- Alexander Pope
There once lived a man named He. He was also referred to as Him.
He lived in one of the most remote parts of a country. A non-existential place, amidst existence. Nothing travelled to this place. Not even news. Nothing significant happened here, good or bad.
When one of the natives left for the nearest town, there would be a cry fest. It was nothing short of seeing off a soldier leaving for the battlefield. And the person would be only a little more than an hour's distance away!
So, He grew up in this setting in a joint household with a
river for a backyard. The only lives people knew of here, were their own.
Everything required for living was obtained from the weekly market. The best
delicacy He shared with his brothers and sisters was a piece of sugarcane,
which too, was an alien crop to the village.
Innocence was the running theme of the place.
His birth mother had passed away when he was 3 or 4. The only memory he had of her death was being given a lot of candies to go and eat elsewhere (away from the cremation).
Many years later, he would be present at another death, that of his father with whom he shared an uneasy equation. There was no dearth of love there, but expressionless courtesy his earlier loss. An expressionless care-giver.
Back to childhood and a teacher came in from the neighbouring district to their village. He took Him
under his spell. The teacher told Him stories about the country, which itself
was located in a place called world. Apparently, there wasn't much of it, the
teacher said, because most of it was water; nothing to fuss over, but something
to be noted.
Aided by the teacher, He's imagination flew like a bullet from a gun. His mind created images of what it would be like to see this world. And that day did come.
When He had learnt enough to seek higher education elsewhere, he was supposed to travel. Quite daringly he decided to venture as far as the neighbouring district; a distance only travelled by stories.
People ran after the bullock cart as it made its way to the
nearest railway station. He had second thoughts about leaving the
place. But the inertia of life held Him. So he stayed put.
That night the train was full, so He hung onto the bars of its window. The rushing cold winds and the train carried Him to Abad station where life was digging roads and making enough for college tuitions.
Life was a struggle with nothing but a wife and a stove to go through the days. But they managed and pulled through which also fortified his principles and visions.
There was always a spirit in Him to live the best life. In
the best dress, the best locality, the best house (salary-Rs.750, rent- Rs.500). Sometimes,
the spirit struggled but it was always fair.
In due course, the couple had two sons. Each brilliant in his own way. But domestic life brought unwarranted and unforeseen hardships.
In this way began the story about the imperfection that was this father. By no means was he an ideal son, a successful father, an ideal husband or an accomplished individual . He failed on all four counts.
But he created a space for the family; very different
from the outside world.
A dimensionless harbour, an ever-shifting serpentine mind-corridor whose morals standards were high and impractical. This led to failure on part of his sons when dealing with the cruelty that was life.
Whenever, a passer-by swore at them in cut-throat traffic,
they had no answer but to look down. But the father himself swore back, when one of
his lot is threatened by a similar soul.
Sometimes, his wife felt that life with this man was a series of let-downs. But they stood by each other. He evoked a sense of pity and charm in her, enough to hold onto a life-event called marriage. In turn, He owed his life's sanity and structure to his wife.
In other terms, this husband was one of the most typical mortal here. Subject to many, many fallacies and a few approvals of earthly existence.
His philosophies were the one to live and die by, said his elder son. Although, they don’t work in the world out there. Sometimes, the son seemed to be a little too proud of his father. Unwarranted but fair.
And the younger son was just a die-hard fan. For him, his father was a star who could gloss over his indiscretions.
A lot of times, in his life He’s thoughts went back to how far
he had come. He thought of the pleasure he derived in the early years of his job.
How he learned rappelling in the Himalayas through his school sponsorship; how he performed the same in the school auditorium, which some ex-students fondly recall whenever they meet Him.
He thinks how his present abode and the car could have been bigger and classier.
But when confronted by the same reflections by his sons, he will not show his predications. He would fight and tell them about how respect and peace of mind is far better.
Anyone could earn money, if money indeed was the
end goal, He would say. But not everyone can forge a loving family, living and
thriving together in peace and harmony in good health and character.
He would never defend their lack of position vis-Ã -vis neighbouring prosperity. But he would also make sure that going ahead without morals or a good night's sleep was not a lifestyle for his kids. Flamboyance at the cost of humbleness; success at the cost of peace of mind; conformity at the cost of character; not for his lot.
Sometimes, his principles were put to serious test. Especially, for his kids. But never would He ask them to win at all costs, whether it was winning a woman, wealth or prestige.
From all that life had thrown at Him, He dealt with many embarrassing situations. Very distressingly, He felt he has let them down severely but He struck to his principles. And without imposing or ever saying it aloud He would prefer if his kids did the same.
He is no fool though. He understands the cunning, practical
and demanding ways of the world. He has seen the family falter and made a fool
of themselves for being true. Or what the world would pleasantly say, naïve.
But He will insist on the goodness of being and the depth of
character being their mainstay.
Let the outside behave the way it wants. It has its own end
goals. They needn’t align with his or his family’s. If they are lucky enough, they
might meet people who could associate with them on the same thoughts. If not,
they have each other.
On his last day at work, colleagues were waiting in the staff room to celebrate his retirement. In fact, the management had proposed to give him an off the entire day.
But He did not indulge. Instead, He took his scheduled last class which was the last of the school hours.
As the final bell rang, He stepped out of the class amidst the rushing students and mingled with the crowd. He went over the entire campus. The basketball courts, the football grounds, the cafeteria, the basement classes, the toilets, the auditorium, up and down the floors.
The man thought of his first day; his rappelling; the annual celebrations; the class trips; being given a memo for not being in class when two kids had a serious fight; the nights he disappeared from house after supervising the Board exams to avoid people waiting for him with suitcases laden with cash; the fights and jokes with his colleagues.
He thought of all the headmasters, past and present, and his recruiting headmaster, who lies buried in the school campus. He didn't betray his emotions that day, to anyone, not even back home.
When he walked out of the school gate, he thought of the night he had come
to the city. How fortunate he was to earn a living, get a degree, have a life
partner and two adherent sons.
He didn’t care for what share prices were that day, who
became a millionaire, whose kid got US citizenship or who
bought a big house for his wife as a birthday present.
There were only humble but dignified set of steps out of the campus.
After one lasting look at the school building, He mingled
with the traffic with the same non-existent aura which his native place harboured.
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