A Tale Of The Fallen Apple

His idiosyncrasies are not absolutely among the kind one can put up with. They are rather insipid and quite frivolous. They are often bore and also annoying. But what the heck, he has a diploma degree in mechanical engineering, which he is quite proud of. It is true that education perse and as it is imparted today would have no bearing on one’s character and behavioral attributes. Erudition is not a panacea and a carte blanche certificate for ills in the personality either. But somewhere they do blend and can have tremendous influence on one’s personality conduct and words. It multiplies and enhances the aura when the company one keeps from the formative period in life is not trivial.

The blissful thing about him is that he is oblivious to the faux pas  he brings about by his conduct and words. They are not offensive but annoying-something I sometimes wish I could do without. No malice meant but yet he can haul you over the barbed wire.

He does not acknowledge or may be not aware of his limitations. He would go to the White House and ask the President why his mansion is not painted white but yet he dares to call it the White House. I often felt it was a bit of audacity and over confidence out of ignorance that drives him. I shudder to think of his claims to the education he had. No spite meant.

His spoken  English is awful, but once he even boasted to his General Manager that no one can draft a communicative message in English as he can. His impudence once prompted the C.E.O, to observe that he was rather rude and has no reverence to him even. I always felt that it was not arrogance that made him comment and behave as he often does, but perhaps ignorance of etiquette or a way of eclipsing an inferior complex. But he always did a commendable conclusion to the jobs that were entrusted to him. That perhaps makes him the lieutenant of the C.E.O.

It was an occasion when we were at an official dinner and was in his brassy oratory self .I was seated next to him and he picked up conversation with a couple of ladies. I do not remember how the conversation began and how it progressed to the stage when the women almost dropped the glasses they were holding and I quivered a bit. I cowered because the women knew that he was in my company! But our presumptuous friend was in no mood to notice our gape and that of the quite a few heads that turned towards our table.

As I mentioned, I cannot remember the thread from where and how the conversation or call it monologue began. However he reached the stage where he wanted to use an assertive allegory. He said,“It is like the principle of why things fall down and how that was first found out. It was a scientist called Einstein who first found that out. One day he was seated on a bench in his garden and an apple fell down from the nearby tree. Einstein saw that and wondered why it fell down to earth. Have you folks heard about this story before?”

Mystic- Mystery

“Who am I ? Ask yourself.” She exhorted. “Are you the flesh and blood that you are now or are you the mind that is in you?” I did not see it even a shred necessary or imperative to fret and send my brain on a hunt seeking answer to this monumental ask. She continued her monologue at the group that we were, about a score of virtually bewildered people. Bewildered more because of the strange introspection the petite French lass with shaven head and in white kurta pyjama implored us to engage. We were all seated on the forest floor and in the opening strewn with dried leaves and a perfect canopy lend by huge trees to shade us from the noon sun.

The group was confounded and that enhanced their pleasure in a strange way. It happens when you are dumb struck with jargon and entwined sentences and meanings that are the arsenal of God men and women. Your bewilderment is fanned by virtual curiosity and hope of something about to break open as revelation. A fool’s paradise where ignorance is bliss and more mystifying more the bliss.

She continued her monologue in accented English. She spoke about SreeKrishna and dwelled on his alleged sorcery  She soon turned to lecture on a verse from the Gita and began to decipher for us its intricate meaning. It was amusing to think what depth of knowledge would life and experience besides the five years she spent in the congregation render this young woman in her twenties to indulge in the audacity of lecturing on Indian and oriental philosophy. It was a different coin when it was her master-her guru in the ashram. The guy had such powerful and haunting eyes that can only be surpassed by the pair of eyes of the late Rajneesh. He was tanned and brown complexioned. The turban on his head addressed the probable baldness. But the flowing white beard and whiskers added to the captivating gaze.

I was to live with the congregation inside the sprawling but Spartan ashram for three days as a participant in what was termed as engineering of the inner self. I was pulled in there by a distant acquaintance and had to shell out fifteen thousand Rupees as participant fee in the sessions and the chance to correct my inner self. (sic) To be fair the food was strict vegetarian but was heavenly in taste and richness. The ashram was at the foothills of the Western Ghats and was well designed. The guru or master as many called him was a Shivaite but I did not sense any bigotry or an iota of religious tone in his lectures. His discourses were matter of fact, thought provoking and distanced from conventional beliefs and had a syncretism that was encouraging. He was a master of yoga. I could hear and see inmates up well before daybreak and engage in asanas.

The first evening after dinner, I and my acquaintance went exploring the periphery of the ashram. We were warned to not wander far out as the periphery was frequented by wild animals. The surroundings with the mountains silhouetting in the late moon rise was fascinating and awe. At about five early in the morning, I was waked up by the live beat of traditional drums, cymbal and evoking flute. It was the ashram’s way of wake up call or alarm. It was a beautiful way of saying the day was about to dawn.

Some days after I was at the ashram I happened to meet a friend who was living in the city for a few decades and with whom I chanced to discuss about this ashram, its founder guru and inmates. His reaction was bordering derision. He said it was fine with just yoga but matters generally don’t end with that. “Ha that fellow, the Guru was roaming around this town a few decades back on a Java motor cycle. I knew him personally. One day he went missing and when the Rip van Winkle came back he was a master, a guru. He has a penchant for the good things in life; you know what I mean and the euphemism. There are a lot of innuendos about his abode and himself. He is a jet setting fellow and has high influence and contacts. Just leave things as it is and do not get entangled in the web they weave”. He said. The conspicuous part was he mentioned the man in the first person and used his name that was from his motor cycling days.

The captivating thing about the three days sojourn in the cloister was I was virtually levitating for a few days after. The amazing hypnotic effect of the man and his words will ensnare one in a trance, until the power of the opium and his aura ebbed away in the incessant pounding of matters of life outside.

I noticed that his eyes were hauntingly transfixed sometimes. I observed that he has the orgasmic look in his eyes and that is especially directed to women. The companion who was with me was ploughed under by his gaze. And I sensed that she was beguiled by him. She was wealthy and he has a knack for wealthy elegant women.

She chose to let the enchantment get better of her and began to frequent the ashram. She was obsessed. She wrote off a fat cheque for the ashram and that was not endearing to her family. She even went on a journey with the monk and his caravan of followers to the Kailas -Manasarovar in the Himalayas through the luxury route via Tibet. When matters began to threateningly move towards her getting embroiled with the ashram and when she was almost decided to write off her wealth to the Guru and perhaps spend her remaining life in the congregation, her people hit the panic button. I’m not privy to what transpired after, within her domestic confines. But her honeymoon with the ashram that was menacingly obvious waned at the combined onslaught from within her family. It is a guess what panicked them- her obsession or her apparent plan for largesse.

It will be unfair however to not  to accept the vast knowledge the monk seemed to have and his candid aversion to the traditional religious order and self appointed holy men.

Audacity of Youth

The audacity of times youthful has seldom a parallel. The gift of youth is to rejoice in youthfulness. I may have had my share of impudence in my youth. Now when I see it in my kids and in the ones their age (children of friends and relatives), I feel bewilderment, some consternation and steadfastly cling on to hope. Hope in their future.

The audacity often is in the form of seemingly arrogant retorts. This happens both from the boy and the girl, though the fellow is more subtle and careful in his reaction whilst the femme terrible is very matter of fact. I wonder if this is the case with their peers’ elsewhere. At least I wish so for my comfort.

I do not know if they have any fear of the morrow. Can one be obstinately sure of oneself? Why do not they have a plan B should there has to be a detour. I did not have a plan B for my life, in the first place I was vacuous to not plan at all. But that is not even in the least a consolation.

The fellow states in as many words that he has to be let free till the year winds out and he has to think, explore and know matters besides going places before he can with passion and singular purpose pursue his line of activity. And to cement his statement he signs off by reminding that nobody shall harbour the fantasy that he is pliable to others wishes. I feel helpless more out of this audacity than fear.

Light heart banter is more often pursued with the girl though her tongue in cheek retorts usually harnesses me. More because of her emboldened comments compared to the reticent nature of the fellow.

Surprisingly to me when I compare after delving into my past the kids of this generation are sure of their footing and fear less of the future. Vicissitudes are not in their lexicon, not yet!

I often remind A, the boy (a man now) to avoid by all means riding a two wheeler without protective head gear whether he is a motorist or a pillion. The advice which in fact is a pleading was generally laughed away by him with a comment that I’m too queasy. Last week K, his friend confessed on his Facebook wall that thanks to the helmet he wore , he could save his face from distortion , though his arm ached badly after bruising from the fall from his motor cycle that morning. K went further that he learned a lesson that day and was an experience. I could only sigh relief and say, “thankfully not an expensive lesson!" That night A, was travelling to his friend in Kozhikode, where he would certainly be going around on a two wheeler, I implored him with the experience of K, he did not pass his usual comment but sounded pensive and understanding.

Sometimes one wonders if there is an overdose of apprehension as a parent. Certainly it is not the best and enviable job one has to tackle in a phase.