LIFE AT A CALL (CON) CENTRE

Last week I received a call at around 5.00 p.m. The caller identified himself as Rajendra Prasad, Asshishtant (Assistant) Manager from HO of the Bank and with a lot of excitement said that my account and debit card are blocked and he has called to help me reset it. I have read a lot about calls from persons from fake call centres of Banks, who try to transfer money from accounts of gullible customers.  This was the first time I experienced it. When I asked him from which Bank he was calling, he replied “Ishtate Bank” (State Bank). I coincidentally have an account with that Bank and I told him I would visit my branch the next day and sort out the issue. He then warned me; “today is the cutoff date for rectifying this problem.  Do you want your money or not?” sounding very unprofessional.  I again repeated that I would visit the branch and sort out the issue if any and then he disconnected.  My “true caller” app on the phone indicated the call as one from “Bihar”.

I shared this information with my family and friends and after a day, there was news in the newspapers about a retired banker being conned by someone from Noida to the tune of 3 Lakhs.  The conversation reported was similar to the one that caller had with me.  But the innocent senior citizen had revealed his debit card details with cvv number and also the OTP received on his mobile, to facilitate the person on the other end to get the amount transferred to his account, unknowingly.

Crime is as old as civilization.  What is alarming is the organized crime that is happening.

Earlier this month, around 500 employees of a call centre in Thane were arrested for duping US Citizens.

While the whole world sympathizes with the victims, I feel the employees at such call centres too are victims.

I have never worked in a call centre, but I have had a very bitter experience in my career, which has made me sympathize with these employees.

A few years ago, I briefly worked for an organization, whose business though was not unethical, but the management’s approach certainly was.  The organization had incurred a lot of losses and there were no funds for operations.  Many payments were outstanding and the pressure was mounting from all sides.  Employees were not paid regularly.  Salaries were paid once in a while, just enough to sustain.  Suppliers stopped supplies and all employees had to handle both their personal creditors and the respective official creditors too.  The top management was not reachable.  In addition to the usual work, every individual was forced to bring in new vendors viz., those in purchase department had to find new suppliers who would offer their products on credit, the finance team had to bring in more investments and credit, the HR team had to put a brave face and recruit people.  I had to find new travel agents, printers, hoteliers and service providers when the existing ones refused to serve unless their old dues were paid.  It was a very different game.  On one hand, we had to plead with the existing creditors and reply to them convincingly and on the other had to solicit new ones to associate with us, though we knew very well that we would not be able to pay them also in future.  Life was very tough and depressing.  The employees after a while stopped meeting the creditors, who visited the office.   Many seniors stopped using cars as creditors waited for them in the parking area too. But the creditors were intelligent too.  They waited at the lift, the staircase, the emergency exit (which we used most of the times) and also in the toilets.  The problem was multifold.  Personal reserves of all employees vanished.  Many pledged or sold their jewels and personal belongings.  They borrowed at heavy interest rates. There was no sense of security.  The future of the organization was very bleak.  There were not many openings in the job market.  Even if there was an opportunity, the organization didn’t let people to leave.  They were harassed and intimidated.    Almost all employees had school going children.  While all this was happening, a colleague got married and his wife and in-laws felt they were being conned, as he did not receive any salary after wedding.  They were very suspicious about him and there was marital discord.  It was very scary.  It was a nightmare and nobody could dream of a future.  Employees continued to work there for three main reasons; 1) the organization owed them several months’ salaries and were waiting to get the arrears to resign. (The employer too knew this and had no intention to pay) 2) they were too scared to leave knowing the employer’s harassment tactics and 3) they did not get any opportunities.   When one of the travel agent’s employees called me at an odd hour and threatened to commit suicide, if I didn’t take measures to clear her bills, I decided, I would quit irrespective of receipt of the pending salary and a new job.  I thought I would start something on my own, if I didn’t get a job.  I am lucky. With support from my family, I could get out and also find another job.

When I read about the news of arrest of call centre employees, I remembered my short stint in that place and could imagine the plight of all those employees who are stuck in such organizations.

Unless the Government is sincere about preventing crimes, such organizations would continue to function.  The entire Government machinery should work together in eliminating them; the Labour Inspectors, the Registrar of Companies, the Revenue and Income tax departments, the Police, the Judiciary, the bankers and last but not the least, the media.  They should stop turning a Nelson’s eye towards these organizations.

THE FIRST TIME I FELL IN LOVE

When I was studying LKG, my teachers took us on an excursion to the famous snake park.   No, please don’t jump into any conclusions.  I haven’t fallen in love with snakes. In fact I have Ophidiophobia.  I wondered why they took us there in a bus.  There were so many in our school and neighbourhood!

It wasn’t snakes, but the snacks our teachers distributed in small packs during our visit that day that I fell for.  Plastic covers were unheard of those days and the food was wrapped in butter paper.  The pack contained some food, as big as my palm.  It was orange in colour and due to the oil, the butter paper became all the more transparent and the beautiful design was visible.  I just fell for it.  I didn’t know what it was.  The colour, the spiral design and the aroma were very appealing.  From my childhood, I don’t relish sweets.  But that day, knowing fully well that it was some kind of sweet, I decided to taste it.  The taste too was heavenly.  I learnt from my friends, that it was called “jangri”. (It is called Imarti in North India). 

The excitement, the image and the taste remained with me ever after. 

I always wondered how it was made!  My mother too didn’t know what it was made of.  My parents never liked getting cooked or processed food from outside.  On a few occasions, when my dad’s friends gifted assorted sweets during festivals, I tasted the jangri alone. 

We had a huge grinder stone at home and many of our neighbours used it to grind batter from lentils and rice, whenever huge quantities were required and during one such occasion in a neighbour’s house, a cook came and manually ground the batter for making jangris.  That was the first time I learnt about the main ingredient.  Till then, I didn’t know what it was made of.  The cook used our grinding stone to grind batter from Urad Dal (Black gram). He did the grinding without adding any additional water to the soaked lentils. He did it pretty fast and he made huge balls with the batter and put them in a tub of water.  The batter balls floated and then once it was finely ground, he took them again out of the tub and after straining the water put them back on the stone and added food colour and mixed it thoroughly.  He did not add anything else to it. He took the batter with him to my neighbour’s house.  I was very curious to see him cook, but I didn’t dare to ask my mother to permit me to go and watch the work. 

From the day I saw the cook prepare the batter, I wanted to try to make jangris at home.  My mother was very strict (Oh she is still very strict) and didn’t allow me to experiment in the kitchen.  (In fact, I first cooked in my neighbour’s house. I boiled rice on firewood and made chutney with curry leaves).

Years passed and I continued to dream, dream to make jangris. 

After I started working, most of my colleagues came to know of my love for jangris.  Whenever they made and bought jangris at their homes, they shared it with me.  Two of my colleagues’ mothers made them very regularly at homes and they discussed the recipe with me.  Gathering a lot of courage, I declared to my mother that I would make jangris at home.  Though she didn’t like me doing it, she permitted.  It was for a Deepavali.  Most of the times, it rains heavily in Chennai during Deepavali and that particular year, there was a cyclone and many trees fell down and there was a power cut.  I had soaked the urad dal and waited for the power to resume, to grind it.  I wasn’t fortunate that day and had to manually grind it.  It was very tough and somehow I managed.  But the batter consistency was not up to the mark.  I took a piece of cloth, made a buttonhole and took the batter into the cloth and tried to squeeze it into the oil.  Oh my God! I just could not do it at all.  The batter was leaking from all sides and the batter that was squeezed into the oil was going out of shape and were no where near the size, shape and colour of the jangris.  I some home finished frying them and soaked them in sugar syrup.  My mother loves feeding us, more particularly my brothers and soon after they step into the house, she would appear with a plate of snacks every time.  On that day, my second brother came and as usual, she filled a plate with my jangris (I actually have to give them a new name) and handed it to him without mentioning what it was. He started eating them and asked, why I had added colour to garelu and soaked them in sugar syrup.  (Garelu is donut shaped snack made with urad dal. It is also known as Vada).  After that episode, my mother categorically told me that I should stop my experiments in her kitchen.

I refrained from that activity for a while, but the desire has always been bothering me.  Recently, a friend of mine had shared a video of making jangris on Facebook and it looked so simple.  Today, unannounced, I tried making it and it has come out reasonably well. It took more than four decades for me to try out something I wanted to successfully.  I am happy.  My mother too is happy.  Soon after I finished making them, my brother visited us with his friends and my mother enthusiastically offered them jangris.  Success!  They have eaten and have recognised them as jangris!

P.S.  Sorry for the deceptive title

NOT A CHILD’S PLAY

A few years ago, Anuja, my friend, attended a wedding in her extended family.  The bridegroom’s mother gifted to the bride a pair of dolls decked up in wedding attire instead of the usual dolls bought from the shop.  (As per Tamil Brahmin traditions, the bridegroom’s mother and sisters shower the bride with many gifts like dresses, accessories, cosmetics, jewels etc. on the day of the wedding and since till a few decades ago, child marriages were still prevalent, the gift hamper includes a few dolls and board games.) She was very much attracted to the “couple dolls” and requested me to make a pair for her to be displayed during Navaratri at her home.  I too promised.

When I and my sister were young, we had two dolls at home. We called them Remy and Shamy.  One had blonde hair.  My brother once soaked the blonde one in water, as a result of which, the hair was lost and the doll became bald.  As my sister was very upset, my brother, who too was quite young had stitched hair for the doll with black thread within a few days.  We stitched many clothes for both the dolls with leftover cloths. My mother stitched most of our clothes and our dolls too had frocks and skirts matching with our dresses. We tried making jewels also for them. We often performed wedding for the dolls. 

Coming to the present, ever since I promised to Anuja to gift her the dolls, I started searching for them.  When I was young, every fancy shop in T.Nagar had this kind of dolls.  But unfortunately, I could not find any.  I told my sister, my sister-in-law and all my friends to look for this kind of dolls.  After a long wait, my sister could get me a pair from either Bangalore or Mysore.  But, the quality is horrible.  Honestly, I was not impressed with the dolls.  I was very busy with life and I could not spend time on this work.  I have been seeing similar dolls on “hobby ideas group” on facebook and was getting great ideas for it.  So a week ago, I decided, I will use the same dolls and transform them into a “bride and groom”.

Since Anuja is an Iyengar, I decided, the dolls too would be Iyengars.  I googled to observe their way of dressing.  I saw videos on the net to learn to drape the sari and dhoti in Iyengar style.  My mother still stitches her clothes and so she always has pieces of extra cloth in all colours.  I initially thought, I will borrow some from her.  But suddenly I felt, using sari falls would be a good idea.  So I bought maroon and white colour sari falls.  I used the maroon for stitching the blouse and the sari and the white for the dhoti and the angavastram.  For the golden border in the sari, I used gold colour fabric paint.  Similarly, for the dhoti, I used green on one side and maroon on the other and painted gold over them.  Dhotis with green and maroon on either side are called “Mayilkan veshtis” in Tamil and are used in weddings.  Also, maroon is the most popular colour for “madisar” in weddings.

When I opened the dolls from the sealed transparent cover, I found that their clothes were either stapled or pinned.  Also, one doll’s head was covered with a scarf and the other with a turban.  When I removed the turban, I was shocked.  The doll was bald.  I recollected my brother stitching hair to our doll and thought I could do something similar.  Unfortunately, this doll is too small and also the head was not detachable.  So, I stuck black embroidery thread on the bald head of one of the dolls.  After the job was over, I saw there was gap between the threads and the scalp was very visible.  So I decided that this doll would be the bridegroom and cropped the hair. For the other doll, I first painted the scalp black and then stuck the threads and it looked natural.  I plaited the hair and also using the same thread made a tiny bun and affixed on the right.  It is called Andal Kondai. 

Jewels and accessories and make up: 

For poonal, I used thick white thread.

I made Thali (Mangalasutra) with a golden colour foam pad and thick yellow thread.

Golden beads for a chain and gold colour chamkis strung to gold colour thin metal rods to make a necklace and bangles. 

White chamkis used for making nethi chutti and rakodi made with foam pad, colour stone and chamkis. 

Floral plait made with paper flowers and stuck to a pad which is then tied to the hair.

I used nail polish for nalangu.

I made garlands with paper, but were not very attractive.  So used some shiny craft material (honestly I don’t know the name) and twisted them to look like garlands.

  

I have borrowed most of the craft material from my sister Vijayalakshmi and my nephew Atul. 

This is the most boring blog, I have written till date.  But I enjoyed making the dolls so much, I thought, I should document the process.

ROSES FOR RAJANI (RANJANI)

I don’t remember his name.  On a hot afternoon, his car stops midway in a residential locality.  He thinks pouring water into the radiator would solve the issue.  When he opens the car boot, he finds an empty can.  With the can in hand, he knocks the door of a house nearby.  As he waits at the door, he observes “Major” prefixed to the name on the name board.  A graceful lady in her late forties opens the door.  He requests her to give him water for his radiator and she directs him to a tap in her well-maintained garden.  He carries water and tries to start the car and fails.  He seeks her help again to make a phone call to his mechanic (those were pre-mobile days) and she obliges.  When the mechanic expresses his inability to come and repair the car on the same day and he fails to find one in the nearby locality, she offers her garage. He pushes his car into the garage and returns with a mechanic the next day.  As the car is being serviced, she invites him to her living room and offers him a cup of coffee.  They start a conversation and he learns that her husband was an army major and is presumed to have died in a war.  She learns that he is a “confirmed bachelor” sharing home with his aunt, his only living relative.

He feels very good in her presence, a feeling he never experienced before.  He visits her a few more times after that and they discuss many things like politics, sports, education, inflation, economy etc.  He likes her very much.  When his ailing aunt suggests that he marries and settles down before she dies, as she does quite often, he thinks about this lady and is tempted to discuss her with his aunt.  He feels, it is appropriate for him to first propose to her and if she accepts, he would then inform the aunt.  On a fine morning, with a bunch of roses, he goes to meet her.  When he rings the bell, an elderly gentleman opens the door.  As his eyes search for her, he hears her welcoming him inside.  She appears very bright and cheerful and introduces the elderly man as her husband, who was believed to have died in the war, but was held by Pakistan Army as a prisoner of war and released a few days back.  He hands over the flowers to the couple and after exchanging pleasantries with them for a few minutes, he walks out.

He gets into a depression, but gets out of it on his own.

This was a two-part story published in The Hindu in early 90’s in the Sunday Magazine supplement.  I don’t remember the name of the author.  I don’t know if it was fictional or autobiographical.  The story is narrated in first person by the male character.  The lady is Rajani, referred to as Ranjani in a few places.  The story focuses more on how the protagonist overcomes the depression by jogging, every time he remembers Rajani.

Whenever someone known to me is going through a bad phase in life, I recommend books or stories I have read and feel would be relevant to them, so that their perception changes and they would be able to arrive at a solution for their problem.  A friend of mine recently lost his spouse and is working very hard to come to terms with the loss. Looking at the plight, I remembered this story, but could not trace it on the internet.

ON THE RULE OF THE ROAD AND ON SAYING PLEASE

Last week when I was standing in the queue in one of the counters of a supermarket for making payment holding a heavy basket with vegetables, fruits and groceries, a man looked at all the counters and reached the one I was waiting and stretched his hand with a hundred rupee note from behind and asked for a bill for juice.  The juice counter was outside, but the customers have to first make the payment inside the shop, collect the bill/receipt and then collect the juice.  The tall man collected the bill and the change and left unapologetically.  Then came another man holding just a bunch of bananas and stood behind me and waived to the girl in the counter.  She signaled him to give it to her and he pushed me and another customer in the queue aside and reached the counter.  Neither he, nor the girl at the counter sought permission or apologized for this act.

After I met with an accident last year, I am travelling more by the public transport.  My co-passengers literally get on my nerves sometimes.  The other evening, the bus was very crowded and I was standing close to the entrance.  The journey was very bumpy and every now and then the driver was applying brakes.  To avoid falling on other passengers standing before me, I was holding on with both my hands very firmly.  But a lady standing behind me wasn’t holding at all.  She had a bag in one hand and every time there was a jerk, she not only was leaning on me, but was also poking me with her elbow.  I politely requested her to stand firmly and hold on and not put her weight over me.  She had the audacity to reply that both she and her bag were light.  I generally don’t speak the way I spoke to her that evening, but I said loudly to her, “If I do what you are doing, you will be smashed in no time.  Better understand that and behave”.  We come across people who are selfish and behave badly.  They have absolutely no civic sense.  It is not just in the public transport or on the roads that we meet such people.  They are omnipresent; in the neighbourhoods, in places of worship, in hospitals, in educational institutions and also in offices.

When I introspect, I feel my behavior is very different from the rest of the crowd not just because of good manners taught by my parents and teachers, but also because of the two essays of A.G. Gardiner, popularly known as “Alpha of the Plough”, I read when I was in school.

I understand the difference between “personal liberty” and “social responsibility” very clearly.  I don’t trespass into anyone’s territory.  I try to be as polite as possible with all fellow human beings and I know that I am where I am because of these.

I couldn’t preserve the books which had these two lovely essays, but I have rediscovered them on the internet recently and I am sharing with you all.

ON THE RULE OF THE ROAD

A stout old lady was walking with her basket down the middle of a street in Petrograd to the great confusion of the traffic and with no small peril to herself.  It was pointed out to her that the pavement was the place for pedestrians, but she replied: ‘I’ am going to walk where I like.  We’ve got liberty now.’  It did not occur to the dear old lady that if liberty entitled the pedestrian to walk down the middle of the road, then the end of such liberty would be universal chaos.  Everybody would be getting in everybody else’s way and nobody would get anywhere.  Individual liberty would have become social anarchy.

There is danger of the world getting liberty-drunk in these days like the old lady with the basket, and it is just as well to remind ourselves of what the rule of the road means.  It means that in order that the liberties of all may be preserved, the liberties of everybody must be curtailed.  When the policeman, say, at Piccadilly Circus steps into the middle of the road and puts out his hand, he is the symbol not of tyranny, but of liberty.  You may not think so.  You may, being in a hurry, and seeing your car pulled up by this insolence of office, feel that your liberty has been outraged.  How dare this fellow interfere with your free use of the public highway? Then, if you are a reasonable person, you will reflect that if he did not interfere with you, he would interfere with no one, and the result would be that Piccadilly Circus would be a maelstrom that you would never cross at all.  You have submitted to a curtailment of private liberty in order that you may enjoy a social order which makes your liberty a reality.

Liberty is not a personal affair only, but a social contract.  It is an accommodation of interests.  In matters which do not touch anybody else’s liberty, of course, I may be as free as I like.  If I choose to go down the road in a dressing-gown who shall say me nay?  You have liberty to laugh at me, but I have liberty to be indifferent to you.  And if I have a fancy for dyeing my hair, or waxing my moustache (which heaven forbid), or wearing an overcoat and sandals, or going to bed late or getting up early, I shall follow my fancy and ask no man’s permission.  I shall not inquire of you whether I may eat mustard with my mutton.  And you will not ask me whether you may follow this religion or that, whether you may prefer Ella Wheeler Wilcox to Wordsworth, or champagne to shandy.

In all these and a thousand other details you and I please ourselves and ask no one’s leave.  We have a whole Kingdom in which we rule alone, can do what we choose, be wise or ridiculous, harsh or easy, conventional or odd.  But directly we step out of that kingdom, our personal liberty of action becomes qualified by other people’s liberty.  I might like to practice on the trombone from midnight till three in the morning.  If I went on to the top of Everest to do it, I could please myself, but if I do it in my bedroom, my family will object, and if I do it out in the streets, the neighbours will remind me that my liberty to blow the trombone must not interfere with their liberty to sleep in quiet.  There are a lot of people in the world, and I have to accommodate my liberty to their liberties.

We are all liable to forget this, and unfortunately we are much more conscious of the imperfections of others in this respect than of our own.  A reasonable consideration for the rights or feelings of others is the foundation of social conduct.

It is in the small matters of conduct, in the observance of the rule of the road, that we pass judgment upon ourselves and declare that we are civilized or uncivilized.  The great moments of heroism and sacrifice are rare.  It is the little habits of commonplace intercourse that make up the great sum of life and sweeten or make bitter the journey.

ON SAYING PLEASE

The young lift-man in a City office who threw a passenger out of his lift the other morning and was fined for the offence was undoubtedly in the wrong.  It was question of ‘Please’.  The complainant entering the lift, said, ‘Top’.  The lift-man demanded ‘Top-please’ and this concession being refused he not only declined to comply with the instruction, but hurled the passenger out of the lift. This, of course was carrying a comment on manner too far.  Discourtesy is not a legal offence, and it does not excuse assault and battery.  If a burglar breaks into my house and I knock him down, the law will acquit me, and if I am physically assaulted, it will permit me to retaliate with reasonable violence.  It does this because the burglar and my assailant have broken quite definite commands of the law, but no legal system could attempt to legislate against bad manners, or could sanction the use of violence against something which it does not itself recognize as a legally punishable offence.  And whatever our sympathy with the lift-man, we must admit that the law is reasonable.  It would never do if we were at liberty to box people’s ears because we did not like their behavior, or the tone of their voices, or the scowl on their faces. Our fists would never be idle, and the gutters of the City would run with blood all day.

I may be as uncivil as I may please and the law will protect me against violent retaliation.  I may be haughty or boorish and there is no penalty to pay except the penalty of being written down an ill mannered fellow.  The law doesn’t compel me to say ‘please’ or to attune my voice to other people’s sensibilities any more than it says that I shall not wax my moustache or dye my hair or wear ringlets down my back.  It does not recognize the laceration of our feelings as a case for compensation.  There is no allowance for moral and intellectual damages in these matters.

This does not mean that the damages are negligible.  It is probable that the lift-man was much more acutely hurt by what he regarded as a slur upon his social standing than he would have been if he had a kick on the shins, for which he could have got a legal redress.  The pain of a kick on the shins soon passes away but the pain of a wound to our self-respect or our vanity may poison a whole day.  I can imagine that lift-man, denied the relief of throwing the author of his wound out of the lift, brooding over the insult by the hour, and visiting it on his wife in the evening as the only way of restoring his equilibrium.  For there are few things more catching than bad temper and bad manners.  When Sir Anthony Absolute bullied Captain Absolute, the latter went out and bullied his man, Fag, whereupon Fag went out downstairs and kicked the page-boy. Probably the man who said ‘Top’ to the lift man was really only getting back on his employer who had not said ‘Good morning’ to him because he himself had been henpecked at breakfast by his wife, to whom the cook had been insolent because the housemaid had ‘answered her back’.  We infect the world with our ill humours.  Bad manners probably do more to poison the stream of the general life than all the crimes in the calendar.  For one wife who gets a black eye from an otherwise good natured husband there are a hundred who live a life of martyrdom under the shadow of a morose temper.  But all the same the law cannot become the guardian of our private manners.  No Decalogue could cover the vast area of offences and no court could administer a law which governed our social civilities, our speech, the tilt of our eyebrows and all our moods and manners.

But though we are bound to endorse the verdict against the lift-man most people will have certain sympathy with him.  While it is true that there is no law that compels us to say ‘Please’, there is a social practice much older and much more sacred than any law which enjoins us to be civil.  And the first requirement of civility is that we should acknowledge a service.  ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’ are the small change with which we pay our way as social beings.  They are the little courtesies by which we keep the machine of life oiled and running sweetly.  They put our intercourse upon the basis of a friendly cooperation an easy give and take, instead of on the basis of superiors dictating to inferiors.  It is a very vulgar mind that would wish to command where he can have the service for asking, and have it with willingness and good feeling instead of resentment.

I should like to ‘feature’ in this connection my friend, the polite conductor.  By this discriminating title, I do not intend to suggest a rebuke to conductors generally.  On the contrary, I am disposed to think that there are few classes of men who come through the ordeal of a very trying calling better than bus conductors do. Here and there you will meet an unpleasant specimen who regards the passengers as his natural enemies – as creatures whose chief purpose on the bus is to cheat him, and who can only be kept reasonably honest by a loud voice and an aggressive manner.  But this type is rare – a rarer than it used to be.  I fancy the public owes much to the Underground Railway Company, which also runs the buses, for insisting on a certain standard of civility in its servants and taking care that that standard is observed.  In doing this, it not only makes things pleasant for the travelling public, but performs an important social service.

It is not, therefore, with any feeling of unfriendliness to conductors as a class that I pay a tribute to a particular member of that class.  I first became conscious of his existence one day when I jumped on to a bus and found that I had left home without any money in my pocket.  Everyone has had the experience and knows the feeling, the mixed feeling, which the discovery arouses.  You are annoyed because you look like a fool at the best and like a knave at the worst.  You would not be at all surprised if the conductor eyed you coldly as much as to say, ‘Yes I know that stale old trick.  Now then, off you get.’ And even if the conductor is a good fellow and lets you down easily, you are faced with the necessity of going back and the inconvenience, perhaps, of missing your train or your engagement.

Having searched my pockets in vain for stray coppers, and having found I was utterly penniless, I told the conductor with an honest a face as I could assume that I couldn’t pay the fare, and must go back for money.  ‘Oh, you needn’t get off; that’s all right’, said he.  ‘All right’, said I, ‘but I haven’t a copper on me.’  ‘Oh I’ll book you through, he replied. ‘Where do you want to go?’ and he handled his bundle of tickets with the air of a man who was prepared to give me a ticket for anywhere from the Bank to Hong Kong.  I said it was very kind of him, and told him where I wanted to go, and as he gave me the ticket I said, ‘But where shall I send the fare?’ ‘Oh, you’ll see me some day all right’, he said cheerfully, as he turned to go.  And then, luckily, my fingers still wandering in the corners of my pockets lighted on a shilling and the account was squared.  But that fact did not lessen the glow of pleasure which so good-natured an action had given me.

A few days after, my most sensitive toe was trampled on rather heavily as I sat reading on the top of a bus.  I looked up with some anger and more agony, and saw my friend of the cheerful countenance.  ‘Sorry, sir’, he said.  ‘I know these are heavy boots.  Got’em because my own feet get trod on so much, and now I’m treading on other people’s.  Hope I didn’t hurt you, sir.’ He had hurt me, but he was so nice about it that I assured him he hadn’t.  After this, I began to observe him whenever I boarded his bus, and found a curious please in the constant good nature of his bearing.  He seemed to have an inexhaustible fund of patience and a gift for making his passengers comfortable.  I notice that if it was raining, he would run up the stairs to give someone the tip that there was ‘room inside’.  With old people he was as considerate as a son, and with children as solicitous as a father.  He had evidently a peculiarly warm place in his heart for young people and always indulged in some merry jest with them.  If he had a blind man on board, it wasn’t enough to set him down safely on the pavement.  He would call to Bill in front to wait while he took him across the road or round the corner, or otherwise safely on his way.  In short, I found that he irradiated such an atmosphere of good temper and kindliness that a journey with him was a lesson in natural courtesy and good manners.

What struck me particularly was the ease with which he got through his work.  If bad manners are infectious, so also are good manners.  If we encounter incivility, most of us are apt to become uncivil, but it is an unusually uncouth person who can be disagreeable with sunny people.  It is with manners as with weather. ‘Nothing clears up my spirits like a fine day’, said Keats, and a cheerful person descends on even the gloomiest of us with something of the benediction of a fine day.  And so it was always fine weather on the polite conductor’s bus, and his own civility, his conciliatory address and good humoured bearing infected his passengers. In lightening their spirits he lightened his own task. His gaiety was not a wasteful luxury, but a sound investment.

I have missed him from my bus route of late; but I hope that only means that he has carried his sunshine on to another road.  It cannot be too widely diffused in a rather drab world.  And I make no apologies for writing a panegyric on an unknown bus conductor.  If Wordsworth could gather lessons of wisdom from the poor leech gatherer ‘on the lonely moor,’ I seen no reason why lesser people should not take lessons in conduct from one who shows how a very modest calling may be dignified by good temper and kindly feeling.

It is a matter of general agreement that the war has had a chilling effect upon those little every day civilities of behavior that sweeten the general air.  We must get those civilities back if we are to make life kindly and tolerable for each other.  We cannot get them back by invoking the law.  The policeman is a necessary symbol and the law is a necessary institution for a society that is still somewhat lower than the angels. But the law can only protect us against material attack. Nor will the lift man’s way of meeting moral affront by physical violence help us to restore the civilities.  I suggest to him, that he would have had a more subtle and effective revenge if he had treated the gentleman who would not say ‘Please’ with elaborate politeness.  He would have had the victory, not only over the boor, but over himself, and that is the victory that counts.  The polite man may lose the material advantage, but he always has the spiritual victory.  I commend to the lift-man a story of Chesterfield.  In this time the London streets were without the pavements of today and the man who ‘took the wall’ had the driest footing.  ‘I never give the wall to a scoundrel,’ said a man who met chesterfield one day in the street.  ‘I always do’, said Chesterfield, stepping with a bow into the road.  I hope the lift man will agree that his revenge was much more sweet than if he had flung the fellow into the mud.

UNBELIEVABLE, BUT A TRUE STORY

This happened probably in the mid 50’s.  May be a little earlier also.  I don’t know the year.  It happened somewhere in Andhra Pradesh.

Till 60’s many Brahmins in the Telugu region followed the tradition of getting their daughters married when they were very young, before they attained puberty.  Sometimes the marriage was between cousins, sometimes between distant relatives, sometimes neighbours or between persons from the same social circle.  The young brides continued to stay in their maternal homes even after marriage and the bride and groom visited each others’ homes occasionally during festivals or functions.  Cohabitation started when the bride was around 15 or 16 year old.  While many such marriages worked, there were also cases of families fighting after the marriage and treating the marriage null and void; there were grooms who after completing education, refusing to accept the bride as a partner; some families moved out of the village or town in search of greener pastures and lost ties with the other party.  Every village had abandoned young wives, wishing and praying that her prince charming would change his mind and take her to the matrimonial home.  There was no legal protection for such marriages.

I don’t know her name.  Let it be Annapoorna.  Annapoorna got married when she was around 8 years old.  Her husband probably was 11 or 12.  Her parents were poor.  So were her in-laws.  Soon after her wedding, she went with the groom’s family to their house, spent three days with them as per tradition and returned to her parent’s house.  For some reasons, neither of the families visited each other, even during festivals or celebrations after the wedding.  After a few years when Annapoorna was considered old enough to start a life with her husband and when her parents tried to send her to her matrimonial home, they came to know that her husband had left home soon after the wedding and never returned home.  They heard rumours that he had turned ascetic and was spotted in the Himalayas.  Annapoorna was left with no other option, but to remain with her parents and looking forward for a miracle to happen.

Years passed.  When Annapoorna was around 18 or 19, on a fine morning when her father opened the main door of their house, he found a young man sleeping on the porch.  He woke up the stranger to find out who he was and when the stranger got up; the father screamed with excitement “our son-in-law is back”. The entire household got into a festive mood.  The guy was too weak and also too reserved to interact.  Everyone knew that the son-in-law was an introvert.  Though Annapoorna and her family members wanted to ask him several questions, they refrained from doing so as they were afraid that he would leave home again.  They pampered him and made him feel very special.  Annapoorna’s parents didn’t wait to meet her in-laws to discuss the future course of action.  They wanted to hold the son-in-law back at any cost and Annapoorna was encouraged to start a life with him immediately.

Everyone at home was happy and then there was a festival.  The young couple were advised to perform a pooja and at the beginning of the pooja, as was customary, when the son-in-law started reciting pravara (a person’s descent from a rishi (sage) who belong to their gotra (clan)) did Annapoorna’s father realize the fact that this person is not his long lost son-in-law.  In their excitement, the entire family was so optimistic, that they failed to verify if the person they were assuming to be the son-in-law was actually the one.

At that stage, they learnt that this person (certainly not to be referred to as a gentleman) was unmarried, poor, lost his parents and had a modest income.  He came to visit a relative in a neighbouring village and missed the last bus.  With an intention to reach the nearest town, he started walking and lost his way and since was very tired, slept on the porch.

There was nothing Annapoorna’s parents could do.  He has been with them for almost a week.  They were in a dilemma only for a few minutes.  There was no way they can trace the real son-in-law.  Also, they have told all their neighbours that their son-in-law in back.  This man too had no encumbrances and so, they decided to send their daughter with him.

The couple had a happy life together.  He got a soul mate when he was finding it difficult to get a wife because of his humble background and she, if not for him would have languished in the village.

This story was narrated to us by our neighbor during one of the evening chat sessions he had in our garden as the couple walked past our gate.  They were his tenant’s guests.

CONFESSION

Last year, around the same time, I did a course in Hospital Management.  On the last day of our class, one of the classmates had written a poetry describing every student of the class with suitable adjectives.  In the poem, he described me as “endrum seradha Charusree” which means, that I generally don’t mingle.  Someone perceiving me thus, was a rude shock to me. He used positive adjectives for everyone else. I always felt I am a very amicable and social person.

I had these classes in the weekends and in addition to my regular job, I was doing programmes for the local radio on Sundays (I do them even now).  These in addition to my domestic responsibilities, kept me fully occupied.  I was so tired I preferred to relax in my seat with a cup of coffee during the class intervals, instead of chatting and giggling at silly jokes, in the corridor.  Also, after the class, I never stayed back to speak to the teacher or interact with other classmates, as I had a radio programme scheduled for the next morning.  Probably, this is what made them jump into such a conclusion.

I first heard of the term “Friendship Overload” while I was doing a course in Advanced English at the British Council.  It was mentioned in the study material.  To be honest, I couldn’t comprehend it then.  But, I am able to now.

Every now and then, there is a get-together, reunion, function or a wedding.  My mother complains that I am always busy socializing and I have very little time for my parents.  My colleagues too started asking me “where is the party tonight?”  Though basically I am a People Oriented Person, I should be honest, I am very tired these days and when someone mentions a “get-together”, my spontaneous reply is “please exclude me”.  There is always some pending work or social obligations.

My best friend is back in Chennai after many years and he is surprised that I haven’t bothered to either meet him or invite him home.  I was very different earlier.  Even during his brief visits, I made it a point that we met either at our house or at a coffee shop or on a few occasions, in my office.

I am afraid, I am slowly becoming a workaholic and true to the description by my classmate, becoming “seradha Charusree”.

GODDESSES OF WEALTH

“Aadadani chethilo artham, magavani chethilo bidda dakkavu” is an oft quoted Telugu proverb, which can be loosely translated as “money in the hands of woman and a child in the hands of a man, don’t survive”.  Though I personally feel, gender has nothing to do with financial management, there are many women, who prove otherwise.

Last week, I read the news that a lady in Bengaluru committed suicide after losing Rs.11 Lakhs (1.1 million) to a fraudster.  This lady had received either a message or a mail from a New Delhi based fraudster that she had won 45 Lakhs in a lottery.  Trusting the news, she had given him her bank details without her family members’ knowledge.  After winning over her confidence, the fraudster made her transfer several lakhs of rupees to various accounts citing legal obstacles.  It took a while for her to realise that she had been cheated and when she realised, she could not cope and after a failed suicide attempt, died.  She is not an illiterate.  She is not poor.  Apparently, she is one, who enjoyed financial independence.  Still, her end is sad.

An acquaintance of mine once requested me to accompany her to her friend’s house to collect money her friend had borrowed and was reluctant to return.  Though her income is modest, her husband earns well and he gave her full freedom to manage the money.  She secretly lent huge money without considering the risk factors. I don’t know how much exactly she lent, but she didn’t get back any money.

In the 60’s much before I was born, wife of a popular Telugu actor had mocked a theft at home and sold her jewels through her friend, to support her parents financially.  Though an FIR was registered, since it was a job of the insider, nothing could be done.  Probably, the husband would also have come to know of it, but how he handled it is not known.  This lady was neither educated, nor employed.  Though her husband was rich, she didn’t have any access to money.

We had a relative, who had no financial discipline.  She never planned her expenditure, as a result of which, there was always a shortage of money. She borrowed from neighbours and relatives often and sometimes, when they were unable to fund, she would pledge her jewels through her maid servant for paltry amount and almost lost all her jewellery, as she didn’t keep track of the transactions and also could not repay to claim them.  Most of her relatives and neighbours believed that her maid servant was lending her money or she was claiming the jewels by repaying the loans.

A decade ago, while I was in office, I received a call from a colleague’s wife.  She told me that she was in deep trouble and wanted me to lend her a couple of thousands.  When I wanted to know the reason, she said that she had pledged her jewels to buy gifts for her niece’s wedding, without her husband’s knowledge and permission and since there was a wedding in the family, she had to reclaim the jewels, before anyone finds this.  She promised she would return my money in two or three instalments without fail at the earliest.  I didn’t have that money.  I neither had a debit/credit card not had net banking facility then.  Since she was in a great hurry, I borrowed money from another colleague for the first time in my life and gave it to her.  She could not return the money as promised.  After a few months, in the absence of the receptionist, when I picked up a call from her, she cried inconsolably and apologised for not having kept up her promise and said she was in deep trouble and that she was contemplating suicide.  I felt very sad and told her that I was writing off that loan and requested her to discuss with her husband.  I offered to speak to her husband on her behalf as she was very hesitant, but she said she would manage it herself and again sought a promise from me that I wouldn’t discuss this issue with her husband.  After a few months, I learnt from some of my other colleagues that it was her modus operandi and month after month, she was approaching all our colleagues one by one.  I felt, her husband should be informed about it, before the issue becomes too big for them to handle.  After several rehearsals, I spoke to him.  He was not surprised or shocked as I anticipated.  He was very upset that his wife was exposed and immediately returned the money given by me and my colleagues.  Apparently, this lady was a guarantor for a loan borrowed by her neighbour and since the neighbour had defaulted repayment, she had to repay as a guarantor. 

A relative of ours had literally lost her house by organizing a chit fund.  She operated it without any registration and probably illegally.  Some of those, who drew the money from the chits did not pay and she had to repay to all other members and with no money left, she sold her only house for repaying.

I have heard of women who sell their ornaments to buy expensive clothes and accessories. There are also some employed women, who spend all their earnings on clothes, gadgets, accessories and personal care and force husbands to shoulder all the household expenses and feel proud that they are reducing the husband’s burden to an extent. I have read about women, who note down the pin numbers on their debit/credit cards and have lost a lot of money when they have lost their cards. I have heard of women, who lost their valuables while picking up a currency note dropped by the thieves. 

There are educated women, who don’t distinguish between a cheque and a DD. There are many women, who have absolutely no knowledge of taxation rules/benefits.

Is it not time women get familiarized with all this?

It is absolutely wrong to generalize that, women are incapable of handling finances.  The common factor in the lives of most of the wealthy men is that their finances are manged by their women (mothers/wives).  I have also seen some illiterate women, who handle their money well and have created wealth.

Many Banks and NBFCs in India are headed by women and may be our next RBI Governor could be a woman!

Financial discipline has nothing to do with gender.  Primarily, people should understand that there are no shortcuts.  They should learn to live within their means, save, invest and keep updating about the market conditions and State Polices and general trends. 

There certainly needs to be a complete transparency between the couples and they should set limits for their independent expenditure.  They should get into an arrangement where any expenditure, investment or surety beyond their independent limit should be made known to each other and a decision is taken only after a debate.  This kind of partnership will reduce chances of losing money by either of them.

It is time, women make proverbs like the one quoted, redundant.   

EXCLUSIVE FOR MEN

ALL YOU WANTED TO KNOW AS TO WHAT HAPPENS INSIDE A LADIES’ COMPARTMENT IN A SUBURBAN TRAIN IN CHENNAI

The first thing passengers do after getting into the compartment is looking for a seat.  Though the ladies’ compartments are not as crowded as the general compartments and the first class compartments, during peak hours, finding a seat is little difficult.  Still women have the knack of requesting the other passengers who are already seated to move and accommodate them too.

Most of them, after getting a seat, start eating.  Both in the mornings and in the evenings.   In the mornings, the educated, yet traditional South Indians carry Idlis, Dosa, Upma and Pongal in their boxes. The Cosmopolitan kind, carry sandwiches and the working class carry rice and sambar.  In the evenings, it is always snacks viz., sundal, popcorn, peanuts, biscuits, fruits etc.

While some sleep, some start talking on their phones.  The married ones talk to their mothers/sisters, complaining about the husband/in-laws and the yet to be married talk to their fiancées/boy-friends.  What they discuss is never heard, except for occasional giggles. There are many, who comb their hair in the train, particularly on Fridays, when most of them wash their hair.  In addition to the smell of various foods, perfumes and flowers the women wear in their hair, on Fridays; one can experience smell of various shampoos, shikakai/soap nuts and the stink from the silk saris the women wear, that are rarely washed.

When the compartments are relatively free, the passengers remove their sandals, either lift their legs and place it on the opposite seat or sit cross-legged (in the sukhasana posture).  While the construction workers and vendors prefer to squat on the floor, the recent migrants from other parts of India, with a slim body, clad in western clothes prefer to either stand or sit away from all the locals.

There are people who form groups and talk non-stop in high decibels.  Not even once, had I overheard them discuss gadgets, current affairs, economy or politics. It is always gossip, in-laws, office politics, gold, clothes and cinema. There are also groups of Hindu women, who chant slokas or sing bhajans in chorus.  Some Christian women play gospel songs on their mobiles. There are of course who read newspapers /magazines or play games on their mobiles.  And there are also people like me, who don’t do any of the above and just look for a comfortable seat and wait to get down at the destination.

While the vendors are busy selling flowers, vegetables, fruits, snacks, artificial jewellery, bags, pens, kerchiefs, hairclips and other accessories, the beggars are busy seeking alms.

To be frank, nothing interesting happens.

Sorry for disappointing.

PAIN IS INEVITABLE, SUFFERING IS OPTIONAL

Recently, a friend of mine had expressed her sadness about a member of her extended family gifting a mediocre saree, while gifting all other members, expensive silk sarees.  She was not sad about the gift, it wasn’t about the cost, but the intent, that has hurt her the most.  When she shared this information with our friends’ group, everyone tried to pacify her; either by sharing their own similar experiences or by advising her to ignore and move on. I too advised her not to get upset about the episode and quoted; “Pain is Inevitable, suffering is optional”.  My friend suggested I write about this in my blog and here it is.

All of us go through some form of insults from people around us all the time.  While we are able to come to terms with failure and disappointments easily, we find handling insults from the fellow human beings tough. We silently suffer from bitterness and eventually get into a vicious cycle of “hurt-hate-hurt”.  Whenever we advise, people feel, “it is easier said than done”.

Many years ago, when I was in my early 30’s, a colleague of mine was engaged.  I was very friendly with her and I knew all her difficulties and anxieties.  Her marriage date was fixed and she was running from pillar to post organizing money for the wedding.  I wanted to gift her something significant, so that her burden was eased to a certain extent.  Some more colleagues also thought so and we all pooled money and asked her what she wanted for her wedding.  The money we collected was good enough to take care of some major expense of her wedding and she opted to buy three or four silk sarees with that.  A senior person in the team handed over the cash to me and advised me to accompany her to a saree showroom and get sarees of her choice.  When I was getting ready to leave, she told me that she had to check with her elders about the auspicious day and time for buying wedding sarees.  I then felt that handing over the cash to her would be a better idea than going with her to the shop.  But the senior who took this initiative was against the idea.  He felt that she would look at this more as a fund-raising than a gift and also, he was not sure that money would be spent by her family only for this purpose and since I was the only lady in that team, I was entrusted with this assignment.

On the auspicious day, as planned, I and my friend went to a shop for buying the sarees.  Enroute, my friend told me that her sisters too would come.  When we reached the shop, there were some of her other relatives in addition to her sisters.  I knew her sisters already and they received me very warmly.  I was introduced to the other relatives and a lady (her aunt) scanned me from head to toe and asked me point blank, “are you married?”  When I replied, she whispered to my friend with a frown on her face “ivala yellam endi alshindu vandhey?” meaning – “why have you brought her here?” which I could hear, much to everyone’s embarrassment. My friend with a good presence of mind told her that, the shopkeeper was known to me and that I was getting the sarees at a discounted price.  We in fact chose that shop knowing well that there was a discount campaign going on .  Though my friend promptly apologized, I was shocked, hurt and angry. I generally don’t express my anger or sadness to the people around and maintain composure.

To give privacy to my friend’s family, I sat on a stool offered by the shopkeeper, away from them and gazed at the stocks in the shop.  It wasn’t a big shop and I could still see them and hear their conversations clearly.  I didn’t want to look indifferent and so every now and then, I also looked at them.  I could hear the Aunt cribbing about lack of good collection of sarees and saw her giving me sharp looks every now and then.  I was very angry.  Angry with that Aunt who was so rude.  Angry with the gentleman in my office who insisted that I go and buy the sarees.  Angry with my friend for not informing me that so many of her relatives would assemble and also for not letting them know that her colleagues were spending for that.  Though I felt like crying, I didn’t shed even a tear.  I knew all the problems my friend was going through and I didn’t want to create more trouble to her.  Also I knew that nobody there would empathize with me.  Instead, their preconceived notion that spinsters are sad persons and that they spread negativity would be justified.  I didn’t want that.  However much I tried, I could not concentrate on anything else.  Every second, that Aunt’s voice was ringing in my ears and her angry face flashing before my eyes.  I was unable to cope with my sadness and anger.  I thought of some of the possibilities to vent out my feelings.

Sharing with my family members:

My parents and my siblings would be more sad and depressed to learn this.  They would reprimand me for excessive spending. Also, they would end up hurting either my friend or her family members, when they come home to invite for the wedding.

Sharing with my colleagues:

The gentleman who sent me to buy the sarees would shout at my friend to express support to me and in my absence, say something sarcastic or ridiculous about me, to pacify her.

Another lady would be sad that such a support wasn’t provided during her wedding.

Some persons would feel insulted that they were not consulted and included in this plan.

Some would accuse that because the bride was a Brahmin, the gang of Brahmins were extending extra support to her.  (Coincidentally, many in that team were Brahmins)

Some might go and tell my friend, things I have not said about her.

Some might fight a proxy war, using this opportunity.

Some of those who have made this extra contribution would not have wanted to, but due to peer pressure would have and they would use this as an opportunity to never contribute in future.

The management was very strict and would have objected to this secret activity.

Everyone would have had an agenda and nobody would have been able to reduce my pain.

I wasn’t in touch with any of my childhood friends then and I didn’t have any outlet.

I remembered something I read earlier.  Just the way, material things remain with the giver, when we refuse to take, hurt and insults too remain with him/her when we do not accept it.  I kept telling this to me and it didn’t work.  I wondered why she wanted to know if I am married or not and what difference will my answer make to her! I just then remembered a scene from the Tamil film “Kudumbam Oru Kadhambam” in which, Visu when asked if he had eaten, gives a reply in all permutations-combinations viz., “what if I have not eaten, what if I have eaten? What if I have eaten and say I have not, what if I have not eaten and say I have eaten, what if I have not eaten and also say I have not eaten” etc., leaving the other person confused and irritated.  I imagined a similar reply to the Aunt’s question and within seconds, I was grinning inside.  I was back to my normal mood.  The Aunt was all the more irritated to see me cheerful and I liked it and I decided, that’s how I am going to be.

Why do people hurt others?  I started to analyze.  The reasons can be broadly classified into:

JEALOUSY :  When people are unable to handle their jealousness, insulting or hurting others becomes their defence mechanism to cope with their problem.

PREJUDICIES:  All human beings are prejudiced.  It is very difficult to find one who is not.  Common prejudices are gender, religion, region, social and financial strata, language, complexion etc.  Also, we have to live with the fact that not everyone would like us.  As Richard Carlson mentions in his book, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, “even in a landslide victory in which a candidate secures 55 percent of the vote, he or she is left with 45 percent of the population that wishes someone else were the winner.”

POSSESSIVENESS:  Some people have the desire to control or dominate and would want the whole attention.  When their desire is not fulfilled or experience resistance, they cause hurt.

INNOCENCE OR STUPIDITY:  There are many people, who are not at all thoughtful and do not realize that their words or actions cause hurt to others.

REACTION/RESPONSE TO AN EARLIER ACTION:  Most of the times, hurt is caused as a revenge for an earlier action of ours or our family member or an associate.  It would have been unintentional, but might have caused pain and the present hurt is to settle scores.

The analysis is certainly essential, as in the first few categories, ignoring the hurt itself would be helpful, but in the last case, some corrective action from our side is required to break the vicious circle.

When I now analyse why that Aunt behaved so badly that day, I feel, she too would have helped my friend financially, but would not have got the respect she expected.  She might have expected my friend to consult her before deciding on the shop.  She might have felt that I am in a way responsible for my friend’s empowerment or was jealous about the importance my friend’s family was giving me.  Whatever be the reason, I opted not to suffer.

People generally say, to have peace of mind, one has to forget and forgive.  I cannot forget things easily.  I have a photographic memory and I don’t believe in forgiving also.  Everything gets recorded.  But, over these years, I have developed immunity to bad behavior and personal attacks and people around me know well that I cannot be intimidated.  Whenever someone insults me and I have little control over their action, I keep telling myself “pain in inevitable, suffering is optional.  Don’t suffer” and liberate myself from suffering.  Nobody can liberate us, as long as we don’t liberate ourselves.

My friend Murali says, “only hunger and illness are the real pains and except them, everything else is imaginary. “  I am yet become so dispassionate!

PHOTO FEATURE

We had such shops in every locality of Chennai.  Shops that sell puffed rice, flattened rice, ground nuts, fried chick peas, fried peas, palm candy and all traditional goodies. There are a very few now.  This is one such shop.

Seen behind the shopkeeper is the mud oven in which groundnuts are fried.

Fried nuts and rice are stocked in baskets painted in red and usually stacked in the front of the shops openly.  But in this shop, they are kept inside.

Mr.X

I think I was in my 12th Std.  Usually, I and my sister went to school together and on days she could not join me, my Dad dropped me at the bus terminus.

On that day, I was walking alone to the terminus, with my chin down, as my mother constantly advised me to, every time I stepped out of the house.

“Do you have school today?” I heard a male voice from behind.  As I turned to look as to who was questioning, I saw a man in his late twenties, walking towards me from behind.  I had never seen him before.  I knew my brothers’ friends and he certainly was not one of them.  I was very skeptical to speak to a stranger and just nodded in affirmation.  He walked along with me and tried to start a conversation.  He kept asking me questions, but nothing got registered.  I was too scared to reply as well as to ask him as to why he was bombarding me with questions.  I maintained silence and through the corner of my eyes saw him looking at me intently.  I was frightened and was also worried that either my family members or our neighbours would spot me walking with/talking to a stranger.  I increased my pace, crossed to the opposite side of the road and entered the terminus.  I don’t know if he followed me or he continued to walk on the other side of the road or stopped somewhere.  I was tensed.  Tensed - even after reaching school that day. Tensed till I finished my schooling; particularly on days I went to school alone. I was tensed that he would reappear.


But I never saw him again.

                                     ***

I finished schooling; joined college and also started learning shorthand.

When my batch started taking notes (“speed” in our institute parlance), a lady who was not part of our batch attended the “notes” sessions briefly. She was senior to us and was already employed, but was attending the classes to improve her speed, because she was intending to appear for some Government exam.  She looked familiar, but I had never met her before.  I had an intuition that she could be the sister of the guy who tried speaking to me when I was in school, as she resembled him. I never verified it. She was very reserved and didn’t interact with anyone in the class.   One day I overheard a classmate informing another that, a year before, the lady’s brother had fallen off a cliff at a picnic spot he went with his colleagues and died instantly, and that was the reason for the lady’s seriousness.

                                     ***

Why am I suddenly remembering this long forgotten episode?

I saw the lady I presumed to be his sister, recently.

The mind records every image that is seen, every incident that is encountered and every assumption made and resurfaces decades after it is believed to have been forgotten!