There's a room.
The room is like a cell in a prison. There are bars, and grey light, lots of it, shining dully through. Everything is grey.
...
He stood in one corner of the room; with his back to me.
I called his name.
There was no answer.
I called his name again, louder this time, but still hardly louder than a whisper.
He did not turn.
Babe, look at me.
Suddenly, he turned; he hurtled across the room and hurled himself against the bars. There was a terrifying crash.
The lady did not draw back.
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
I reach for you
I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
I did not draw back. I did not draw back because I knew that to do so would break his spirit. I could see his soul. His knuckles whitened.
He had been inside for over a month now; thirty days. Week on week of trials; of being dragged to court had corroded even him. I died inside every time I came here.
You'll never make it past forty. son. They'll assassinate you before that.
A joke.
I'll let myself be assassinated then . I'll make a dramatic resurrection.
His own sense of humour.
Only, when I make a resurrection, there will be no angels singing. There won't be too much forgiving either.
Aw, not your style, eh?
Nope.
Bad press, son.
I'll reword that: There will be angels singing, and a lot of forgiving. Only, some people won't be able to hear too well by then.
...
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth storey
And all I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
In the early years, I used to be curious about his beliefs.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Yeah, i do.
Do you believe that you'll get there?
I don't really care too much, to be perfectly honest.
That's crazy. How can you not care?
Where are you going?
Well, I want to go to heaven...
Then I'll get there.
Doesn't it bother you that some people don't like you? I mean, I know for a fact that she doesn't. she hates your guts, actually.
Thanks, babe.
She'd pretty much plunge a knife into you, given half the chance...
Uh huh, Charming.
I mean..
I got it.
Yeah, so, doesn't it bother you at all? Not one bit?
Do you love me.
Of course, but she-
That's enough for me.
...
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
She knew that he had done it for her: that he had acted against his will. And she knew that she was the only one with the power to make him do that.
She treasured the gift;
but knew that it was not one to be used often or lightly, lest it break against him.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Dragon's Heart.
With blood shot eyes I watch you sleeping
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Human Spirit.
Why was the boy so different. What made him so special.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Days of Chivalry
This is an excerpt from "Mill on the Floss", by Elliot. This excerpt is for Miss Srunika Kannan. I call her attention to the last paragraph.
One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen, that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future scenes of home-sorrow.
Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and defiant aspect.
"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you."
"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!"
"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at St. Ogg's in the daytime."
"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that isn't just what I'm come for,–look here!"
Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with it a row of small books fastened together with string.
Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief.
"See here!" he said again, laying the red parcel on the others and unfolding it; "you won't think I'm a-makin' too free, Miss, I hope, but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you a bit for them as you've lost; for I heared you speak o' picturs,–an' as for picturs, look here!"
The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated "Keepsake" and six or seven numbers of a "Portrait Gallery," in royal octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of George the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed cranium and voluminous neckcloth.
"There's all sorts o' genelmen here," Bob went on, turning over the leaves with some excitement, "wi' all sorts o' nones,–an' some bald an' some wi' wigs,–Parlament genelmen, I reckon. An' here," he added, opening the "Keepsake,"–"here's ladies for you, some wi' curly hair and some wi' smooth, an' some a-smiling wi' their heads o' one side, an' some as if they were goin' to cry,–look here,–a-sittin' on the ground out o' door, dressed like the ladies I'n seen get out o' the carriages at the balls in th' Old Hall there. My eyes! I wonder what the chaps wear as go a-courtin' 'em! I sot up till the clock was gone twelve last night, a-lookin' at 'em,–I did,–till they stared at me out o' the picturs as if they'd know when I spoke to 'em. But, lors! I shouldn't know what to say to 'em. They'll be more fittin' company for you, Miss; and the man at the book-stall, he said they banged iverything for picturs; he said they was a fust-rate article."
"And you've bought them for me, Bob?" said Maggie, deeply touched by this simple kindness. "How very, very good of you! But I'm afraid you gave a great deal of money for them."
"Not me!" said Bob. "I'd ha' gev three times the money if they'll make up to you a bit for them as was sold away from you, Miss. For I'n niver forgot how you looked when you fretted about the books bein' gone; it's stuck by me as if it was a pictur hingin' before me. An' when I see'd the book open upo' the stall, wi' the lady lookin' out of it wi' eyes a bit like your'n when you was frettin',–you'll excuse my takin' the liberty, Miss,–I thought I'd make free to buy it for you, an' then I bought the books full o' genelmen to match; an' then"–here Bob took up the small stringed packet of books–"I thought you might like a bit more print as well as the picturs, an' I got these for a sayso,–they're cram-full o' print, an' I thought they'd do no harm comin' along wi' these bettermost books. An' I hope you won't say me nay, an' tell me as you won't have 'em, like Mr. Tom did wi' the suvreigns."
"No, indeed, Bob," said Maggie, "I'm very thankful to you for thinking of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don't think any one ever did such a kind thing for me before. I haven't many friends who care for me."
"Hev a dog, Miss!–they're better friends nor any Christian," said Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually said of himself, "his tongue overrun him" when he began to speak. "I can't give you Mumps, 'cause he'd break his heart to go away from me–eh, Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?" (Mumps declined to express himself more diffusely than by a single affirmative movement of his tail.) "But I'd get you a pup, Miss, an' welcome."
"No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn't keep a dog of my own."
"Eh, that's a pity; else there's a pup,–if you didn't mind about it not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show,–an uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi' her bark nor half the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There's one chap carries pots,–a poor, low trade as any on the road,–he says, 'Why Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in her.' But I says to him, 'Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn't much pickin' o' your feyther an' mother, to look at you.' Not but I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see one cur grinnin' at another. I wish you good evenin', Miss," said Bob, abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his tongue was acting in an undisciplined manner.
"Won't you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?" said Maggie.
"Yes, Miss, thank you–another time. You'll give my duty to him, if you please. Eh, he's a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to growin' i' the legs, an' I didn't."
The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow gone wrong.
"You don't call Mumps a cur, I suppose?" said Maggie, divining that any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master.
"No, Miss, a fine way off that," said Bob, with pitying smile; "Mumps is as fine a cross as you'll see anywhere along the Floss, an' I'n been up it wi' the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at him; but you won't catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much,–he minds his own business, he does."
The expression of Mump's face, which seemed to be tolerating the superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory of this high praise.
"He looks dreadfully surly," said Maggie. "Would he let me pat him?"
"Ay, that would he, and thank you. He knows his company, Mumps does. He isn't a dog as 'ull be caught wi' gingerbread; he'd smell a thief a good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him by th' hour together, when I'm walking i' lone places, and if I'n done a bit o' mischief, I allays tell him. I'n got no secrets but what Mumps knows 'em. He knows about my big thumb, he does."
"Your big thumb–what's that, Bob?" said Maggie.
"That's what it is, Miss," said Bob, quickly, exhibiting a singularly broad specimen of that difference between the man and the monkey. "It tells i' measuring out the flannel, you see. I carry flannel, 'cause it's light for my pack, an' it's dear stuff, you see, so a big thumb tells. I clap my thumb at the end o' the yard and cut o' the hither side of it, and the old women aren't up to't."
"But Bob," said Maggie, looking serious, "that's cheating; I don't like to hear you say that."
"Don't you, Miss?" said Bob regretfully. "Then I'm sorry I said it. But I'm so used to talking to Mumps, an' he doesn't mind a bit o' cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, an' 'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an' 'ud niver ask theirselves how I got my dinner out on't. I niver cheat anybody as doesn't want to cheat me, Miss,–lors, I'm a honest chap, I am; only I must hev a bit o' sport, an' now I don't go wi' th' ferrets, I'n got no varmint to come over but them haggling women. I wish you good evening, Miss."
"Good-by, Bob. Thank you very much for bringing me the books. And come again to see Tom."
"Yes, Miss," said Bob, moving on a few steps; then turning half round he said, "I'll leave off that trick wi' my big thumb, if you don't think well on me for it, Miss; but it 'ud be a pity, it would. I couldn't find another trick so good,–an' what 'ud be the use o' havin' a big thumb? It might as well ha' been narrow."
Maggie, thus exalted into Bob's exalting Madonna, laughed in spite of herself; at which her worshipper's blue eyes twinkled too, and under these favoring auspices he touched his cap and walked away.
The days of chivalry are not gone, notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe. Bob, with the pack on his back, had as respectful an adoration for this dark-eyed maiden as if he had been a knight in armor calling aloud on her name as he pricked on to the fight.
One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen, that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future scenes of home-sorrow.
Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and defiant aspect.
"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you."
"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!"
"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at St. Ogg's in the daytime."
"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that isn't just what I'm come for,–look here!"
Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with it a row of small books fastened together with string.
Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief.
"See here!" he said again, laying the red parcel on the others and unfolding it; "you won't think I'm a-makin' too free, Miss, I hope, but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you a bit for them as you've lost; for I heared you speak o' picturs,–an' as for picturs, look here!"
The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated "Keepsake" and six or seven numbers of a "Portrait Gallery," in royal octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of George the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed cranium and voluminous neckcloth.
"There's all sorts o' genelmen here," Bob went on, turning over the leaves with some excitement, "wi' all sorts o' nones,–an' some bald an' some wi' wigs,–Parlament genelmen, I reckon. An' here," he added, opening the "Keepsake,"–"here's ladies for you, some wi' curly hair and some wi' smooth, an' some a-smiling wi' their heads o' one side, an' some as if they were goin' to cry,–look here,–a-sittin' on the ground out o' door, dressed like the ladies I'n seen get out o' the carriages at the balls in th' Old Hall there. My eyes! I wonder what the chaps wear as go a-courtin' 'em! I sot up till the clock was gone twelve last night, a-lookin' at 'em,–I did,–till they stared at me out o' the picturs as if they'd know when I spoke to 'em. But, lors! I shouldn't know what to say to 'em. They'll be more fittin' company for you, Miss; and the man at the book-stall, he said they banged iverything for picturs; he said they was a fust-rate article."
"And you've bought them for me, Bob?" said Maggie, deeply touched by this simple kindness. "How very, very good of you! But I'm afraid you gave a great deal of money for them."
"Not me!" said Bob. "I'd ha' gev three times the money if they'll make up to you a bit for them as was sold away from you, Miss. For I'n niver forgot how you looked when you fretted about the books bein' gone; it's stuck by me as if it was a pictur hingin' before me. An' when I see'd the book open upo' the stall, wi' the lady lookin' out of it wi' eyes a bit like your'n when you was frettin',–you'll excuse my takin' the liberty, Miss,–I thought I'd make free to buy it for you, an' then I bought the books full o' genelmen to match; an' then"–here Bob took up the small stringed packet of books–"I thought you might like a bit more print as well as the picturs, an' I got these for a sayso,–they're cram-full o' print, an' I thought they'd do no harm comin' along wi' these bettermost books. An' I hope you won't say me nay, an' tell me as you won't have 'em, like Mr. Tom did wi' the suvreigns."
"No, indeed, Bob," said Maggie, "I'm very thankful to you for thinking of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don't think any one ever did such a kind thing for me before. I haven't many friends who care for me."
"Hev a dog, Miss!–they're better friends nor any Christian," said Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually said of himself, "his tongue overrun him" when he began to speak. "I can't give you Mumps, 'cause he'd break his heart to go away from me–eh, Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?" (Mumps declined to express himself more diffusely than by a single affirmative movement of his tail.) "But I'd get you a pup, Miss, an' welcome."
"No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn't keep a dog of my own."
"Eh, that's a pity; else there's a pup,–if you didn't mind about it not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show,–an uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi' her bark nor half the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There's one chap carries pots,–a poor, low trade as any on the road,–he says, 'Why Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in her.' But I says to him, 'Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn't much pickin' o' your feyther an' mother, to look at you.' Not but I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see one cur grinnin' at another. I wish you good evenin', Miss," said Bob, abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his tongue was acting in an undisciplined manner.
"Won't you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?" said Maggie.
"Yes, Miss, thank you–another time. You'll give my duty to him, if you please. Eh, he's a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to growin' i' the legs, an' I didn't."
The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow gone wrong.
"You don't call Mumps a cur, I suppose?" said Maggie, divining that any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master.
"No, Miss, a fine way off that," said Bob, with pitying smile; "Mumps is as fine a cross as you'll see anywhere along the Floss, an' I'n been up it wi' the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at him; but you won't catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much,–he minds his own business, he does."
The expression of Mump's face, which seemed to be tolerating the superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory of this high praise.
"He looks dreadfully surly," said Maggie. "Would he let me pat him?"
"Ay, that would he, and thank you. He knows his company, Mumps does. He isn't a dog as 'ull be caught wi' gingerbread; he'd smell a thief a good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him by th' hour together, when I'm walking i' lone places, and if I'n done a bit o' mischief, I allays tell him. I'n got no secrets but what Mumps knows 'em. He knows about my big thumb, he does."
"Your big thumb–what's that, Bob?" said Maggie.
"That's what it is, Miss," said Bob, quickly, exhibiting a singularly broad specimen of that difference between the man and the monkey. "It tells i' measuring out the flannel, you see. I carry flannel, 'cause it's light for my pack, an' it's dear stuff, you see, so a big thumb tells. I clap my thumb at the end o' the yard and cut o' the hither side of it, and the old women aren't up to't."
"But Bob," said Maggie, looking serious, "that's cheating; I don't like to hear you say that."
"Don't you, Miss?" said Bob regretfully. "Then I'm sorry I said it. But I'm so used to talking to Mumps, an' he doesn't mind a bit o' cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, an' 'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an' 'ud niver ask theirselves how I got my dinner out on't. I niver cheat anybody as doesn't want to cheat me, Miss,–lors, I'm a honest chap, I am; only I must hev a bit o' sport, an' now I don't go wi' th' ferrets, I'n got no varmint to come over but them haggling women. I wish you good evening, Miss."
"Good-by, Bob. Thank you very much for bringing me the books. And come again to see Tom."
"Yes, Miss," said Bob, moving on a few steps; then turning half round he said, "I'll leave off that trick wi' my big thumb, if you don't think well on me for it, Miss; but it 'ud be a pity, it would. I couldn't find another trick so good,–an' what 'ud be the use o' havin' a big thumb? It might as well ha' been narrow."
Maggie, thus exalted into Bob's exalting Madonna, laughed in spite of herself; at which her worshipper's blue eyes twinkled too, and under these favoring auspices he touched his cap and walked away.
The days of chivalry are not gone, notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe. Bob, with the pack on his back, had as respectful an adoration for this dark-eyed maiden as if he had been a knight in armor calling aloud on her name as he pricked on to the fight.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Do you think your vote makes a difference?
That was the question they asked me.
And wouldn't you know it, I had a position all picked out for me to defend. I had to go on air and tell people that their vote didn't make a difference.
Now ordinarily, I would shoot myself before I did something like that.
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea
Mathew 18:6
Yes, I've been brought up a Christian; and my mother, bless her, made sure I knew the Bible.
Now, I believe I have a gift. It is the ability to convince people, quite well, of a stance that I currently hold. I once wrote that I could come up with arguments both supporting and refuting the existence of God, and both of them would be good arguments. I could, and can: But the question is- do I want to?
Quite frankly, no. If there's one thing I despise- it is destroying someone else's faith. You see faith, and the hope that it entails, is one of the most precious gifts that a person has. And if you shake that...
then good job, my son, you've just killed a soul. See you in Hell.
And so, I thought I'd take some time out and write this note; more to ease my conscience than anything else.
So, does your vote make a difference?
In a word, no. It does not. Before you pin me down as a cynical old loon ("Armchair Critic", I believe the word was) take a minute and think about it. If you, successfully, go and cast your vote, which in itself is a big achievement, do you think you're going to bring about a difference? You, sitting there in your air-conditioned apartment, comfortable, fed and watered. You. Not the public, not the "People"; but you.
Yes? What difference, pray tell.
The common understanding of the word "difference" is a change in outcome. In this context- if a person is to win on account of your vote, he should win on account of it. Then, apparently, tomorrow will be a brighter day filled with sunshine and daisies.
Quite.
Let me tell you something, friend. for every vote that you cast from your velvet-covered hand, there are ten other louts who will vote any which way they please for a packet of Biryani. My maid tells me that she took five hundred rupees to vote for a particular person. So, quite a lot more than a packet of Biryani then.
And yet, we still vote. What is the difference?
The difference Mister Cynic, is not out there, it's in here.
The only difference worth making, is the difference to yourself. If you change the world and you have no feeling of satisfaction, then that is no difference at all. If you give a million people television kits (and Air Conditioners and Refridgerators if modern trend is anything to go by) and you do not feel a sense of having made a difference, then what is the point?
The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see.
And all that he could see, and all that he could see, and all that he could see,
Was the other side of the mountain, was the other side of the mountain,
The other side of the mountain, was all that he could see.
You know what?
In the bear's heart, he feels that he has made a difference;
and that, is the only thing that matters.
Why should I vote?
Because I can.
Because if i do not, someone else will vote for me. And no one, No one, does anything in My name without My express authorisation.
Yes, I have God-like delusions sometimes. Sue me.
Will it make a difference?
Yes, it will.
To whom?
To the only person who matters,
Me.
Addendum:
So why did I do it? The same reason I refused when my mother told me not to read Dan Brown.
If your faith is so pathetic that you let it be shaken at the first sound of contradiction, then you do not deserve to have faith at all.
A trial by fire, is the only trial worth having.
And wouldn't you know it, I had a position all picked out for me to defend. I had to go on air and tell people that their vote didn't make a difference.
Now ordinarily, I would shoot myself before I did something like that.
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea
Mathew 18:6
Yes, I've been brought up a Christian; and my mother, bless her, made sure I knew the Bible.
Now, I believe I have a gift. It is the ability to convince people, quite well, of a stance that I currently hold. I once wrote that I could come up with arguments both supporting and refuting the existence of God, and both of them would be good arguments. I could, and can: But the question is- do I want to?
Quite frankly, no. If there's one thing I despise- it is destroying someone else's faith. You see faith, and the hope that it entails, is one of the most precious gifts that a person has. And if you shake that...
then good job, my son, you've just killed a soul. See you in Hell.
And so, I thought I'd take some time out and write this note; more to ease my conscience than anything else.
So, does your vote make a difference?
In a word, no. It does not. Before you pin me down as a cynical old loon ("Armchair Critic", I believe the word was) take a minute and think about it. If you, successfully, go and cast your vote, which in itself is a big achievement, do you think you're going to bring about a difference? You, sitting there in your air-conditioned apartment, comfortable, fed and watered. You. Not the public, not the "People"; but you.
Yes? What difference, pray tell.
The common understanding of the word "difference" is a change in outcome. In this context- if a person is to win on account of your vote, he should win on account of it. Then, apparently, tomorrow will be a brighter day filled with sunshine and daisies.
Quite.
Let me tell you something, friend. for every vote that you cast from your velvet-covered hand, there are ten other louts who will vote any which way they please for a packet of Biryani. My maid tells me that she took five hundred rupees to vote for a particular person. So, quite a lot more than a packet of Biryani then.
And yet, we still vote. What is the difference?
The difference Mister Cynic, is not out there, it's in here.
The only difference worth making, is the difference to yourself. If you change the world and you have no feeling of satisfaction, then that is no difference at all. If you give a million people television kits (and Air Conditioners and Refridgerators if modern trend is anything to go by) and you do not feel a sense of having made a difference, then what is the point?
The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see.
And all that he could see, and all that he could see, and all that he could see,
Was the other side of the mountain, was the other side of the mountain,
The other side of the mountain, was all that he could see.
You know what?
In the bear's heart, he feels that he has made a difference;
and that, is the only thing that matters.
Why should I vote?
Because I can.
Because if i do not, someone else will vote for me. And no one, No one, does anything in My name without My express authorisation.
Yes, I have God-like delusions sometimes. Sue me.
Will it make a difference?
Yes, it will.
To whom?
To the only person who matters,
Me.
Addendum:
So why did I do it? The same reason I refused when my mother told me not to read Dan Brown.
If your faith is so pathetic that you let it be shaken at the first sound of contradiction, then you do not deserve to have faith at all.
A trial by fire, is the only trial worth having.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Dream on
I spoke to K first, for no other reason than he is most used to my mad schemes.
Poi saavu da.
That’s what he said, when I told him of my plan.
Here’s a translation of the rest;
I’ve my practice, I’m established; I’ve worked hard for this da and now you come in here (Just like you always do) and lay your idea on the table. No chance. Pick another guy. There are plenty of others in the city.
The rest ran on the same vein for a while.
But one thing I know about K, is that, like me, he likes a show.
Here’s my plan, I said. I want to start…..
And I want to do a series of them across the country. We will change the way this country sees entertainment. We’ll have them in every city. Every city will have one. They will be places where people can go to forget….and perhaps remember.
Money is no object. We will make a lot of money. I have a little money with which to start off with. And believe me, we will make a lot more. But I need you. You’re the only one who’s worked with me before. Heck, you’re the reason that the union ran for a year. Remember that? You know I need you.
We spoke for over three hours.
In the end, he agreed.
I knew he would in the end.
I think he knew it as well.
….
With K convinced, I knew I had done it. There was no possible way it could not work after that.
I spoke to the Snowman next. He’d had some experience of processes. I needed him to ensure that my organization ran smoother than a kid’s bottom. That’s what I told him.
Actually, it wasn’t strictly the truth. I needed the guy because he worked as hard as anyone I knew: harder, even. He was reliable, straight-forward; and he helped me see the lighter side of life.
I could also see a possible future venture for him to take up. I knew what he really wanted to do. It wasn’t that hard to figure.
I’m a genius, sometimes.
Oh alright, he told me. There, happy?
Biryani and beer, my friend. Biryani and beer.
……
What did I do after that?
I believe in fate. I seriously do. I believe, in the end, that I cannot lose. I Believe that God, or whatever it is you’d like to call him, brings people into our lives for a reason. And that everything, everything, fits together.
We started off on 2nd April 2016. There wasn’t any looking back after that.
I pulled in the Walrus for PR.
Go jump, son; he said. You are not doing this to me again. I did it in college, but I was younger then. I will not be a victim of your megalomaniacal tendencies, again, You can go rule the world, I’m happy designing good, clean ad material.
Remember Vox Populi, I said.
Typical.
See that’s precisely what I’m talking about. If I work for you, it will be the same thing all over again. You wanted a lion then, and you’ll want your face now.
Fine, Alright then.
Fine? You’re letting it go? Just like that. You’re losing your touch, son.
Look, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.
Sigh, take back what I just said.
I’ll invest in your company. I’ll put in this much of money, you run your company, no problem- just do my designing free.
The raised, skeptical eyebrows;
Exactly how much are we talking about here?
I told him.
I think Ben phrased it best, when he said later- Macha, Pradeep just wants to stand in front of a burning hoop and make lions jump at him, while he effortlessly swats them aside with his huge arms.
Right.
….
It was inevitable that I’d have MJ somewhere in there. One of the most promising kids I’ve seen. Smart and beautiful- What’s even worse, was that she knew it. And she knew how to use it too. Bugger her.
She’d just started off her company by then. Of course, she didn’t have the advantage of being born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Or maybe she did-xept that mine was bigger. I’m talking ‘bout the spoon of course.
She was however, making good progress. Fine, I’ll admit I was following.
I offered her the same thing I’d offered the Walrus. She, of course, refused. But she did design the line I’d asked for at a fair rate. Let’s be honest, for her work, I’d pay that much.
Eventually, when I came back to her a second time with my offer that she couldn’t refuse, she didn’t. But then, that was a lot later.
MJ will make you work for things, remember that.
….
I told Dharma, when I was in college, that I wanted to start a school for the blind. Naïve me, then had this idea that I’d start a school, that I’d spend a good portion of my earnings on it. I wanted to even the scales, you see.
And when I met Numa,again- after a pretty long time, that’s what I proposed to her. How did I meet her again?
I have this vision of you, and it’s always in rags, surrounded by little kids…and you’re helping them, and you’re happy….and they’re happy. You can try corporate for a while, but I bet that that’s where you’ll end up.
I know that child; it’s just that I feel that I’d like to see this world first. But don’t you worry, when I finally turn social, I’ll come to you, and you better help me.
You know I will, Numa. I always will.
And like she said, she came. And like I said, I helped.
Much later when I put the idea to her, she accepted. And she got a group of brilliant people together to do it as well. She didn’t actively head the school, mind. I didn’t expect her to. Eventually, she did though.
That is something I am incredibly proud of.
…….
And the rest is history really.
Oh wait, there was the kid. The kid was special. The thing that I’ll say about her, was that she was incredibly talented at seeing things in me, that I could not; in all honesty, I think those qualities don’t even exist in me. But still, she saw them.
And, whatever quality I may lack, the one quality I cherish, is that I don’t let down the people who have faith in me.
She was a business partner, and what she made possible was one of the biggest and earliest collaborations I had. It was incredible, what that little thing could achieve. As always I am grateful.
I am grateful to each one of them, actually; Individually and in infinite measure.
…..
Addendum 1:
Naturally, the guard saluted when the car passed. It was an impressive church, always had been; always will be. I was made more impressive by the hill that it rested on; perhaps God’s own way of raising His own.
He’d restored the church; and he’d done a lot more. The parish priest had received a proposal for renovation of the site. He’d refused at first. The church rejected the proposal as crass commercialism. A few years later, the arch-bishop changed; and the place had fallen to ruin by then….
The entire area stood transformed now. Music floated in the air. Families flocked there every Sunday; and while the elderly spent the day in prayer; the children played on the beautifully landscaped gardens. As I said, music floated in the air.
When I looked down on his family spread out on the lawn below, I couldn’t help but remember the words he’d said to me when we first met;
And departing leave behind us, Father,
Footprints in the sands of time. …..
Addendum 2:
You wouldn’t have liked it cos you’re so uptight.
Why are you always so…..reserved?
A self-imposed prison of control, eh ?
I had a closed fist in front of me, and suddenly, one day, I felt a small hand upon mine. Slowly, and to my surprise for I was quite strong, I felt little fingers work at my own, trying to open them.
It took a while; but, in the end, there were two hands- palms facing each other-
One large, and one….
Really tiny.
This last part was for you, you know that.
Poi saavu da.
That’s what he said, when I told him of my plan.
Here’s a translation of the rest;
I’ve my practice, I’m established; I’ve worked hard for this da and now you come in here (Just like you always do) and lay your idea on the table. No chance. Pick another guy. There are plenty of others in the city.
The rest ran on the same vein for a while.
But one thing I know about K, is that, like me, he likes a show.
Here’s my plan, I said. I want to start…..
And I want to do a series of them across the country. We will change the way this country sees entertainment. We’ll have them in every city. Every city will have one. They will be places where people can go to forget….and perhaps remember.
Money is no object. We will make a lot of money. I have a little money with which to start off with. And believe me, we will make a lot more. But I need you. You’re the only one who’s worked with me before. Heck, you’re the reason that the union ran for a year. Remember that? You know I need you.
We spoke for over three hours.
In the end, he agreed.
I knew he would in the end.
I think he knew it as well.
….
With K convinced, I knew I had done it. There was no possible way it could not work after that.
I spoke to the Snowman next. He’d had some experience of processes. I needed him to ensure that my organization ran smoother than a kid’s bottom. That’s what I told him.
Actually, it wasn’t strictly the truth. I needed the guy because he worked as hard as anyone I knew: harder, even. He was reliable, straight-forward; and he helped me see the lighter side of life.
I could also see a possible future venture for him to take up. I knew what he really wanted to do. It wasn’t that hard to figure.
I’m a genius, sometimes.
Oh alright, he told me. There, happy?
Biryani and beer, my friend. Biryani and beer.
……
What did I do after that?
I believe in fate. I seriously do. I believe, in the end, that I cannot lose. I Believe that God, or whatever it is you’d like to call him, brings people into our lives for a reason. And that everything, everything, fits together.
We started off on 2nd April 2016. There wasn’t any looking back after that.
I pulled in the Walrus for PR.
Go jump, son; he said. You are not doing this to me again. I did it in college, but I was younger then. I will not be a victim of your megalomaniacal tendencies, again, You can go rule the world, I’m happy designing good, clean ad material.
Remember Vox Populi, I said.
Typical.
See that’s precisely what I’m talking about. If I work for you, it will be the same thing all over again. You wanted a lion then, and you’ll want your face now.
Fine, Alright then.
Fine? You’re letting it go? Just like that. You’re losing your touch, son.
Look, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.
Sigh, take back what I just said.
I’ll invest in your company. I’ll put in this much of money, you run your company, no problem- just do my designing free.
The raised, skeptical eyebrows;
Exactly how much are we talking about here?
I told him.
I think Ben phrased it best, when he said later- Macha, Pradeep just wants to stand in front of a burning hoop and make lions jump at him, while he effortlessly swats them aside with his huge arms.
Right.
….
It was inevitable that I’d have MJ somewhere in there. One of the most promising kids I’ve seen. Smart and beautiful- What’s even worse, was that she knew it. And she knew how to use it too. Bugger her.
She’d just started off her company by then. Of course, she didn’t have the advantage of being born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Or maybe she did-xept that mine was bigger. I’m talking ‘bout the spoon of course.
She was however, making good progress. Fine, I’ll admit I was following.
I offered her the same thing I’d offered the Walrus. She, of course, refused. But she did design the line I’d asked for at a fair rate. Let’s be honest, for her work, I’d pay that much.
Eventually, when I came back to her a second time with my offer that she couldn’t refuse, she didn’t. But then, that was a lot later.
MJ will make you work for things, remember that.
….
I told Dharma, when I was in college, that I wanted to start a school for the blind. Naïve me, then had this idea that I’d start a school, that I’d spend a good portion of my earnings on it. I wanted to even the scales, you see.
And when I met Numa,again- after a pretty long time, that’s what I proposed to her. How did I meet her again?
I have this vision of you, and it’s always in rags, surrounded by little kids…and you’re helping them, and you’re happy….and they’re happy. You can try corporate for a while, but I bet that that’s where you’ll end up.
I know that child; it’s just that I feel that I’d like to see this world first. But don’t you worry, when I finally turn social, I’ll come to you, and you better help me.
You know I will, Numa. I always will.
And like she said, she came. And like I said, I helped.
Much later when I put the idea to her, she accepted. And she got a group of brilliant people together to do it as well. She didn’t actively head the school, mind. I didn’t expect her to. Eventually, she did though.
That is something I am incredibly proud of.
…….
And the rest is history really.
Oh wait, there was the kid. The kid was special. The thing that I’ll say about her, was that she was incredibly talented at seeing things in me, that I could not; in all honesty, I think those qualities don’t even exist in me. But still, she saw them.
And, whatever quality I may lack, the one quality I cherish, is that I don’t let down the people who have faith in me.
She was a business partner, and what she made possible was one of the biggest and earliest collaborations I had. It was incredible, what that little thing could achieve. As always I am grateful.
I am grateful to each one of them, actually; Individually and in infinite measure.
…..
Addendum 1:
Naturally, the guard saluted when the car passed. It was an impressive church, always had been; always will be. I was made more impressive by the hill that it rested on; perhaps God’s own way of raising His own.
He’d restored the church; and he’d done a lot more. The parish priest had received a proposal for renovation of the site. He’d refused at first. The church rejected the proposal as crass commercialism. A few years later, the arch-bishop changed; and the place had fallen to ruin by then….
The entire area stood transformed now. Music floated in the air. Families flocked there every Sunday; and while the elderly spent the day in prayer; the children played on the beautifully landscaped gardens. As I said, music floated in the air.
When I looked down on his family spread out on the lawn below, I couldn’t help but remember the words he’d said to me when we first met;
And departing leave behind us, Father,
Footprints in the sands of time. …..
Addendum 2:
You wouldn’t have liked it cos you’re so uptight.
Why are you always so…..reserved?
A self-imposed prison of control, eh ?
I had a closed fist in front of me, and suddenly, one day, I felt a small hand upon mine. Slowly, and to my surprise for I was quite strong, I felt little fingers work at my own, trying to open them.
It took a while; but, in the end, there were two hands- palms facing each other-
One large, and one….
Really tiny.
This last part was for you, you know that.
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