Here There and Everywhere Read online

  ‘Meena, it’s a beautiful day. Let’s go for a walk.’

  ‘No, the sun is too hot and I get tired if I walk too much. Besides, who says walking is good for health? There’s no proof.’

  That was Meena. She stayed alone in an apartment as her parents lived in Delhi. She was an only child and had the habit of complaining about anything and everything. Naturally, she wasn’t very pleasant company and nobody wanted to visit her. Then one day, Meena was transferred to Bombay and soon we all forgot about her.

  Many years later, I found myself caught in the rain at Bombay’s Flora Fountain. It was pouring and I didn’t have an umbrella. I was standing near Akbarallys, a popular department store, waiting for the rain to subside. Suddenly, I spotted Meena. My first reaction was to run, even in that pouring rain. I was anxious to avoid being seen by her, having to listen to her never-ending complaints. However, I couldn’t escape. She had already seen me and caught hold of my hand warmly. What’s more, she was very cheerful.

  ‘Hey! I am really excited. It’s nice to meet old friends. What are you doing here?’

  I explained that I was in Bombay on official work.

  ‘Then stay with me tonight,’ she said. ‘Let’s chat. Do you know that old wine, old friends and memories are precious and rare?’

  I couldn’t believe it. Was this really Meena? I pinched myself hard to be sure it wasn’t a dream. But Meena was really standing there, right in front of me, squeezing my hand, smiling, and yes, she did look happy. In the three years she had been in Bangalore, I had never once seen her smiling like that. A few strands of grey in her hair reminded me that years had passed. There were a few wrinkles on her face, but the truth was that she looked more attractive than ever before.

  Finally, I managed to say, ‘No, Meena, I can’t stay with you tonight. I have to attend a dinner. Give me your card and I’ll keep in touch with you. I promise.’

  For a moment, Meena looked disappointed. ‘Let’s go and have tea at least,’ she insisted.

  ‘But Meena, it’s pouring.’

  ‘So what? We’ll buy an umbrella and then go to the Grand Hotel,’ she said.

  ‘We won’t get a taxi in this rain,’ I grumbled.

  ‘So what? We’ll walk.’

  I was very surprised. This wasn’t the same Meena I had known. Today, she seemed ready to make any number of adjustments.

  We reached the Grand Hotel drenched. By then the only thought in my mind was to find out who or what had brought about such a change in the pessimistic Meena I had known. I was quite curious.

  ‘Tell me, Meena, is there a Prince Charming who has managed to change you so?’

  Meena was surprised by my question. ‘No, there isn’t anyone like that,’ she said.

  ‘Then what’s the secret of your energy?’ I asked, like Tendulkar does in the ad.

  She smiled. ‘A beggar changed my life.’

  I was absolutely dumbfounded and she could see it.

  ‘Yes, a beggar,’ she repeated, as if to reassure me. ‘He was old and used to stay in front of my house with his five-year-old granddaughter. As you know, I was a chronic pessimist. I used to give my leftovers to this beggar every day. I never spoke to him. Nor did he speak to me. One monsoon day, I looked out of my bedroom window and started cursing the rain. I don’t know why I did that because I wasn’t even getting wet. That day I couldn’t give the beggar and his granddaughter their daily quota of leftovers. They went hungry, I am sure.

  ‘However, what I saw from my window surprised me. The beggar and the young girl were playing on the road because there was no traffic. They were laughing, clapping and screaming joyously, as if they were in paradise. Hunger and rain did not matter. They were totally drenched and totally happy. I envied their zest for life.

  ‘That scene forced me to look at my own life. I realized I had so many comforts, none of which they had. But they had the most important of all assets, one which I lacked. They knew how to be happy with life as it was. I felt ashamed of myself. I even started to make a list of what I had and what I did not have. I found I had more to be grateful for than most people could imagine. That day, I decided to change my attitude towards life, using the beggar as my role model.’

  After a long pause, I asked Meena how long it had taken her to change.

  ‘Once this realization dawned,’ she said, ‘it took me almost two years to put the change into effect. Now nothing matters. I am always happy. I find happiness in every small thing, in every situation and in every person.’

  ‘Did you give any gurudakshina to your guru?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Unfortunately, by the time I understood things, he was dead. But I sponsored his granddaughter to a boarding school as a mark of respect to him.’

  16

  May You Be the Mother of a Hundred Children

  I was on my way to the railway station. I had the nine o’clock Bangalore–Hubli Kittur Express to catch. Halfway to the station our car stopped. There was a huge traffic jam. There was no way we could either move forward or reverse the car. I sat and watched helplessly as a few two-wheelers scraped past the car through a narrow gap. Finally I asked my driver what the matter was. Traffic jams are not uncommon but this was something unusual. He got out of the car and said the road ahead was blocked by some people holding a communal harmony meet. I now realized it was perhaps impossible to get to the station. The papers had reported about the meeting and had warned that the roads would be blocked for some time. The car was moved into a bylane and seeing there was no way I could try and make my way back home, I decided to join the crowd and listen to the speeches.

  From a distance, I could see the dais. There were various religious heads sitting on a row of chairs on the stage. An elderly gentleman stood next to me and commented loudly, ‘All this is just a drama. In India, everything is decided on the basis of caste and community. Even our elections are dictated by them. Whoever comes to power thinks only of the betterment of his community. It is easy to give speeches but in practical life they forget everything.’

  Just then a middle-aged lady started speaking into the mike. From the way she was speaking, so confidently, it was apparent that she was used to giving speeches and had the gift of the gab. Her analogies were quite convincing. ‘When you eat a meal, do you eat only chapattis or rice? No, you also need a vegetable, a dal and some curd. The tastes of the dishes vary, but only when they are put together do you get a wholesome meal. Similarly different communities need to live together in harmony and build a strong country …’ etc.

  ‘It is a nice speech but who follows all this in real life?’ the gentleman next to me commented.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I had to ask finally.

  He looked at me, surprised at my unexpected question, then answered, ‘Because my family has suffered a lot. My son did not get a job as he was not from the right community, my daughter was transferred as her boss wanted to replace her with someone from his own community. It is everywhere. Wherever you go, the first thing people want to know is which caste or religion you belong to.’

  The woman was still talking on the podium. ‘What is her name?’ I asked.

  ‘She is Ambabhavani, a gifted speaker from Tamil Nadu.’

  Her name rang a bell somewhere in my mind and suddenly I was transported away from the jostling crowds and the loud speeches. I was in a time long past, with my paternal grandmother, Amba Bai.

  Amba Bai was affectionately called Ambakka or Ambakka Aai by everyone in the village. She spent her whole life in one little village, Savalagi, near Bijapur in north Karnataka. Like most other women of her generation she had never stepped into a school. She was married early and spent her life fulfilling the responsibilities of looking after a large family. She was widowed early and I always remember seeing her with a shaven head, wearing a red sari, the pallu covering her head always, as was the tradition in the then orthodox Brahmin society. She lived till she was eighty-nine and in her whole life she knew only the worlds of he