When you seek something, you already have an idea of the thing you are searhing. For e.g. if you are searching a lost wallet, you already know what you are looking for——the color of the wallet, texture etc. So, when you find the wallet under the dining table, you recognize it immediately.
Can you search a thing that you haven’t seen before?
Let’s say you are looking for Pseduert. You don’t know what it is. How would you recognize Pseduert when you find it? It is not possible. Because you haven’t seen it before. Similarly, human mind cannot find God. It’s a futile search.
We learn about God from Parents, religious leaders, and holy books. Krishnamurti asks, What if they are wrong?
The greatest knowledge is the one that tells you the difference between Right and Wrong. -Socrates.
The tenants and the Village
There is something mysterious about my new tenants. I smelled it on the first day - the moment I saw them. However, that day, I was busy, hence, didn’t give much thought to it at the time. I had promised Vasu to meet him at his hotel. Now that I am retired, people seek my help for something or the other; in a way that keeps me busy.
I was running late; at the gate I bumped into a young couple. They looked like college students, but the girl had a mangalasutra on, and many colorful bangles - newly married, I thought - must have lost their way.
“You have an apartment for rent?” said the young man.
Then I realized – their purpose.
The upper room of our house was vacant for a while. The previous tenant had vanished, without notice and last month’s rent. For weeks, I had run an ad in the local paper, nobody turned out, till this young couple materialized.
Reluctantly I said: “My wife is in the house, she will show you the apartment.” I knew these city people would not like the apartment.
And I darted to meet Vasu. Only in the evening, when Saroja, my wife, handed over the money, I remembered the young couple.
“They have moved in,” she said.
“So soon? What are they doing in this place?”
“The husband got a job in the city,” she said.
Mangalore, the nearest city, is around 40 km from our village. A few years back, the bus, that comes twice daily, was the only link to the outer world. Nowadays though, The Konkan Railway has brought more life. The laying of the rails had created much enthusiasm and vigor - created jobs for villagers. However, it was a daunting task: the government delays, landslides, crashing tunnels and the Monsoons- Everything took its toll. But nothing lessened the spirit of the people, who had not seen such attention before. Finally, the visionary dream materialized – obstacles were conquered, nature was tamed.
The first day, when the train arrived, a large crowd gathered to welcome it. There were people from neighboring villages as well. I went with my children: Anusha and Shankar. We all waved enthusiastically at the majestic train; though it didn’t stop at our village. I had never seen so many people at our village. My father used to say, the largest crowd, he had seen at any time, was the one, that assembled to welcome Gandhiji; who had stopped at our village for a few hours on his way to Mangalore. That was a long time back. I was a young boy, I don’t remember the event.
When Ranga got the job at the station, he proudly announced to me: “Shastri Sir! I have been hired by the biggest employer on this planet.” He said.
“Who?”
“The Indian railways!” he declared with much delight.
Though, his job was only to hold the Green or the Red flag whenever the train was in the vicinity.
In the initial days, the early morning gong of the train abruptly stopped all village activities. Nothing moved till the train passed our village; this ritual continued for a while. Gradually the enthusiasm decreased and even the magnificent train became a part of the routine. By the time Bora, the dog, came under the train, many had even forgotten the mighty locomotive. Nobody knows how Bora came under the train. Vasu was the first person to find the dead dog. He lives on the other side of the track that needs to be crossed, everyday, to reach his hotel. On the fateful day, Vasu found the dog, on his way to the hotel, lying in pool of blood, decapitated and dead.
Vasu, like many others in this village, was my student. He was not academically excellent; hence, when it was time for his father to retire from the hotel business, Vasu was ready to takeover. He discontinued his studies, in spite of my earnest pleading. In the end everything has turned out well. Probably this was his calling.
Usually, I am his first customer. We talk about this and that till other customers start coming. Along with my usual cup of tea, he gives me daily updates, inside information, future up-comings, and the news that doesn’t get published in the paper – like Bora’s demise.
“Bora, committed suicide,” said Vasu, on that particular day.
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“Who?”
“The dog - Bora”
“He committed suicide?”
“Yes”
“How?”
“Came under the train”
“Why do you think he committed suicide?”
“I don’t know,” said Vasu, “Bora was intelligent. There is no way the train, that moves in a straight line, could outwit him.”
Though I waved it off at that time, deep in my heart, I just want to believe that theory. Like some of us of the yester generation, Bora, had seen better days. Probably it got tired of the recent anti-social developments. And found his escape by coming under the train!
At least a few people would have escaped this village, if they had the means - or come under the train, if they had Bora’s courage. I cannot run away from this place - not now. I had tried once, though. After my teachers’ training, I got a job in Mysore. The pay was good. I was young, and desperately wanted to see the world beyond our village limits. However, convincing my father was a Herculean task. My mother, whose help I sought, unlike every other time, rejected my plea at the most crucial time. She didn’t want to undertake the futile mission.
Father loved this village. He never stayed away from it; whenever he went out, to the neighboring villages, for Kambala or Yakshagana or for some marriage, he made sure to return home for bed, lest he wouldn’t find sleep. My plans of leaving his beloved village hurt him deeply – beyond my expectations. I was the most educated person in the village. And he, my father, considered my departure, a substantial loss for the village; the village of his forefathers.
When I explained my plans, he didn’t say much. “This village needs you,” he said. I saw the pain in his eyes. He had never asked me anything for himself; I could not say no to him. I took the teaching job at the local school. That made him content.
In the end not leaving the village turned out to be the correct decision. All this happened a long time back. The river never ran dry in those days. Now, I am retired. My Father is no more. In a way, I am thankful to God; my Father was not a witness to the recent developments - that would have killed him anyway.
The village is a sinking ship that people are abandoning. The last to go was Khan; he left for Mumbai, a few months back. That’s why the arrival of the new tenants surprised me. The tenants had given 3 months’ rent in advance, which was a novelty; that clouded my intellect.
My earlier tenant, Das, the one who vanished, used to complain about one thing or the other. I spent much of his rent in meeting his demands - ate my brains all day. On weekends, he used to invite himself for dinner at our home. Hence, when he left, I must say, I let out a sigh of relief. To my surprise, these new tenants had done no such thing. What do they want? They have eloped; I am sure of that. But that is not the end of it.
An unexpected visit
Though, it’s a while now, I haven’t seen the tenants. The husband goes to work in the early morning bus – before the day breaks. Even the girl, I think her name is Ramya (as per the rental agreement), is not to be seen. She is supposed to be at home all day. However, I have never seen her any time the home or even at the window. Their room has an external staircase that I had built after Das vanished - to avoid intrusion from future tenants - is serving them conveniently.
I had not climbed these stairs since Das left. I knocked on the door. Ramya must have been in the kitchen. I heard the water running.
“Please come in,” she said, surprised; She was not expecting me.
Inside, I observed how neatly she has maintained the home. Das never bothered to pick anything, once it landed on the floor. Saroja used to give a courtesy clean on weekends.
“Just a casual visit,” I said, “How do you youngsters like this place?”
“This is a very quiet place,” she said.
“I know. It used to be still quieter.”
“Tea?”
“Sure,” I said.
While she was in the kitchen, I continued my observation. A few books were neatly piled on the table. I recognized some of them. Adjacent to the books was a picture frame. The girl in the picture had an uncanny resemblance to Ramya.
“Is this your sister?”
She gave a thin smile; offered biscuits on a small square plate. “No,” she said, “that’s me.”
“Who is this man?”
“Harish: my husband”
Then I saw the resemblance.
“You both look different now,” I said. “Is this an old picture?”
Something dark flashed on her face, for a brief moment, was that fear? I don’t know.
After that she was not comfortable. She looked like one of the guilty students in my class. I finished the remaining tea.
“I will go now,” I said, “Thank you for the tea.”
When I was at the door, I remembered the purpose of my visit.
“We have a pooja at our home,” I said, “Some important people are coming. I was wondering if you could-“
“I am sorry. We will be busy-“
“Not a problem,” I said and took leave.
Only, later, when I was picking flowers in the garden, it occurred to me that the girl had rejected my invitation, even before knowing the pooja day.
The second time, when I went to collect the rent, the picture was gone.
The Culture
Nowadays, there is not much crowd at the Hotel. Only a few months back, before Khan moved to Mumbai, we used to have great debates over many subjects. I and Khan go a long way back. We grew up together. During our younger times, we used to be the formidable opening pair of our village cricket team. A couple of times, I fondly remember, we had batted the whole innings, without getting out. He was so strong. Watching him, from the non-strikers end, hitting those huge sixes, was such a joy. It feels like only yesterday. Now, years later, Khan is only a shadow of his youth. Time has taken its toll.
After his wife’s death, Khan lived all alone. A few months back, one night, miscreants pelted stones at his window, and broke the glass. No one knows who did that or why – a convenient mystery.
Khan’s younger son lives in Mumbai; He was begging Khan to relocate to his house, for years. Khan never obliged. He had spent his whole life in the village. However, the breaking of the windows, though a minor incident, was the catalytic blow for the gentle giant. He sold all his property – it was a lopsided deal.
“You could as well have donated it as charity,” I told Khan, when I came to know about the deal. He didn’t say anything. This is not the Khan, I had known years back. Not the fearless Khan, who would hit a six at the first ball of the match. Tired by age and unreason – this is the Khan who wanted an exit.
I dropped him at the Mangalore station.
“You will have a wonderful time with your grandchildren,” I told him.
He gave a weary smile, looked me in the eyes.
“Sashtri, in an ideal world-” his words trailed off. He is not much of a talker.
“Don’t…don’t say anything. I know-”
We stood together, till the departure was announced. From inside the train he waved to me, his eyes were moist, or probably they were mine – I don’t know.
Vasu brought the tea and the newspaper.
“Anything new?” I asked him.
“Computer Company changed their plans,” he said.
I saw the article at the bottom of the third page: Tech Atlantis is backing out!
Tech Atlantis, the software giant of the country, had purchased a huge area of land in the outskirts of Mangalore. This was a good sign. No need for the young job seekers to go to the bigger cities. But now, it looks like, the company is shifting to a small place called Madhapur in Hyderabad. The company has not given any specific reason for this, however, it is obvious. Our district, once known for its hospitality and egalitarian values, is now highly volatile - a sleeping volcano. The business people like Atlantis are not interested in the pseudo values that the so-called saviors-of-the-culture are trying to protect. The news of Atlantis’ departure has not created any stir- a single paragraph on the third page! The developments are so subtle that we don’t even notice them.
Where is my daughter?
My thought process broke off when I saw the new tenants on the pedestrian trail that leads to the temple. The trail passes through the thicket that people usually avoid at this hour of the day.
The temple was built during my grandfather’s time. The chariot procession, at the annual Jatra, used to be a great attraction. My daughter, Anusha, eagerly awaited the colorful event. Before she was born I took part in the chariot pulling. Two thick ropes would be tied at the front of the giant chariot. Enthusiastic devotees, in two endless human lines, would pull the chariot for a furlong, to the backdrop of mystical chanting. I used to be one of the frontrunners – like a path finder. The next day I would have blisters on my palms. But on the day of the Jatra no one could stop me. And somewhere down the human chain, near the holy chariot, among the muscle men, would be Khan, sweating, pulling the ropes with all his might, to put the chariot in motion. Now, in the current days, the very presence of Khan, maybe considered against our religion or maybe against our culture. Anyway, I will never know – since in the last few years the temple feast has been cancelled.
These days the number of people at the temple has decreased. My tenants’ temple visit at the odd hour made me curious. From whom were they are hiding?
In the evening, while cutting vegetables in the kitchen, I asked my Saroja:
“Did you notice anything unusual about our tenants?”
“No,” she replied.
“The girl is in the house all the time. I have seldom seen her go out.”
My wife sighed. “Leave her alone,” she said, “she is not your daughter.”
Even today, Saroja has not forgiven me. Though she has not said it verbally – she is still upset because I didn’t listen to her. I am talking about a time, though now it seems eons ago, only a few years have been passed.
I was the principal of our school then. Anusha, my daughter, was in the final year of the college in the city. Now, I can recollect the events with greater clarity, however, in those days I didn’t notice the change in her demeanor. Initially, I didn’t notice the blank phone calls. Later, I realized that probably the person on the other side hung up only when I picked up the phone. Then someone saw her with a boy in the cinema theatre. Ours is a small village, everyone knows each other, days are long, and people wait like vultures for fresh rumors.
I don’t believe in locking someone up in the house or stopping their food. I told Anusha, there was no way the relation could have a meaningful conclusion. She was stubborn too; probably she got that from me.
In the school, I heard students whispering behind my back. Only days back they didn’t have the courage to raise their eyes in my presence. Now like a pack of blood thirsty wolves they stared at me. I could not stand their stares. The eagerness for the fellow human’s fall, even in these young children, wrenched my heart.
At home, the awkward silence at the dining table, unnecessary arguments, made Saroja weary. Finally she said to me: “why not give up, let her do whatever she wants, if that makes her happy.” I should have listened to her. But I saw the years of carefully built up reputation and goodwill collapsing like an avalanche. Saw my father’s sacrifices going in vain. I could not risk all that.
The very next day, a fishing boat, found her body. The couple had tried to commit suicide. Though they rushed the victims to the hospital, they could save only the boy.
And my wife has not forgiven me. Now I see my daughter in every young woman. Nothing can be worse than the death of your child.
Son’s arrival
My son, Shankar, has come from Mangalore. He comes only when he is in need of money. Very often he comes up with a scheme or an investment plan. Last time he sold me a few cheap household items for an exorbitant price. It was some kind of a network. You need to sell the same things to the people in the chain below. I didn’t see the logic in that. I don’t have the energy, or street-smartness, to convince any potential members, why they should buy these expensive unheard products, when better products are available at a cheaper price in the market.
Saroja has lost hopes on him too; though she makes an unsuccessful attempt to hide it. She prepared a feast; and somehow convinced our tenants to join us for dinner. That was surprising. It was a quiet dinner. Somehow, we were all uncomfortable in each other’s company. As expected the tenants didn’t say much. Shankar did much of the talking.
“I am thankful to you guys,” said Shankar, to the tenants, “you give company to my parents.”
I am used to this phony talk. He is incapable of differentiating his parents from potential customers. He has this salesman tone all the time.
“Appa, you should give this couple a discount. After all money is not everything.” I didn’t know what to say.
Then he gave a curious look to the new couple. “I have a feeling, I have seen you somewhere,” he said.
I looked up from my plate. For a moment I saw something dark, a shadow on Ramya’s face.
“You guys look different now,” Shankar continued, “Probably I have seen you long back.”
The tenants kept quiet. They were quite shocked. For a moment an awkward silence ensued.
“The food is excellent,” said Harish, finally, his voice quivering. After years of teaching, I know when a student feels uncomfortable and wants a change of subject. And I know when to let the student save his face, “Indeed, Saroja,” I said, “food is very good.” We quietly finished dinner.
The man from the past
Sometimes, after my evening walk, I sit for a while at the park bench. A car stopped just in front of me. And a couple with a small baby stepped out.
“Hello Sir,” said the man. He must have been my student at some time. Children grow up so fast. It is difficult to identify them when they come to me years later. Sometimes, it makes them a bit sad, when I don’t recognize them instantly.
“I am sorry,” I said, “I must have taught you some time in my life. But I cannot recollect your face. Though I think I have seen you somewhere.”
“I was not your student..”
“Oh! Have we met before?”
“I was the ..” The man could not complete the sentence. The words were lost on him. Then it came suddenly like a bolt – where I had seen him before. I had seen this man in the hospital, years ago. The nurses were rushing him to the operation theater. He was the one who tried to commit suicide with my daughter.
All those emotions rushed back. I could hardly control myself. “Please leave…” I said.
The couple reluctantly left. The woman came back and sat beside me.
“My husband is not a bad person,” she said, “He was young and foolish. Though we cannot change what has happened. He repents everyday of his life. He just wanted to apologize.”
I could not bring myself to say anything. When she didn’t hear anything, she quietly left.
Right and Wrong
Years back I had done only what I thought was right at the time. My God, knows, I have never been biased. It was always my utmost priority to be fair when justice was sought from me. Because of this I could have a clear conscience.
Now, I don’t know what is Right or what is Wrong. God, don’t put me in a position where I need to judge people. These were my thoughts when I approached the house. This is when I heard a loud noise and a wild shriek from our tenant’s apartment. I ran and busted the door open with all my might.
Shankar was in one corner. Ramya struggled out of his embrace and ran inside the bedroom: wailing and dragging her sari.
“Appa, I can explain,” said Shankar.
“Leave my home; right now,” I said.
“Appa”
“Don’t ever come back.”
Shankar left. I was alone for a while in the room.
Inside the bedroom, I heard sobbing. Ramya was sitting at the edge of the bed. I sat with her. I must have sat there, like a ghost, for the good part of an hour. The sobbing had stopped.
“I knew Harish since childhood,” She said. “Last year we were planning to get married. My brother had sent us a handycam from US – a marriage gift. We were together one day. We were drunk. One thing led to another and we had intercourse. We foolishly taped it. A few days later, a friend borrowed the handycam. We forgot to switch the tape. The video was on the internet in no time. My parents committed suicide. Wherever we go people recognize us. Your son has seen us on the internet. He wanted to take advantage –”
I didn’t listen to the rest of it. Years of experience in teaching and guiding people, though I have, I didn’t know what to tell her.
“This is a small town, we thought we would have some privacy” she was saying. She wiped the tears on her cheeks.
“What do you want to do now?” I asked.
“I don’t want anything from anyone,” she said. “I want to lead a normal life. I just want a second chance.”
*------------- End ------------*
Note: If you liked this short story, you might like my other short stories as well. Click here for more.
“My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.”- His Holiness The Dalai Lama
Call me, Mang-Man! That’s right, Mang-Man is my name; which is short for Mangalorean man. I am a distant cousin of Batman, Superman, He-Man, and Spiderman. Like all superheroes I have meta-human powers, I can fly, dive deep waters, swim along with the sharks (literally), leap across the mountains and I wear my underwear outside - mine is pink!
In the past, whenever there was injustice in the world, a superhero has been born. The cultural degrade in Mangalore has given birth to Mang-Man.
My foremost task is to uplift the cultural drift in Mangalore: To save Mangalore, straying from culture. In short my motto is: Save Culture. That’s why In front of my Mang-suit I have a K that stands for culture. Unfortunately I realized, much later, that the word Culture starts from C and not from K.
My education is limited. I don’t believe in education. Education corrupts minds. Einstein said: “The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.” How true! Mang-Man bows to Einstein with great respect. I don’t believe in technology either. My weapons are primitive: small stones that I pelt at defaulters.
Before the cultural chaos, there was not much work for me. I used to do voluntary work and roam around job-hunting agencies.
One time, Matsyagandha train stopped at Mulki station. It just didn’t budge. “Everybody get down,” shouted the engine master. All passengers gathered on the platform. “What’s going on?” asked Santhanam; He had a gunny bag on his head that had an enormous jack fruit. And a sac full of coconuts at his feet. “Tires are jammed,” said the engine master, “everybody, at the count of three, start pushing the train.” “What? Pushing the train? Is this a bus?” retorted Santhanam. “C’mon people, this is Mangalore! Anything is possible here.” Luckily I was nearby. I sent all the passengers inside the train and pushed the train for a furlong, only then it started moving smoothly.
Another time, I was at Bajpe airport. A trainee pilot forgot to apply the brakes, the plane moved on a straight line and was about to dive in to the abyss - I pulled the plane back clutching its tail.
I was doing all this in the initial days. But nowadays I am busy for such pro bono work.
Like all superheroes, I have enemies too; mine are Mangalore police and Richard Gere.
Enmity with Mangalore Police I had always wanted to be a police man: protector of Mangalorean culture. This was a dream since childhood.
When I submitted my application for the police post, it got rejected outright. The inspector laughed at my low educational qualification. “Nowadays uneducated loafers want to take the law in their hand,” he said, “Young man, Police station is not a public toilet to enter and exit on your whim.”
“Sir,” I replied politely, “since I am a superhero, I have never used a public toilet. Therefore I am not in a position to understand your analogy.”
“What is this? Are you some kind of a joker? Get out from here, before I throw you out,” he shouted. I came out flying with a great speed.
But nothing can stop the perseverance of a dedicated mind. Finally I have become a police, if not real, a different one – A moral police!
The Richard Gere incident If you don’t know Richard Gere, then probably you are from distant planet - Tanglomex. I was a big fan of Richard Gere, before his cultural suicide. He was once considered the sexiest man alive.
Women all over the world would do anything just to get a glimpse of him. Julia Roberts, once highly paid actress, accepted the role of a prostitute, in Pretty Woman, just because Gere was in the lead role.
This same Gere, I don’t know what went to his head, during his India visit, in front of hundreds of people, kissed or almost kissed, a Mangalorean lady - Shilpa Shetty! A truly uncultured gesture! Gere was on the AIDS-awareness campaign, preaching safe sex for truck drivers. He probably thought it was safe to kiss a Mangalorean lady.
This incident made me sad, made Mangalorean people sad, made Indian people sad. Later, I heard even Richard Gere felt sad with the guilt of committing something unholy. The only person who was not sad was Shilpa Shetty herself. Her not being sad, made me sadder! Over night, my favorite hero became my arch enemy!
I was planning an attack on Gere, when he quietly left for USA; which unfortunately is not my territory. The IAS (International Association of Superheroes) forbids me from operating in USA. IAS clearly states that a Superhero can not operate in an alien country, if that country has a local Superhero. I am in a fix. I have decided to seek help from my American cousin Spiderman.
Day-to-day life Being a moral police is not easy. My foremost job is to preserve culture. This is a difficult job, particularly when nobody knows what exactly our culture is, but wants to follow it strictly.
I am waiting eagerly for the publication of Dr. No Brainer’s much awaited book – “How to survive in Mangalore: a cultural approach.” I expect few good tips from the book.
Sometimes I hide near the movie theatres, waiting for young couples. I promptly send them back, if I find one. Few days back I saw this couple near the movie theatre, walking hand in hand, without a care for the world. I made a sudden entry. “Freeze police!” I said. The couple got startled. “Can I see some ID?” said the boy once recovered from the initial shock. “I don’t need an ID. I am a moral police,” I said. The girl recognized me from my attire. “Mang-Man we both are legally mature,” said the girl. “May be legally, but not culturally mature!” I retorted. (I don’t know what that means. Ha Ha. But it sounds cool!) “Why don’t you mind your own business?” said the boy. This really hurt me. Who is this young moron to question the great cultural superhero? I raised my hand and with all my power let off a blow. But the girl intervened. The blow landed on her face. Her cheek turned red. Tears rolled down.
The boy started but the girl stopped him. She looked straight at my eyes. “So Mang-Man this is what you have become; slapping your own women. Is this your culture?” she asked. Then she spat on my face.
Finding Neverland I got so dejected by this incident: I just wanted a drink. So I flew straight to the nearby pub.
Recently MAMP (Mangalorean Association of Moral Police) has installed metal mannequins at the entrance of all alcohol serving venues. Just before the entry you would place your hand on the metal hand of the mannequin, which will recognize by bio-scan whether you are a male or a female. Only for males the door will be opened. It won’t open for females; instead they will receive a mild electromagnetic shock from the metal-man.
Once inside, I took a corner seat and ordered my favorite drink –martini, shaken but not stirred! There was no power; hence the metal-man at the entrance was not working. To my horror I saw an old lady entering the pub. She walked straight to the barman. “Could you sir, kindly, oblige me with a glass of water?” she said. “Ma’am, my culture forbids me to entertain a lady in this establishment,” replied the barman politely. “Kind sir, I am asking only for a glass of water.” “If only you were a gentleman -” “But sir, only a glass of water-” “My lady, today you ask for water tomorrow you will ask for Vodka. Where is our culture headed?” said the exasperated barman. “Sir, what kind of a culture distinguishes men and women as unequal, when God has made them equal?”
And the old lady left. I quietly followed her. She went straight to the bus stand. “When is the next bus that leaves this doomed place?” she asked a conductor. “Next bus to where?” “Any place, I just want to leave.” “Let me see,” conductor shuffled his time table, “we have a bus in 5 minutes that leaves for – Neverland,” he said. “Give me a one-way ticket to Neverland.” She said.
A matter of Heart Some time people confuse my role. They expect a lot from me. Like this one time - I was in Ideal, enjoying Gadbad. “Somebody please help,” I heard a piercing shriek. Immediately people gathered. “Don’t worry ma’am Mang-Man is here,” someone suggested. Then a lady, a bit relaxed now realizing my presence, came to me. “Mang-Man, could you please help my husband?” “What is wrong?” “Looks like he is having a heart attack.” “Madam,” I said kindly, “this is a medical issue; whereas I am a moral police. Though I can help, this is clearly not my responsibility.” “Please Mang-Man,” she begged. “I am sorry Madam; I can only provide you moral support.”
Then two identical looking men came forward. “Madam, we will help you,” they said. They helped the fallen man with first-aid. “We have called the Ambulance; it will be here any minute.” They consoled the lady. “Thank you gentlemen; you are true Mangaloreans,” she said. “On the contrary we are outsiders-” “Outsiders?! Where are you from?” “We are aliens.” “What?” “Yes Ma’am. We are from planet – Tanglomex. We are doing a human study here.” “Oh! Please come home sometime for tea. Do you drink tea?” “We are afraid it is not possible. We are leaving today.” “Why? Can’t you stay for couple of more days?” said the lady earnestly. “We need to leave as soon as possible. This place is not safe for aliens.” “Where are you going?” “We are leaving for Iran today night.” “Iran? Why my God?” she was shocked. “There is a war going on in Iran?” “We know about the war, ma’am. In war, unlike this place, things are predictable.” Their conversation stopped abruptly at the sirens of the ambulance. The aliens set the patient in the ambulance, consoled the lady again; then they left for their long odyssey.
Minority Report There are 4 groups in Mangalore: Hindus, Christians, Muslims, and Mang-Man. Mang-Man doesn't belong to any religious group. His fight is for culture.
One of the many unique things in Mangalore is minorities are powerful here. Minorities rule! This is against general logic and common sense, but it is a fact. Christians are a minority compared to Hindus hence powerful. Muslims are minorities compared to Christians, hence more powerful than Hindus and Christians.
However, since Mang-Man is alone, and a minority compared to every other group, he is the most powerful man/super-man in Mangalore.
The minority rules – is one of Dr. No Brainer’s many theories. According to him, many universal laws, which otherwise function perfectly, become null and void in Mangalore. He once famously claimed that, in Mangalore, if an apple falls from a tree, instead of coming down, would go up to the sky. Nobody could disprove this, since we don’t have apple trees in Mangalore.
Dr. No Brainer’s theory Dr. No Brainer is not a doctor in medical sense. He was an usher at the local cinema theatre; the one who keeps the half part of your movie ticket and guides you to the seat with a torch light. Because of his job, he saw more movies than a regular viewer; and developed a wild imagination.
During his free time he used to scribble small articles on the back side of the movie posters. One such article, which was supposed to be a joke, got printed by mistake in the local news paper. People didn’t get the joke; they thought it to be very serious. This article later got published several times and got translated in many languages, is now widely known as – Dr. No Brainer’s theory.
The theory says that there are multiple Gods, at least one for each religion. Each religion has its own heaven and hell. The theory claimed that sins don’t get carried over when you convert to a new religion. The last point was a hope for many old criminals. Many old people, who had led an amoral life, converted to a new religion, with the hope of gaining an entry to heaven.
Overnight No Brainer became Dr. No Brainer. He has left his old job. He is a big-shot now. He has formed his own group – Universal Brothers. He conducts seminars on his theories. The theories say everything and nothing at the same time. The theories convince his disciples and confuse his foes. He moves among influential people who don’t understand his theories. And the ones who understand his theories, a lesser group, loathes him; one such person is the village idiot.
The village idiot The village idiot roams around the city without any concern. He was a teacher once. In fact I was his student in the elementary class.
He opposed Dr. No Brainer vehemently. One time, in a public meeting, Dr. No Brainer challenged him with a peculiar question: “What is your stand on God and religion?”
The teacher said: “All religions are like rivers. They merge in one God like rivers merging at one sea.”
There was a wild roar and cacophony. People could not digest this. Dr. No Brainer’s theory was already accepted by many. The teacher was immediately declared insane.
Thenceforth his roaming started. He didn’t bother anyone afterwards. At night he slept in the church graveyard. One day from the graveyard he saw a light at a distance. A house was on fire. The idiot tried to wakeup the neighbors; no one budged. In desperation, he ran to the church and pulled the church bell.
People heard the bell at the unusual hour. They sensed something was wrong. Soon a large crowd gathered. And 5 lives from the burning house were saved.
However MAMP arrested the idiot. A committee was called. The Idiot got questioned. The chairman said: “Dear Sir, Idiot, you have committed an unpardonable crime.” “What is my crime?” retorted the idiot. “You have committed a sacrilege by using church bell for an unholy purpose!” “The most learned members of the committee,” said the idiot, “Is a church bell holier than the human lives?”
This aggravated the committee; they punished the idiot severely. The committee forbade the idiot from using his brains. Because it strongly believed that common sense would lead one to commit unholy deeds.
Old man at the market place The whole world is waiting for the 27th annual intergalactic seminar, which will be held in the distant planet - Tanglomex. It’s a proud moment for Mangaloreans. Since the only representative from earth would be none other than our own – Dr. No Brainer. He will mainly talk about his new theory on multiple suns and moons. The theory demonstrates the need for multiple suns and moons, one each per religion; according to him that would help solving the chaos.
On the market days he has seen doing charity work. He donates small gifts to the beggars. On these occasions he wears the white gloves without fail. He waits for a short period, till some one clicks a picture. Then he rushes away, he is a busy man. The picture appears on the front page of the next day edition of the local news paper.
Last Thursday, kind Dr. No Brainer met a wretched beggar at the market place. “Are you hungry?” asked the kind soul of Dr. No Brainer. “Sir, Is it not evident?” said the shivering beggar. “I can make your belly amply full for the rest of your life,” promised Dr. No Brainer. “You Sir, are a great man.” “But one condition-” “Anything, kind sir” “Are you a member of any group?” “Yes Sir. I am a member of NF-2 (No Food No Future).” “Hmmm. You must convert to – Universal Brothers.” “Sir, I am just a hungry man. I will convert to anything.” “That’s very good. Tell me, dear beggar-man, what are your views on - salvation of the soul?” This confused the beggar. But the cunning beggar intelligently replied: “Your views are my views sir.” “Smart man,” that pleased the noble soul of Dr. No Brainer, “Would you like low-fat-cream-cheese or fruit-jam on your bread?”
The greatest player Like Universal Brothers and NF-2, there are many minor groups in Mangalore. They have their own agenda. One of them is – UGON (Under God One Nation). UGON is a small group of highly dedicated members. Its motto is to make Mangalore an independent country. It also wants a dedicated sun and moon for Mangalore. There is a virtual group whose name is – Communal Harmony. To which every Mangalorean belongs - virtually. There is S4 (Secret Society of Secret Societies), no one knows who its members are. Finally there is a real and very active our own – Cosa Nostra.
But above all there is a group, which is undercover, about which nobody has any information. This group creates a lot of misdeeds. Sometime I travel incognito as a holy man. Every body thinks I am a holy man, but in reality I am Mang-Man undercover. I am on a constant lookout for any one of the group members. That would give me some information. I don’t know who they are and what they want. Recently this group has attacked the holy places. Luckily Universal Brothers reached the venue immediately; though they could not help much.
On the day of the attack on holy places, I roamed around, disguised as a holy man. I wanted at least some lead on the miscreants. And then I saw this guy, in the market, sitting at a corner. He clearly didn’t belong there. He had a kind, peaceful radiant face. On nearing he said: “Hello Mang-Man”
I got shocked. How did he recognize me! It is humanly impossible. There could be only one possibility; and a thin smile appeared on my face. "Hello God," I said. "Hello again," God said. "God, what are you doing here?" "I am taking rest. This place is very peaceful." Sure! Taking rest in the market place! Bla bla bla. I mean he is God. He needs to be unique. "Holy places have been attacked!” I informed God. “Now that you are here; I guess it’s a fiasco." God gave a knowing smile. “Careful God,” I warned him, “they are trying to kill you!”
This is the idiot speaking The attack on the holy places has created more chaos. I heard that the idiot has been stabbed and hospitalized. I rushed to the hospital. “He doesn’t have much time,” said the doctor.
Idiot was really weak. He had all sorts of tubes poked in his body.
“Who did this to you?” “That is not important,” said the idiot. “I will-“ “Listen to me Mang-Man,” he breathed heavily, “I don’t have much time.”
“I am listening,” I said with a sigh.
“Mang-Man, things are not black and white as you think. There is more than what it seems externally.
When I was younger, things were simple. And people were simple. As a young man, I wanted no fame and no money. I just wanted a small family, wife, kids and good friends; a small home and understanding neighbors. Not much. That is all I wanted from life. Am I wrong in expecting these things?
One time, I amassed few rupees, asked my old father to take a holy pilgrimage. My father didn’t show any interest. No place is holier than our place, he said.
Now look at our place. People are afraid to come here. We are busy with religious fights. What is a religious victory, to a mother, who has lost a son in this chaos? What future we are promising our children?
Why do we have to fight for a home for God, when He has created the whole universe?
And what promise of heaven, initiates these ghastly deeds? I don’t want a heaven that forbids entry to my neighbor just because he is of a different religion. And how a God is different from man, if he desires my neighbor’s blood?”
I heard the whole thing silently. Then suddenly, reasons unknown to me, I asked: “Dear Teacher, what is the greatest crime?"
He gave a thin smile. "Taking advantage of innocent people's faith is the greatest crime." Those were his last words. Then he died.
Though Idiot didn’t belong to any group, one of the religions, who claimed Idiot to be a pious devotee, avenged his death by killing a bus conductor of a different religion.
The change The death of the idiot has changed me. I don't need big reasons for a change. Remember, I am a superhero, not a human being.
I must say, half of what he said I didn’t understand. My ignorance made me sad. I decided to overcome this handicap by reading as much as possible.
Later, I spent hour after hour at the library. Being a superhero I can read extremely fast. I read all the important books: classics, philosophies, biographies, memoirs, history, and art. Finally I read Gita, Koran and Bible.
After so much reading, my views have changed. I can see the things more clearly. Then one day I asked myself – who would benefit from the idiot’s death?
The truth I met Dr. No Brainer at his head quarters. I didn’t beat around the bushes. “Why did you kill – The idiot?” I asked. “He was not an Idiot, Mang-Man. Never for a second had I thought him to be an idiot.” “Then why did you kill him?” “He was a threat.” “What threat?” “Threat to whatever I preach.” “Are you saying – your preaching’s are wrong?” “I don’t know what is right or wrong. I have always said what people wanted to hear.” “Your mindless murder has cost the bus-conductor his life.” “My people killed the bus conductor.” “What?!” “Yes. Mang-Man, I killed both, the Idiot and the Conductor.” “Why did you do that?” “To create religious chaos.” “If you are such a bad person, why did your people save the attack on the holy places?” “Why do you think, Universal Brothers were the first to reach the demolished holy places?” “What?” “They were the ones who started the attack on holy places. And they were the ones acted like saving them.” “You have been playing with people’s innocence.” “That is true.” “You are evil, Dr. No Brainer” “I can not deny that.” “Why did you create all this confusion?” “You are an innocent man, Mang-Man.” “Why did you create this chaos? What is your motive? You must believe in something.” “Money and power” That was it: His motives. “I am going to expose you, Dr. No Brainer,” I said. “Do you think you can really do that? How will you do that? Universal Brothers won’t allow you to leave this building.”
“Don’t forget Dr. No Brainer, since I am a minority - since I don’t belong to any group, I am the most powerful person.” “Do you really believe that Mang-Man?” Dr. No Brainer laughed, “Though I appreciate you supporting my minority theory, I would suggest you to use your common sense.”
Mang-Man Dr. No Brainer has succeeded in convincing people that I am a public enemy. I have been charged with crimes against humanity. And my punishment is public death by stoning.
On the allotted day a large crowd gathered at the open ground. People came from distant places. I was on a small podium with my hands cuffed. Dr. No Brainer gave a small speech on two suns two moons theory. Once again he succeeded in convincing or confusing the crowd. The confused crowd gave a wild approving cheer.
“Why so much delay? The last bus to my village leaves in half hour,” someone shouted.
People were ready with stones. Some people were betting; there was a prize for every perfect aim. “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” I shouted. “What is that Mang-Man, is that a movie dialogue? It is very funny,” said a villager; poor fool, don't even know where that comes from. “Kind Sirs,” I said, “just finish the business. Aim for the head.” “You are funny Mang-Man” “I, sirs, kindly accept the complement.” I sighed. Crowd was getting restless by the moment. “Mang-Man, why don’t you free yourself, and show everyone that you are a true superhero,” someone else shouted. That’s what people want - A magician!
“I can save you,” Dr. No Brainer whispered in my ears, “If you join Universal Brothers” “Never,” I said.
“Any last wish?” he held the mike near to me. “Dear Mangaloreans,” I said, “I will not be present to bother you henceforth. This place is in your hands. Please be kind to your home town.” When I said that, I lost control, a small droplet against my wish, rolled down from the edge of my right eye.
“Mang-Man, do you need to be so dramatic?” asked Dr. No Brainer.
I didn’t say anything. Someone blind folded me. Among the shouts of the crowd I felt divinely peaceful. And I waited. It was a short wait. *-------------*------------*
Note: If you liked this short story, you might like my other short stories as well. Click here for more.
All major religious traditions carry basically the same message that is love, compassion and forgiveness the important thing is they should be part of our daily lives.
- His Holiness The Dalai Lama
If you judge people, you have no time to love them. - Mother Teresa
Finally a Christian
Normally, people can not remember events before age 5; but with authors, poets and semi talented writers (like me) it is a different matter. They can remember events much before age 5, or at least imagine what would have happened.
When I was about to be baptized I clearly remember the priest asking – “I am sorry, what’s the name again?”
“It is - Ravi Lobo - father” my parents replied in unison.
“What kind of a totally uncreative, moronic, non-catholic name is this?” he muttered, and reluctantly added, “Do you guys need a 5 minutes time out to come up with a better name?”
“No father, we are kind of finalized on this one” my parents replied.
That’s how the name stuck to me, even though my parents had a second chance to think about it.
Never the less the priest said some more prayers, and sprinkled cold water on me! What kind of person sprinkles cold water on a baby less than 2 months old? But I guess that is the only authentic way of becoming a "real" catholic.
This childhood incident subconsciously created a kind of bond between me and priests I would come across in future.
A soldier of Christ Father Bernard was probably one of the toughest priests I had ever come across. He was really big, physically as well as matters of the heart. Students were scared of him. There were rumors that he had a gun! Hence in a sense, he was kind of true soldier of Christ! What ever it is - there is no doubt that his intentions always were good for his people and students. In short he was like coconut – tough outside, nice inside!
One time he noticed, few people attending mass standing outside, even though the church was practically empty. Some of them were smoking. Bernard stopped the mass, went to the guys standing outside, "you guys either go home or come inside," he hollered. They really wanted to go home. But none of them had the courage, quietly they entered the church.
Another time, for some silly reason students went on strike. The whole college was on the road, classes were empty. Teachers were in the canteen not knowing what to do. There was a kind of tension in the atmosphere. When Bernard came to know about this, he went directly into the mob.
“Who ever wants to go on strike step forward, rest go to their class” he said, standing among the huge student crowd. Being a literal person I was about to step forward. “Are you crazy? He will kill you” my friends stopped me. No one stepped forward; everyone went back to their class.
Another time a bus driver made a mistake – he either hit a student or did something wrong. The next day evening, students were playing in the ground “Boys,” Bernard shouted, “Follow me, we need to stop a bus”. I was reluctant this time, but he was real.
An enormous student crowd lead by Bernard stopped the bus from its evening trip. Bernard gave a small lecture to the driver on student safety – “careful with my students” he warned the driver, “Okay boys back to school!”
Some students felt sad, they wanted some action. But Bernard won’t give them any action, when there is really no need for action! The whole thing resolved peacefully.
Old man
Often, in a rectory there will be only three people, parish priest, assistant parish priest and an important member of the trio – The butler. In my childhood there were wild and imaginary anecdotes about this threesome. I will talk about those things, may be another time in leisure.
All parish priests are almost similar. They are old, hence mature. They have seen life; hence nothing can really surprise them. After all these years they just want a simple life, no controversies, and no complications of any sort. They quietly want to finish the business of this world and depart to the one which is supposed to be even better.
There used to be an old priest during my time, a real nice guy, an ascetic to the core. Auto drivers won't take money from him. “No, please take the money,” he would force, “You little devils, you guys are tempting me for these luxuries!”
He was not the kind of person who would make a grand entry at a gathering. Often he was unseen in a crowd; a grass root person. Once he was chief guest at a function. He went without the cloak. A volunteer promptly stopped him at the gate.
“Old man, do you know where you are going?” volunteer asked.
“Do I know where I am going?” old man repeated the question for no one in particular, pondered for few seconds, “A profound question, for which I am searching an answer myself” Later someone recognized him standing beside the gate, and led him inside.
Old man’s mother was buried in the cemetery. Often he was seen late nights near her grave, talking to her for long hours.A group of youngsters tried to attack him near the grave yard once at night time. “Boys, what are you doing?”
“We thought you are a Ghost” they said.
“It is sad” old man pondered “that Ghosts and priests have to wear similar attire!” “Father, please forgive us” they begged. “Forgiven and forgotten!” he said philosophically. “You mean you are not really angry?” “Angry about what? I can’t remember. I have already forgotten you see!”
Sometime people come to him for land issues. “The land doesn’t belong to you,” he would point to the first party, “Nor to you,” immediately point to the second party, “The whole world belongs to God” he concludes. But people won’t understand his utopian solutions, they go to the court, fight life long and finally realize may be the old man was right. After all, world does belong to God!
Then there were quarrelling couple needing his solicitation. Matrimony was not really his domain. Catholic priests lead a celibate life. Still they are expected to resolve issues creeping in marriage.
“I don’t regret my decision of becoming a priest!” he joked to a couple who came to him over a dispute, “When was the last time you saw the sunrise together?” “Father, what sunrise has to do with the problems in marriage?” “It has much to do. Now answer my question” thus he would start his session.
Young priest Old man was content with life. He forgave people for their trivial mistakes. Some time youngsters used to pull his leg.
“Why don’t you punish them?” some good people would ask him.
“I was worse at their age. This is Gods punishment for me!” Old man would reply.
He used to conduct a catechism class before the children’s mass on Sundays. Normally he used to conduct alone. But that day he was accompanied by a new much younger assistant priest. As usual teenagers started pulling his leg.
“I have a two part question.” One asked. “What is heaven? How do non Catholics get an entry to it?”
There was more of a mockery in the question than a zeal for religious knowledge. The old priest either didn’t realize this or chose to ignore it. “For all these years, I have asked this question to myself numeral times, finally I feel heaven is nothing but a state of mind,” He continued, “And for which religion will get the entry and which will not – I believe, a true Christian is also a Hindu and a true Hindu is also a Muslim.”
The youth could not digest this mysticism. There was a small uproar and cacophony.
“Excuse me father, Can I elaborate your point?” the new assistant priest requested.
“Go, ahead” he was given permission.
The younger priest started from Nietzsche and death of God, quickly moved to Spinoza and his biblical criticism; Kant and his answer to what is enlightenment?; Meditation and J Krishnamurthy; Darwin’s religious skepticism and eventual theory of evolution; Osho and his unique user-friendly way to attain mokshya. He was jumping from Indian mystics to western philosophers and God knows where all he was intending to venture, if not the old man intervened.
“Father Henry, father Henry,” old man implored.
“What?” reluctantly the young one stopped. “The child must have got the answer for his query, by now” “O I see, any more questions?” he asked the crowd. No one raised a hand.
Later when I was alone with this new guy, he said “Next time when some young idiot meddles with me, I am going to kick his ……” suddenly he stopped. “Oh, Jesus, religion has tied my hands, can’t even use a bad word!”
77 times This assistant priest became immensely popular. People welcomed his dynamism and new ideas. Often he was seen in the fish market. Fisher woman, who would bargain for hours over 25 paisa, won’t do that with this God’s man in civilian dress. Deep in their heart they had a small hope that in an emergency this man could make 5000 fish out of 2 - a feat achieved 2000 years ago by his CEO and founder member.
“Father, did you ever regret your decision of becoming priest?” occasionally a girl from choir group would ask. “Not until I met you!” he would say coyly,” Now if you excuse me, I have an appointment with Jesus!” I was an altar boy those days. I started hanging around with him. “People like you a lot, there is a large crowd today for the mass” I told him one time just before the mass. “I don’t know how much true it is. There is a poll after the mass to vote whether to have beer stalls for the parish feast or not; hence the crowd. All the drunkards have come today! Some time I feel like throwing them all out” he said. “Like Jesus?” “Yeh, like Jesus” he resigned.
“But Jesus also said you have to forgive people as much as 77 times.” I tried to inform him.
What ever he was thinking, suddenly he became alert. He gave me a stern look. “Well well well! Do we have a biblical scholar here? You want to discus 77 times? Fine, let’s meet after the mass”
I made the mistake of challenging the priest in his own domain. I had two sermons that day; one during the mass, one after it.
Never the less he gave a wonderful sermon on implementing teachings of Jesus in current times. But no one listened to him, they were only interested to know whether there will be bear stalls or not for the parish festival.
A visit from Satan One day on my way home from school, assistant priest stopped me. He was on his bike. “Hop on” he said. I climbed the bike “where are we going?”
“Got an emergency call, Satan has come over Inthru” he said.
“Do you know how to drive away Satan?” I asked skeptically. “What do you think I am? I am a priest not an exorcist!” sullenly he replied. “Police is after Inthru” I informed him. “Is it? Looks like, even the Satan is after him. Let’s check what the moron is up to”
We stopped the bike near the road side; walked along the paddy fields of Paul. Paul was working in the field.
“Paul?” “Good evening father” he recognized us. “God evening Paul, as a matter of fact it may not be a very good evening. The point is, it has come to the notice of church that you are poisoning the peacocks! You can not do that, Paul. It is against the law. Peacock is our national bird!” he said in one breath. “Well Father, your national bird is ruining our harvest. They come in groups at night and spoil the whole thing. All the farmers are fed up with peacocks. You know, farmers are backbone of this country!” Paul lamented. “Oh I see, a serious case of national bird meddling with nation’s backbone! This is a paradox,” he said, “I wonder how Jesus would have handled this predicament.” “Never the less,” he continued, “At the moment Inthru is priority, I will handle you later”
So we moved ahead. There was a large crowd, gathered in front of inthru’s house. Inthru was an incarnation of Satan, he was dancing and wailing, ferocious and looked dangerous. People were scared to go near. Priest went directly to Inthru muttered something in his ear, after which dancing and wailing stopped at once. Suddenly Inthru was normal. It was my first miracle!
“Let’s go” he told me. One the way back, I asked him “What did you mutter in his ear?” “Told him, I will call the police if he doesn’t stop the nonsense”
“That is not a religious way to drive away Satan” I felt somewhat let down. “Religious or not - it is effective!” he replied.
Road less traveled
Rectory is like a jail. Day to day life is boring. One has to be a great person to tolerate long monotonous days of a rectory. How interesting life could be with 3 males and debatable company of God?
Life in the rectory is highly unpredictable. As a priest, one can not really plan anything. Someone would die at odd hours and as a vicar you need to be there. Or Satan will come over someone. There will be people claiming to seen the devil, some claiming to seen God, some believe they are God. All these mental cases need to be handled delicately.
On an average priests study for 12-14 years. Average people don't read a single written page once they complete their education. Hence there is an intellectual difference between the congregation and the priests. Often priests are very good source of knowledge and intelligence. With their intellect they can tackle complex predicaments of the congregation. They are ever-ready to solve the problems. Unfortunately often problems of the local people are meager, sometime down right stupid.
“Father, I need your unbiased opinion” someone would come in a hurry.
“How can I help you?” priest is ready to test his vast knowledge of theology. “Santhanam’s pig trespasses my rice fields regularly, and spoils the crop, what should I do, tell me frankly?” the person demands. Priest is irritated by this trivial question. He starts, “Probably you should forgive..” “Forgive whom? Pig or Santhanam?” retorts the restless man.
Such is the irony of life. As a priest you can’t even laugh at the silliness of your people. Probably you can laugh at yourself, and probably wonder what more tests from God you need to clear before entering his Kingdom.
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Note: If you liked this memoir, you might like the others in the series as well. Click Here.
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