, eat or dress by herself. She can not even speak. Communication with her is by gestures or by asking questions whether this is what she means. By shaking her head she indicates yes or no. We have to find out what she wants by the reductio ad absurdum method!
She is either in bed or in a wheel chair all the time. She is fond of current Hindi film music, likes to listen to the radio or watch TV. Her reactions to films shown on TV are quite normal for a girl of her age. She likes the company of girls of her age, is extremely fond of her brothers and makes no bones about being partial to our elder son.
Whenever anything is misplaced in the house, we only ask her and as she observes everyone in the house, she is able to tell us where the misplaced article is. When a particular maternal aunt of mine visits us, she immediately instructs her mother to bring tea and Paan. Similarly, when my paternal aunt visits us, she is never allowed to go without partaking of a meal. The reason is that the aunt like her own self is a daughter of the family and traditions must be observed. She recognizes the steps of my elder brother on the staircase and makes a sound reserved only for him.
We can not scold anyone younger than her as it is her prerogative. the hierarchy must be maintained. If we intervene in any quarrel between her and her brothers, even if we take her side, she turns against us. she makes use of all the tricks at her command to see that her brothers study.
She remembers the birthdays of everyone in the family and begins planning the guest list, the menu and so on much in advance. The birthday boy or girl as the case may be must be kept out of all the planning as the celebration and the birthday gift must be a surprise. The gift has to be handed over by none other than herself.
Her sense of timing is very good as if a watch is implanted in her brain. She asks us to switch on the radio or the TV for her favourite programs without looking at the clock and is always right when she says that it is time for a particular program.
Previously she tried to manage the entire household whether it was cooking or looking after the guests. gradually, it has come down and now she tries to manage only those activities that are relevant to her. her every action tells us that she has perhaps been a manager in a previous form or birth.
Sometimes I wonder if our present day managers or leaders in any walk of life or for that matter our politicians would become spastics in some future birth. Think over. Similarities are many.
In reality, she is like a piece of modern abstract art. Only the painter knows what it is and that too at the time of painting it. In her case, God, our maker alone knows or knew while making her. It surely is not common to be a common man.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
NAMITA, THE BORED BAMBINA
Fleece white as snow, shaggy wet haired, early teens, she stood among a group of four girls at the bus stand. The condition of their hair being similar to ours, I presumed that they too were returning from the swimming pool. What attracted to me was voice. A languid, bored voice, she managed to impart that quality to her tone even when talking animatedly.
I broke the ice and introduced ourselves - my wife and myself. They in turn, did likewise. " We are Chaturvedis from Rajasthan, pure brahmins ", she said in amplification of her surname. I told her that I too belonged to the most impure among humans, the pure brahmin breed known as Nagars fro further south - west.
The bus arrived and we got in. we had standing room only. I sensed a pair of eyes boring through my back. Instinctively, I looked back and met them. For a fleeting moment, heat radiated through the air gap between us and all was normal again.
Thereafter we met daily. Each time, I would give her a different name. Naomi, Manyeta, Natasha, Water Nymph, Bathing Beauty ...... and so on. Every time, except for a slight ripple, she would maintain her cool. Sometimes, I would tease her or pay handsome compliments. " Tell me Namita, how many boys have told you that you are a lovely girl ? " I asked her once. In a brief moment of weakness, she shook her mane, rolled her lips and said " Quite a few ".
" Good for them, otherwise i would have had a very poor opinion for Delhi boys ", I countered. By then she was cool again. ever smiling and though otherwise lithe and active, inherently she is more like a lioness who treats even the king of the jungle with a bored indulgence.
I once asked her to race with me in the pool. Like a typical female, she let me win. When diving together, I would point out her any flaws in her style as they appeared to me In response, she however, always praised mine even if she had not even watched my dive. Her attitude was that of a lioness encouraging a not too strong cub.
Namita, the bored lioness, has yet to graduate to being a playful dolphin. When she does, she would, I am sure, be a joy for the Gods themselves !
I broke the ice and introduced ourselves - my wife and myself. They in turn, did likewise. " We are Chaturvedis from Rajasthan, pure brahmins ", she said in amplification of her surname. I told her that I too belonged to the most impure among humans, the pure brahmin breed known as Nagars fro further south - west.
The bus arrived and we got in. we had standing room only. I sensed a pair of eyes boring through my back. Instinctively, I looked back and met them. For a fleeting moment, heat radiated through the air gap between us and all was normal again.
Thereafter we met daily. Each time, I would give her a different name. Naomi, Manyeta, Natasha, Water Nymph, Bathing Beauty ...... and so on. Every time, except for a slight ripple, she would maintain her cool. Sometimes, I would tease her or pay handsome compliments. " Tell me Namita, how many boys have told you that you are a lovely girl ? " I asked her once. In a brief moment of weakness, she shook her mane, rolled her lips and said " Quite a few ".
" Good for them, otherwise i would have had a very poor opinion for Delhi boys ", I countered. By then she was cool again. ever smiling and though otherwise lithe and active, inherently she is more like a lioness who treats even the king of the jungle with a bored indulgence.
I once asked her to race with me in the pool. Like a typical female, she let me win. When diving together, I would point out her any flaws in her style as they appeared to me In response, she however, always praised mine even if she had not even watched my dive. Her attitude was that of a lioness encouraging a not too strong cub.
Namita, the bored lioness, has yet to graduate to being a playful dolphin. When she does, she would, I am sure, be a joy for the Gods themselves !
MOON IS A CAT
3 year old Roopa is an imaginative child. Often she would be lost in her web of imagination and then sometimes she would suddenly speak out her thoughts, without any preface. To a bystander, not used to her ways, she was an enigma.
Lying in bed and looking out through the window, one moonlit night, she suddenly said, " Look Papa ! Look at the 'C', I mean See-A-Tee Cat " Her father, lying next to her and in the process of trying to lull her into sleep looked but failed to find any feline presence. Where a normal father would have shrugged it off as a senseless patter of a child not yet feeling sleepy, Roopa's father did a little mental sleuthing. He discovered that moon, the only object visible from the window that night, was indeed in the shape of the third letter of the alphabet 'C'. It was the third night of the brighter fortnight that day. When he connected this with the third page of Roopa's K.G. class English Primer, he understood the significance and felt himself humbled since no poet before Roopa had ever connected moon with the cat.
Lying in bed and looking out through the window, one moonlit night, she suddenly said, " Look Papa ! Look at the 'C', I mean See-A-Tee Cat " Her father, lying next to her and in the process of trying to lull her into sleep looked but failed to find any feline presence. Where a normal father would have shrugged it off as a senseless patter of a child not yet feeling sleepy, Roopa's father did a little mental sleuthing. He discovered that moon, the only object visible from the window that night, was indeed in the shape of the third letter of the alphabet 'C'. It was the third night of the brighter fortnight that day. When he connected this with the third page of Roopa's K.G. class English Primer, he understood the significance and felt himself humbled since no poet before Roopa had ever connected moon with the cat.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
CRIMINALS
The other day, we had been to the Agri expo 1977 fair. In one of the pavillions, some khadi clad V.I.P.s accompanied by the usual paraphernelia of chamchas and cops in uniform, walked in.
Since the faces were not quite well known locally, the question on the lips of all V.O.P.s like us was, ' Who are these people ? " As if sensing this, a small boy spoke out rather loudly, " Must have done something really bad ! Look at all those policemen following them everywhere !
FOOTNOTE :- Was he making a prophecy of the era of Anna Hazare when that became the common perception of the common man ?
Or was he making a statement of fact that we were then, not aware of ?
I donot know.
Since the faces were not quite well known locally, the question on the lips of all V.O.P.s like us was, ' Who are these people ? " As if sensing this, a small boy spoke out rather loudly, " Must have done something really bad ! Look at all those policemen following them everywhere !
FOOTNOTE :- Was he making a prophecy of the era of Anna Hazare when that became the common perception of the common man ?
Or was he making a statement of fact that we were then, not aware of ?
I donot know.
THE GANG OF FOUR
I had just shifted to a retreat that I had built with many dreams. Some of those cherished dreams have not come true and some have gone awry due to change in circumstances. Nevertheless, a certain peace even if of the numb kind had descended on me when the encounter with the gang of four took place. No ! It was not the dreaded Chinese gang of four. Then, what was it ? Wait ! You will soon find out.
Evening of a holiday. I am sitting in the drawing room with its weather beaten, transfer seasoned, out of date furniture. My teen age sons keep me company to compensate for the loss of one whom I had dearly loved. Suddenly, Santosh our eighteen years old son got up and strode up to the door. He was welcoming some visitors. The curious smile on his face indicated that the visitors were unusual. His repeated welcoming gestures and monotones whetted my curiosity. I was however totally unprepared for the attack when it came.
The gang of four trooped in. Shy, hesitant smiles on their faces. Ajay, Amit, Pramod and Jenu. I welcome them forgetting the churning stomache that tormented me. Introductions follow. Ajay and Amit turn out to be twins. They are all trilingual - products of the trilingual formula and aged about five years.
Jenu and Pramod in turns occupy my lap while the twins stand. I talk to them in all the three languages but they talk to me in only one - the language in which they talk to their parents and such other backward people.
I start my standard ploys. I offer to play Antakshari but they plead innocence of all versified stuff. No ! Not even nursery rhymes. This despite the fact that only that afternoon, I had heard one of them singing a song from one of the latest Hindi films.
" Alright, Let's play the guessing game ". They nod agreement. They must think of a person whom I know and must answer questions only in either the affirmative or the negative and I would tell them who was the person they had thought of. They do so in turns and after a few questions, I tell them who the person was, with the air of a Houdini.
Then, I think of a person and ask them to pose questions to me. Suddenly they are all dumb. " Would you be able to tell me without asking questions ? " I prod them. In answer they all troop out. A short while later, I hear screams of delight that attract my attention. They come from the house opposite, abode of not a single member of the gang but that of a newly acquired teen age friend of my sons - the person I had thought of. Not only that . He was right there with them. This was the gang's way of telling me that they could read minds, a much higher form of communication than mere speech.
Next day, on my return from work, I am greeted by them in a language other than the one that they resrve for their parents. I still do not know whether they consider me more backward or more forward. In reply, I merely fondle their heads. If I speak, I am afraid of being labelled as backward while I am still being sized up.
Children, particularly nuclear age children, do not take long to size up people. i am dying to know the verdict that this gang of four passes on me. And I hope that I will be able to understand it in the form in which it is passed.
Stop Press :- The verdict has just come as this is being written. Jenu, the only female member of the gang has come to watch our TV and is lovingly snuggled in my lap ! I seem to have passed muster. Hallelujah !
Evening of a holiday. I am sitting in the drawing room with its weather beaten, transfer seasoned, out of date furniture. My teen age sons keep me company to compensate for the loss of one whom I had dearly loved. Suddenly, Santosh our eighteen years old son got up and strode up to the door. He was welcoming some visitors. The curious smile on his face indicated that the visitors were unusual. His repeated welcoming gestures and monotones whetted my curiosity. I was however totally unprepared for the attack when it came.
The gang of four trooped in. Shy, hesitant smiles on their faces. Ajay, Amit, Pramod and Jenu. I welcome them forgetting the churning stomache that tormented me. Introductions follow. Ajay and Amit turn out to be twins. They are all trilingual - products of the trilingual formula and aged about five years.
Jenu and Pramod in turns occupy my lap while the twins stand. I talk to them in all the three languages but they talk to me in only one - the language in which they talk to their parents and such other backward people.
I start my standard ploys. I offer to play Antakshari but they plead innocence of all versified stuff. No ! Not even nursery rhymes. This despite the fact that only that afternoon, I had heard one of them singing a song from one of the latest Hindi films.
" Alright, Let's play the guessing game ". They nod agreement. They must think of a person whom I know and must answer questions only in either the affirmative or the negative and I would tell them who was the person they had thought of. They do so in turns and after a few questions, I tell them who the person was, with the air of a Houdini.
Then, I think of a person and ask them to pose questions to me. Suddenly they are all dumb. " Would you be able to tell me without asking questions ? " I prod them. In answer they all troop out. A short while later, I hear screams of delight that attract my attention. They come from the house opposite, abode of not a single member of the gang but that of a newly acquired teen age friend of my sons - the person I had thought of. Not only that . He was right there with them. This was the gang's way of telling me that they could read minds, a much higher form of communication than mere speech.
Next day, on my return from work, I am greeted by them in a language other than the one that they resrve for their parents. I still do not know whether they consider me more backward or more forward. In reply, I merely fondle their heads. If I speak, I am afraid of being labelled as backward while I am still being sized up.
Children, particularly nuclear age children, do not take long to size up people. i am dying to know the verdict that this gang of four passes on me. And I hope that I will be able to understand it in the form in which it is passed.
Stop Press :- The verdict has just come as this is being written. Jenu, the only female member of the gang has come to watch our TV and is lovingly snuggled in my lap ! I seem to have passed muster. Hallelujah !
TRANSFORMATION OF AN ' ENGLISH ' GIRL
Rati was born in England of Indian parents. When she was about five years old, her parents returned along with her to India. Soon, a brother was born. Having been born and brought up in England, she was " English " whereas her brother who was born in India was an Indian.
As if the contrast between England and an Indian city was not enough, her father got a job on the construction site of a public sector unit in one of the most backward areas. Bewilderment of Rati in this place was complete.
Rati had however not forgotten the manners and social graces learnt by her in one of the smaller towns of England. She could be depended upon to stir out of the house in only the most proper dress for the purpose of the outing, all neatly ironed and starched. When meeting someone on the road, instead of sheepishly smiling like other Indian children, she would boldly greet an adult with a " Good Morning or Evening, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss so and so ".
If you were to call on her parents, she would answer the doorbell, greet you properly, a pleasant surprise written all over her face. She would usher you in the sitting room and after making you comfortable, inform her parents of your arrival. Then, like a good child, she would withdraw, leaving the grown - ups to their grown - up talk. Among us construction people in that small settlement, Rati was indeed a wonder, an example quoted by some mothers of what a good child should be.
Rati's little brother was however her despair. He was inclined to be merry, to be talking louder than in whispers and to be wearing ill-matched clothes. If she was not wary, Ravi would sneak out wearing only his slippers. Why ! She had once seen him playing barefooted. And horror of horrors ! Ravi had once openly and unashamedly expressed a desire to swim in a pond that the villagers used for bathing, and washing clothes as well as utensils.
Ravi was indeed a great burden for Rati's frail shoulders. Whenever and wherever possible, she attended to his attire, his manners and so on. But the moment her back was turned, Ravi lapsed into a behaviour that Rati had started thinking of as his " Indianness ". The more she tried to cure him of it, the more he lapsed into it. The strain on her mind was beginning to tell.
It was during this period that I went to Rati's house on some business. Her father was away but was expected back soon. I was therefore having a chat with Rati's mother in the meantime. Rati could be seen reading a book in the adjoining room.
Just then, Ravi barged in her room as was his wont, clothes splattered with mud, hair disheveled and a wild look of joy on his face. He shouted " Look ! Didi ! what I have brought for you ! Rati looked and found a small garland of wild flowers for Rati's hair.
For once in her ten years of existence, she forgot to notice her brother's untidy appearance, his abominable manners and even omitted to scold him. Instead, she broke one of her own rules. She walked into the drawing room, garland in hand and said excitedly, " Mother ! Look ! What Ravi has made for me !
No sooner she said it, she realized that an outsider was present. She was about to apologise and withdraw but the look of total approval on both the adult faces changed her mind. When I pulled her towards me, she came unresistingly and sat on my lap as naturally as the rest of the children in that small settlement did, her pyjamas notwithstanding. Ravi's genuine affection had after all overcome her inhibitions.
She was later to realize that one's behaviour corresponded to one's development on a number of planes, apart from time and environment. Behaviour natural to youself can never be considered as boorish except by boors or half-baked copycat people. Social graces that come from within and are a part of one's personality are what count. Acquired manners like gilded ornaments can last only as long as the gilt takes to wear off. The only way to be happy and to go up is to be true to yourself and the world would eventually be true to you.
By now, Rati is a big girl. Call her Indian, call her English, no matter what !
As if the contrast between England and an Indian city was not enough, her father got a job on the construction site of a public sector unit in one of the most backward areas. Bewilderment of Rati in this place was complete.
Rati had however not forgotten the manners and social graces learnt by her in one of the smaller towns of England. She could be depended upon to stir out of the house in only the most proper dress for the purpose of the outing, all neatly ironed and starched. When meeting someone on the road, instead of sheepishly smiling like other Indian children, she would boldly greet an adult with a " Good Morning or Evening, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss so and so ".
If you were to call on her parents, she would answer the doorbell, greet you properly, a pleasant surprise written all over her face. She would usher you in the sitting room and after making you comfortable, inform her parents of your arrival. Then, like a good child, she would withdraw, leaving the grown - ups to their grown - up talk. Among us construction people in that small settlement, Rati was indeed a wonder, an example quoted by some mothers of what a good child should be.
Rati's little brother was however her despair. He was inclined to be merry, to be talking louder than in whispers and to be wearing ill-matched clothes. If she was not wary, Ravi would sneak out wearing only his slippers. Why ! She had once seen him playing barefooted. And horror of horrors ! Ravi had once openly and unashamedly expressed a desire to swim in a pond that the villagers used for bathing, and washing clothes as well as utensils.
Ravi was indeed a great burden for Rati's frail shoulders. Whenever and wherever possible, she attended to his attire, his manners and so on. But the moment her back was turned, Ravi lapsed into a behaviour that Rati had started thinking of as his " Indianness ". The more she tried to cure him of it, the more he lapsed into it. The strain on her mind was beginning to tell.
It was during this period that I went to Rati's house on some business. Her father was away but was expected back soon. I was therefore having a chat with Rati's mother in the meantime. Rati could be seen reading a book in the adjoining room.
Just then, Ravi barged in her room as was his wont, clothes splattered with mud, hair disheveled and a wild look of joy on his face. He shouted " Look ! Didi ! what I have brought for you ! Rati looked and found a small garland of wild flowers for Rati's hair.
For once in her ten years of existence, she forgot to notice her brother's untidy appearance, his abominable manners and even omitted to scold him. Instead, she broke one of her own rules. She walked into the drawing room, garland in hand and said excitedly, " Mother ! Look ! What Ravi has made for me !
No sooner she said it, she realized that an outsider was present. She was about to apologise and withdraw but the look of total approval on both the adult faces changed her mind. When I pulled her towards me, she came unresistingly and sat on my lap as naturally as the rest of the children in that small settlement did, her pyjamas notwithstanding. Ravi's genuine affection had after all overcome her inhibitions.
She was later to realize that one's behaviour corresponded to one's development on a number of planes, apart from time and environment. Behaviour natural to youself can never be considered as boorish except by boors or half-baked copycat people. Social graces that come from within and are a part of one's personality are what count. Acquired manners like gilded ornaments can last only as long as the gilt takes to wear off. The only way to be happy and to go up is to be true to yourself and the world would eventually be true to you.
By now, Rati is a big girl. Call her Indian, call her English, no matter what !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)