The Old Man and His God Read online

  ‘Masterji, this summer has been so hot. I have never seen such dry weather.’ Or, ‘Masterji, it is getting difficult for me to carry these large loads on my head. Thank god for this horegallu. I wish my son would help, but he only wants to go to the city . . .’ They spoke about the difficulties they lived with. My grandfather could only listen to them but just talking to him seemed to refresh them for the journey. After some time they would pick up their burdens with some ease and go on their way. The horegallu was an important feature in their lives and as a child I would often not understand why they blessed it so often for being there. After all it was only a stone bench. It was my grandfather who told me, ‘Child, a horegallu is essential in any journey. We all carry our burdens according to our situations and capacities. But every once in a while we need to stop, put down that burden and rest. Only then can we be refreshed enough to pick up the load once more. The horegallu gives everyone that opportunity to do so. It helps people regain their strengths.’

  Later on in life, I got to see something that reminded me of that stone bench once again. I was working in Bombay. One of my colleagues, Ratna was a senior clerk, middle aged and always smiling. She had done her graduation and been working in the company for nearly twenty-five years. She went about her repetitive, mundane work with an infectious cheerfulness.

  Every day, during the lunch hour she would sit with some person in one of the rooms, and they would have long chats. I would often wonder what they talked about. One day, I finally asked her, ‘Ratna, what do you talk with each person for the whole lunch hour?’

  Ratna smiled and said simply, ‘They share their troubles with me.’

  ‘But how can you solve the troubles of so many people? Do you always have an answer for them?’

  ‘No, I only listen.’

  ‘And that is enough? That solves the problem?’ I was young and incredulous at such a simplistic outlook. But Ratna answered with the same patience and affection that she must have used with all my colleagues, ‘I am not a trained counsellor or an intellectual. No one can solve your problem. You have to do it yourself.’

  ‘Then how do you help them by listening to them?’

  ‘God has given me two ears to listen to others. I hear them out with sympathy and without any judgement. When a person in trouble or under a lot of strain finds an outlet for his worries, it relieves half his burden.’

  I thought for sometime and said, ‘But don’t you ever break the confidence and tell others the secrets you hear, even by mistake?’

  ‘Not even in my dreams. I consider that to be the worst kind of betrayal. I don’t think there is a greater sin than betraying someone’s confidence. They tell me their worries because they know I will never talk about it or gossip about it to another person. only when they know their words are secure with me, can they talk to me freely. This way I relieve their burden for a short while till they are ready to pick themselves up and carry on with their journey.’

  Her words uncannily echoed my grandfather’s, sitting on the stone bench under the banyan tree. Perhaps, in their own small ways, without access to great wealth, both these people were doing some tremendous social service. No one thought of acknowledging their work or rewarding them for it, but they continued to do so, as these small acts of kindness gave them joy. If ever now I happen to pass a horegallu in a village, I remember them and wish there were many more of them in this world.

  4

  The Way You Look at It

  A few years ago, I was travelling to a village in Karnataka on some work. I had got delayed and it was getting dark. There were no lights on the road and I was anxious to get to my destination. As we neared the outskirts of the village, the beams of the car’s headlights picked out some shrubs on the side of the road. They were thorny shrubs and to my astonishment I saw many women coming out from behind them, shyly covering their heads, each with a tin box in hand. I realized they had gone there to attend to nature’s call.

  Soon I reached the village headman, Veerappa’s house. He was a wealthy man and had arranged an elaborate dinner for me, with many courses including a few different types of sweets. The food was delicious, but my mind was not in enjoying it. I could not get the image of the women skulking out from behind the shrubs out of my mind.

  When at last dinner was over, I asked to meet the cook. She was an elderly lady called Sharanamma. She was very shy and talked to me in a low voice. I wanted to know her better, so I said, ‘The food was excellent. Can I give you something in return?’

  Shyly she replied, ‘Amma, I have heard you do a lot of work for poor people. If possible can you build some public toilets for the women of this village? Life is very difficult for us. Unlike men, we cannot go for our toilet in the day. Like thieves we have to wait till it is dark, then we have to go behind bushes, that too in groups. Whenever a vehicle passes us on the main road and the car’s lights fall on us we feel ashamed. And if ever we are unwell and need to go in the middle of the night then heaven help us. This is particularly traumatic for the young girls. We all would be very happy if you could do something about this.’

  I was amazed at Sharanamma’s sense of responsibility towards her community. I turned to Veerappa and said it was a shame that the headmen of the village had not thought it important that their women should answer nature’s call with dignity and in privacy. It is a basic right that should be available to every human being. Finally I told him, ‘I am ready to build these toilets for the village if you will maintain them well.’ Veerappa, already ashamed after my tirade, readily agreed.

  Thus started our foundation’s work to build public toilets in the countryside and in key areas in Bangalore. In India people are usually enthusiastic about building temples, mosques and gurudwaras, but no one thinks it important to build something as essential as a toilet. Perhaps because there is no punya attached to it.

  The toilets that we built in Bangalore were pay-and-use ones. Though many people objected to having to pay, this was one way we could ensure their cleanliness and proper maintenance.

  One day, I went to visit the first toilet, near a busy bus-stand in the city. It was an unplanned visit and I stood behind two women as they waited to go in. They looked like working women and regular commuters on one of the buses. Suddenly I heard them mention my name. ‘This Sudha Murty is a really mean lady. When she has spent so much money constructing this, why has she made it pay-and-use?’ The other one replied. ‘You are right. You don’t know about her. I have heard from people that she has built many toilets in Bangalore and she is running some trust with the help of toilet money. She must be making a huge profit.’

  I was shocked at their words. Even if one tries to do something to improve a city’s civic life, people make all kinds of strange comments. For a while I was upset. Then I cooled down and told myself that people may say whatever they like, but I had to do what I had decided on. I know that the public toilets have benefitted many like Sharanamma. What she had perceived to be an act of necessity for the village women, was looked at here by these two women, as a business venture.

  After all, life is the way you look at it.

  5

  A Tale of Two Brothers

  Ram and Shyam were identical twins and my students in pre-university and graduate college where they studied for an MCA degree. This meant I taught them for nearly seven years. Obviously, I got to know them and their family quite well in the course of those years. Like many other twins I have known, Ram and Shyam were happy in each other’s company and always stayed together in college, sharing homework, lab and class notes. They looked so similar that at times I could not make out which was Ram and which Shyam. ‘You should wear something so I can make out one from the other!’ I would joke with them. ‘I get so confused. What will happen after you get married? Perhaps you should marry identical twins too, then there will be great fun and confusion all around.’

  After they completed their MCA degree, they joined a software company. Their father was an