SECRETS OF THE SOUL 5 - DUSTBINS

SECRETS OF THE SOUL 5 - DUSTBINS

Dustbins

I seek the secrets of the soul,

From the dustbins of my mind,

As the beggar continues to rummage

Through the garbage cans, groping,

His hands searching for the valuables,

Cardboard, tins and plastic bags,

And some left over eatables;

As the dogs circle eagerly for the morsels,

The stench from leftover sins pervade

Dig deep and torment the hapless soul

As it tries to purge itself of past indiscretion,

The ghost really does not go away.

SECRETS OF THE SOUL 4 - CAULDRON

Secrets of the Soul 4 - Cauldron

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That once touched and stirred

The cauldron deep within the burrows,

Of an inconsequential existence,

To be pulled out and made to stand

The allure of an everlasting passion,

To be consumed in the fire of her embrace,

To wither away and crumple down,

Amongst the ruins, amidst the great walls,

That once stood guard against the hordes

Of intruding marauders and scavengers,

Now, only the ghost remains, a witness.

For those of my friends who have not read the first three poems of 'SECRETS OF THE SOUL' I am reproducing them below -

In ‘Secrets of the Soul’ my inner world of dreams and awareness mingle with the happenings in the external world of things and events in a bid to correlate and seek answers to the turmoil going on within the self. It took me a long time to write down my thoughts, in bits and pieces, and it has been one long journey, but the secrets that I seek to understand never really end, that is why this will remain an incomplete exploration.

These are a set of seventeen poems or you may call them stanzas if you will. The only structure that I have adhered to is that each of them consists of twelve lines. They depict a snapshot of my own emotions and experiences and the resultant imagery. I attempt to tell a story and leave it to the readers to interpret and correlate with their own.

Gulmohars

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That speak of dampened pavements,

Drenched by the teardrops of the moon,

The touch of cool fingers,

Tracing patterns on the ridges

Of my scarred face and aquiline nose,

As the gulmohars lay strewn across,

Last night’s relentless fury had abated.

But the scars stayed waiting,

For another day, another night,

To open up those festering wounds,

To revel and roll in the mud again.

Song of the Wind

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That sang the song of the wind

As it blew its way through the holes                                                    

In the bamboo shoots, whistling,

Sometimes moaning, a soulful tune,

And the wayfarer stops to listen and search

For the melancholic maiden

Among the gently swaying tall grass,

You drift away with the wind,

An apparition, a distant dream,

Beckoning me to your folds,

As I stand enraptured and alone.

Shadows

I seek the secrets of the soul,

That beat the drums of destiny,

The shadows that shrivel and stretch,

Shiver as they dance around

The dying embers of the fading years,

As they turn to ashes and the dust,

They disappear as the darkness descends,

Leaving only the footprints,

To be blown away to oblivion,

And beyond to a another world,

Another day, another night, once again.

Only the ghost remains unbound and free.

SWAMI - THE SAINT OF GNANACHERI - A TRIBUTE

SWAMI - THE SAINT OF GNANACHERI

A TRIBUTE

Today a great soul passed away. SWAMI who had been a beacon of hope and succor to multitudes is no more; in the process leaving a huge void in the lives of all those who had enshrined him in their hearts. He was one of those persons who had a profound impact on a skeptic like I am. Not because he had worked miracles for me and made every wish come true but because of his immense compassion which embraced everyone who came to him whether he was a theist, an atheist or an agnostic. One could never leave his presence without feeling touched by the unbounded love that seemed to emanate from his eyes.

I have heard it said that great souls suffer in their physical bodies as they take on the miseries of all those who come to them seeking deliverance. We need not look too far down the years for such instances. Those that come to my mind immediately are Ramana Maharishi and Ramakrishna Parmahamsa both of whom suffered physically before shedding their physical bodies. So was it with Swami. Having merged with the Absolute, like them, Swami will continue to shower his blessings and guidance on all those who come to him.

In Section 29 of Chapter 1 in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ I have written about the profound impact that Swami had on me. I am reproducing excerpts from that section of the book for those who have not read it -

‘Swami literally means an ascetic or a holy man but Swami has been God to all his followers for he had brought hope into the lives of hundreds of them. A few of them have been with him from his earliest days and for whom he is more a friend than a God. Yes, a God that is what he is to those gathered around him. There is no splendor, pomp or exhibition of partiality, for all present are equal. Swami is said to have performed miracles in his earlier days which are vouched for by those close to him. For the others hope in him has given them the will to survive and to prosper. I have seen this happening. People I knew have moved up in the scale of life not only in their material status but also in the way they looked at the world. A semblance of peace and discipline has happened in their lives. This I consider a miracle though I am not a great believer in miracles. Like I have said earlier, I believe miracles happen only if they are destined to happen. 

I sat there among the crowd of devotees and listened to those few who came up to the podium to relate their experiences of Swami and how much he had meant to them and helped them overcome the difficulties they had faced in the course of their lives. It was only because of him that a transformation had occurred within them and had taken them to a higher plane of awareness. All the while Swami sat in his chair with that benign look on his face and it seemed that his gaze was directed at each and everyone in the crowd. One could feel the fervor with which each person spoke; an indication of the total faith reposed in him by them. As for me I was there neither as a believer nor a non-believer. I was there because I liked Swami.

I first came into contact with Swami thirty six years ago in 1977 at the time of my marriage. I remember that a day before the marriage I was down with high fever. In a lighter vein you could call it marital jitters but a definite cause for concern. My father-in-law came to see me. He had brought with him some vibhuti (holy ash) given to him by Swami, applied it on my forehead and left saying that everything would be fine. By evening my fever had subsided. At that time I did not give much importance to it and thought that it was due to the medicines I was taking. Only later, as the years passed by I started understanding the significance of the event. We can always pass of such incidents as something coincidental, but for a man of faith this was a miracle. And now when I think of it, I ask myself why not.

Swami was there at the wedding. In the wedding reception photograph he can be seen standing along with us, a simple man in a white cotton dhoti and a white shirt. The years may have passed but he is still the same simple person only thirty six years older now and in the process having become a beacon of hope to multitudes.

It is not that I accepted Swami as the divine person that I was introduced to; it took me years to realize the genuine human being full of love and compassion that he is and worthy of the highest reverence possible. The softness of his features and the everlasting soothing smile on his face was something that attracted me to him and made me bow my head in reverence to a great soul.

I have never seen or heard of people coming out of his chamber disappointed. One could see the sense of relief on their faces, having unburdened their miseries to him and with the renewed hope that he will take care of them. He listens to them patiently and tells them that he is there. Sometimes his voice is so soft that you really cannot hear him, but the look in his eyes and his smile are enough assurance that you have been heard. I have had experiences when I have gone inside his room with my wife to pour out our problems with the hope that a miracle would happen. At such times I have found myself choked with no words coming out of my mouth but tears streaming out of my eyes. Though I would end up asking for his blessings to lift me to a higher state of awareness, my wife would narrate our problems. We would come away with the assurance that he is always with us and will take care. But the miracles never happened. It never has happened the way or in the time frame we wanted. But over course of time some things have got sorted out and others we believe will also go that way; after all time is a great healer and destiny has to play its part. Though he knows that this is the truth, Swami discharges his karmic duties as a teacher and a healer of minds.’

I have not seen him as a miracle worker but as an extraordinary being I have learnt to like and respect. His erudition and rendering of the scriptures and the teachings of the great saints is astounding. His discourses are simple and the language reaches the common people who form the bulk of his followers.”

Swami, I believe was here to take us to a higher state of awareness and not to perform miracles but to lead us towards truth and the acceptance of destiny with fortitude.

Tonight as I sit here writing all this I do feel that deep sense of loss of a dear one, but I know that this will in course of time turn into acceptance and though his physical presence will be missed he will continue to shower his benevolence from above on all those he has left behind.

SUBMERGED - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK

The photos posted above have been taken by my neighbour HARI HARAN

People are walking through the flooded MMDA Colony on Wednesday. Photo: R. Ragu

SUBMERGED - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK

As I write this post, Chennai is still cut off from the rest of the world. There is no electricity, no Wi-fi, and most important, water is scarce (reminds me of ‘Water, Water everywhere not a drop to drink’) and if you are wondering how I have been able to write all this – my Laptop lay fully charged. Thankfully the mobile network functioned for some time but the landline went dead. During that time, I was able to assure my near and dear ones and friends who rang up, that we were safe and our area was free from the water logging which had affected other places in the city. The rains that battered the city were unprecedented and it would be safe to assume that none living now in Chennai had experienced such a downpour as it was reported that it was the highest in the last 100 years.

It reminded me of that day in Mumbai on 26^th July 2005 when the city received 95 cm of rain in 24 hours and I found myself in the midst of it travelling from Cuffe Parade to Chembur by car. Marooned after reaching Sion and staying overnight at my friends place, I trudged along the Eastern Express highway in the morning, waist deep in water with my briefcase on my head, and along the median of the road behind a trail of people who were also on a similar expedition after having abandoned my car and asking my driver to find his way back home. I reached home one and hours later, fifteen hours after having left the office the previous evening. That was an unforgettable experience, but I never felt as isolated as I do today. Mumbai was back on its feet in the next few days and I was in Office on the third day.

This is the third day and the mobile network had stopped functioning, the newspaper boy did not deliver though miraculously the milk got delivered. Many trips up and down the staircase to bring water that was still in the sump and fast depleting, to take care of whatever necessary things were to be washed (does not require elaboration). As the morning was sunny I took a trip around the market place to grab something from the Super Shoppe and found that whatever was to be grabbed had already been grabbed and I was lucky to come back home with a loaf of bread and a packet of wafers. We were lucky since my wife’s foresight had enabled her to store enough drinking water when it was still available (She always plans for such eventualities what with the erratic supply of Metro water and competition from 15 other residents of the block). The last two nights we had slept keeping the balcony door open to let the coolness seep in and along with it came the mosquitoes to ensure that we spent the rest of the night sleepless. I lay awake for long periods during the night gazing into the darkness which was everywhere and just as I would start drifting off to sleep the skies would open up and there would be a heavy downpour and I would sit up and start praying that it should stop, giving the city which was already limping, a chance to come back to normalcy and with it our lives. I sparingly used the Inverter mainly to ensure my mobiles were charged all the time. I had asked my daughter in Hyderabad to keep me updated as to the news coverage of the situation in Chennai for the only information pouring in was from those who were brave (or curious) enough to venture outside the neighborhood, each one coming back with differing versions regarding the ground situation. Well today the Inverter ‘conked’ out, but there is still charge in my mobiles however the mobile and wi-fi networks are out.

When I look back over the last twenty days it was a journey through great joy, sorrow and ultimately, panic, helplessness and isolation. It all started on the morning of the 9th November when I was woken up at 6 am, an hour and a half before my usual waking time. My wife was shaking me saying that the branch of the tree under which my car had been parked had broken and fallen on the top of the car after the previous night’s strong winds and rain. Staring out of the balcony, I could not spot the car as the thick foliage had covered it entirely. I rushed down and after moving in through the foliage of leaves and branches of the tree I found the car. The only way I could see was to drive through before the entire branch broke and fell down. Mustering up all my courage I did exactly that. Believe me when I say this – there was not a single scratch or dent – well that was a miracle (giving me something to think about – miracles). Well, you have to believe me once again when I tell you that I did have a dream during the wee hours of the morning that a tree had fallen on my car.  What do I call that – ‘Premonition’? That’s something which will me keep me occupied for a long time and maybe try and reinforce my beliefs that there are things which are beyond the comprehension of the human mind – I try balancing my rationalism with beliefs that I have grown up with.

It was a day of great joy on the 12^th November when my elder daughter and grandson arrived. It had been four years since we had seen them (the Skype communications though helpful were only virtual). Then the rains started and I spent the next two weeks ferrying her across the water-logged streets to the Consulate for her Visa stamping interviews and the airport to pick up and drop my younger daughter and son-in-law who had come down from Hyderabad to be with us. The apps cabs were not available nor other taxis, but may be because of ‘God’s grace’, pardon me when I say that for I could not find a better way to describe the events in any other way as ultimately all the things worked out, though there were some dampeners along the way. By the 26^th November, they had all left before the deluge happened. Though partings are always difficult, in a sense I was relieved as the weather forecast for the coming days seemed ominous. I was happy that they were safely back in their respective places when the skies opened up over Chennai.

Having experienced Mumbai and now Chennai, I have kept asking myself the question why both cities  suffered the way they did from the torrential rains and the subsequent flooding which left thousands homeless, lives and properties lost. One cannot help noticing the similarities – Mumbai never thought of the Mithi as a river, it was only a small rivulet which was filled with slush and a stench as strong as the Cooum in Chennai. Like the Adyar river the Mithi also had encroachments all along its bank, the most famous one being Dharavi which carried the infamous tag as the largest slum in the world. All these encroachments have happened due to faulty urban planning and lack of affordable housing. If one looks at the course of the Adyar River in Chennai and the Mithi in Mumbai you find both these lie close to the airport runways in both the cities. The devastation unleashed by the floods in these rivers due to the unprecedented torrential rains has been terrible. Mumbai reported more deaths and losses, but the Chennai figures have only started trickling in now. As reported in the newspapers, parts of the city especially the old city areas have been spared the full onslaught of the floods due to the efficient drainage system built a hundred years ago during the British Raj, so was the case with Mumbai. This speaks volumes of the efficiency of the new age drainage systems – bad planning, implementation and maintenance?

 When the Tsunami hit Tamilnadu in 2005 Chennai was badly affected. That time the threat was from the sea and this time from the skies. The Tsunami was too fast and totally unexpected and it is always difficult to thwart such a disaster and I am afraid that even Mumbai would not be in a position to thwart such an eventuality being hemmed on all sides by sea. One can only hope that disaster management measures are in place to tackle such an eventuality. To Mumbai’s credit, the city bounced back within three to four days despite the heavy losses and we can only hope that Chennai does the same.

Five decades ago when I was studying in St. Patricks High School situated on the banks of the Adyar River, I remember the river was a river and not a canal for carrying sewage down to the sea. I have played cricket on the grounds of the Gandhinagar Cricket Club, Adyar, which was on the banks of the river. The outfield was green and the river seemed pristine. In fact playing Cricket there, was like playing in one of the English counties. Now I guess one would also need a nose guard to keep away the stink emanating from the river, but maybe people have got used to it. The Cooum even those days was still better than what it is now; though people still associate anything that stinks with the name of the river. Today when we look at what has happened by way of development we find – 1) unauthorized, unplanned and illegal structures have sprouted all along the banks of the rivers and elsewhere 2) there is only a very small fraction of the large number of water bodies which existed around in the hinterland of Chennai still left and encroachments have happened at such places hindering the natural course of water flow 3) the real estate boom has given rise to the proliferation of housing societies built on low-lying areas where once a lake existed and (today most of them are flooded). This has been made possible due to the dangerous nexus between the unscrupulous elements in the construction sector, the land grabbing quick buck making politicians and the respective departments in the government who it appears have not made a really serious study of the feasibility and the safety of such projects before giving clearances. The result being that a vast majority of the people aspiring to own a house have taken a huge risk investing in these projects. 4) If a mapping of the entire region indicating the low lying areas and lake beds has been done, it does not appear to have been made public and the ordinary citizen is not aware nor have the builders been transparent enough to reveal the hazards. Ultimately one should lay the blame on the agencies involved for giving clearances. Who knows (or rather everyone knows) what considerations are involved.  

Hopefully, this disaster should open the eyes of the ordinary man to the game being played. Though storm water drains have been planned and implemented they have not been fully completed; where completed, periodical maintenance is not evident. Roads are dug up by different departments like the electricity board for laying cables and again dug up by the water and sewage department for laying pipelines without any proper resurfacing of the road. The pathetic state of the roads is evidence enough. We already have large potholes and caving in of roads at some places, aggravated by this present spell of rains and I am sure some patchwork will be done immediately, which within a few months will once again revert to their pathetic state. No one is held accountable for carrying out such substandard and shoddy work. One hears that there was opposition to the proposal for relaying the roads with concrete. One can only surmise that if that is done the need for maintenance will drastically reduce and with it the annual contracts for relaying the roads would diminish and with it …… (No elaboration required I guess). It's ‘consideration’ and not 'necessity', that appears to be the rule for awarding work contracts.

I could list out any number of failures and shortcomings of the administration. But have we ever asked ourselves the question why this is so? To what extent have we ourselves contributed to this sorry state of affairs, isn’t it fair to admit that we also have a major share in this blame game?

This disaster has brought to fore the fact that it is the ordinary man on the street, our armed forces, NDRF and other voluntary agencies which have emerged as the heroes of the day; whether it is rescuing marooned people and ensuring that supplies are delivered to the affected. People have thrown open their homes to house the affected. For the first time I have seen Chennai rise up as a single united force without relying on the unreliable support of the political class, to battle the forces of nature to ensure the survival of the city. Well the politicians whichever party they belong to have engaged themselves in blame games, trying to garner credit for the rescue efforts that have been undertaken. What can one say except that the Assembly Elections are imminent and this ‘Disaster’ is an ‘Opportunity’!

Well, the Wi-Fi connection was there for a brief while yesterday, but it is off since last evening, so I thought that I should continue writing for some more time. Yesterday’s newspaper carried some very important and interesting headlines which speak for themselves-

British-era sewers withstood deluge – New-Age Drainage System in Suburbs Fails

Relief Mired in Chaos, Anger Rises – Govt. Fumbles As Help Pours in

Amma Branding on Food Packets Sparks Outrage

It has been nauseating to say the least to find the local MLAs and their goons of all hues fighting with the relief workers about distribution of essential items to the affected public. Well here’s another headline for you from today’s newspaper –

Politicians will be politicians: War breaks out to corner credit for relief – Some Local Netas want Bribes Too

Do I need  say more? Where have all the ‘Award Wapsi’ pseudo-intellectuals gone? Maybe they do not have any more awards with them to return, pity for they could have shown their solidarity in this time of crisis.

The power has been there for the last two days though it does go off occasionally, but I have kept myself in readiness by ensuring that there is sufficient water and the inverter and all the mobiles are fully charged. I have learnt to live with the darkness and the surrounding eerie silence, the battering rain and the mosquitoes, and so have the others in this city. But the fear of repetition does hover around as the weather forecasts for the coming week have not been very encouraging.

Though I am thankful that we have not suffered that much, I feel guilty when I think of all those who have lost their homes and possessions and some their lives. Rebuilding homes and lives and the city is going to be a long and painful process. I ask myself how I can be useful and do my bit. I am waiting for the answers to crystallize.

As I lay awake in the darkness during the first three days, I would wait expectantly for the lights to suddenly come on, and in the end when they did come on it was a feeling of deliverance, but for many out there I guess that the light of deliverance is still a long way to go.

One thought that kept recurring was ‘How aptly have I chosen the title for my second book as ‘Darkness and Beyond’. 

DARKNESS AND BEYOND – 'A MEDLEY OF MANY LIVES' THE PREFACE TO MY SECOND BOOK

DARKNESS AND BEYOND – A MEDLEY OF MANY LIVES

THE PREFACE TO MY SECOND BOOK

It‘s been awhile since I made a posting on my blog. It is not because I had nothing to say but I had been busy completing the manuscript for my second book. Now that it is complete, I thought that it would be appropriate to put down what motivated me and what this book is about. I have learnt a few lessons from the publishing of my first book – i) You can take the book to the reader but you cannot make him read it ii) If perchance he has read it, you cannot pester him to review it iii) There is always that line which you should take care not to cross, for otherwise you end up as a salesman rather than a writer iv) Don’t get swayed by fantastic reviews and 5 start ratings, pay heed to the more critical ones for they help you become better v) Know your limitations – in my case I found out I am better off writing what I have always done vi) Not every reader is interested in the genre in which you write vii) Last but not the least don’t ever compromise on your integrity as an author. These are lessons that I have learnt. For me writing has become a journey in understanding life as it is. My drawback is I lack the imagination to cater to the reader’s fantasy, and in that sense my writing is selfish, but I do try to cater to the questions that are bound to rise in their minds.

Though my manuscript is complete, I find that with every reading I find better ways of expressing what I have to say. So I shall take some more time before publishing it, but I could not hold back the euphoria of having completed another journey.

Wish me luck and shower me with your best wishes.

PREFACE

"Life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced" -- Soren Kierkegaard

My first book ‘I am just an Ordinary Man’ was a journey to understand the processes taking place within me; the questions that arose out of the angst of existence and finally coming to accept the reality of living and the finality of death. It was the world as I saw it; it was my world. I also believed that these were questions that plagued every other individual. As we travel through life, we learn not only through our own experiences, but also from people we meet on the way. Yes, I have learnt a lot in the process of interaction and observation of the world outside my being. I have also learnt not to be judgmental, for there are as many paths as there are individual lives, and to each is left the job of defining his or her authenticity. There is nothing like a better life; a life is a life and has to be lived within the constraints of each individual’s boundaries that define the circumstances of his birth, where he has had really no choice and the subsequent choices he makes, to deal with the vagaries of a life that is indeterminate.

When asked whether I planned a sequel to ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’. I said yes, but added the sequel would be a journey out into the external world, where lay many lives that needed to be understood, for only then would my comprehension of what life and this world is about would be complete. While the first one was all about introspection, the second is about being part of a larger process, a process of experiencing. No knowledge of life is complete without introspection and experiencing. This book is all about that. This is a book of ‘many lives’, simple ordinary lives, nothing dramatic or sensational. It is about people whom we have met sometime, somewhere; people who have left an imprint on our minds, it is about people of whom we have heard and cherished their memories.

A medley is an assortment or a mix of various types or elements and is best understood by us with reference to a musical composition consisting of various tunes arranged as a continuous whole. The key words here are ‘various tunes arranged as a continuous whole’. This is what life and the world in its entirety is about – ‘A Medley of Many Lives’. Each chapter in this book is a slice of life, in search of a meaning that would define existence, in search of the ‘Beyond’ of this ‘Darkness’. The writing of this book has been a journey, an exploration of life in its many facets, bringing me closer towards a better understanding of what this life is all about.

Without hope, the prolongation of life itself would be absurd. We go to bed every night with the hope of waking up to the dawn of another day. Our life oscillates between patches of light and darkness, each oscillation marking the passage of our existence in this world. Our emotional response to darkness has always been one of insecurity, the fear of dissolving into an eternal darkness with death. For a man of hope, he finds it perfectly logical that just as there is light at the end of the tunnel or like the darkness of the night which dissolves with the dawn of the day, there is also a beyond of this darkness of death. Though one does not know what really exists thereafter, it is the ‘hope’ that takes man forward in living an authentic life.

The book is written in an Indian context for the different scenarios explored are in an Indian setting. To a large extent my personal background and upbringing does creep into portions of the narration. But this does not in any way take away the universality of the situations or the message that is sought to be conveyed. I am aware that I shall be asked whether these are real people and whether these are chronicles of real lives. I would leave that question unanswered.

A HAPPY ANNIVERSARY ‘I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN’

A HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

‘I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN’

At the stroke of the midnight hour, the ordinary man closed his eyes as he sat in the shadows. Only the desk lamp was on and the blank screen of the computer stared at him.

He remembered that day, when at last he had declared to all those who heard him, that he was just an Ordinary Man. It happened as he was returning home. The road was slightly wet with the remnants of a light drizzle and he was walking slowly avoiding the puddles of water that had collected on the pavement, when he heard a voice calling out from behind him –

“So who do you think you really are?”

He had turned around and found no one. However he replied loudly so that whoever it was hiding in the shadows could hear him –

“Sir, you asked me who I am. What shall I say?  I have been asking myself this question for quite some time and reached nowhere.”

“So you think that you are a saint?” the voice again responded

 “No sir, I am no saint to throw away everything that I have and go in search of an answer. If I had, I would have been a saint. Don’t you agree, Sir?”

“If that is so, you should have a name. So what is it?” the voice once again responded.

“Well I have a name, but what’s in a name? Sir, you may call me an Ordinary Man.” I replied.

He looked around once again to see who it was. Then it dawned on him that the voice in fact seemed to originate from deep within him.

So as he stood there on that desolate road, he threw his arms skyward towards the moon and the stars and shouted “Hear you all, I am just an ordinary man. Please do not ask me again- who I am?” With that he had returned to his apartment, his head clear from having shed off the burden that he had been carrying for so long. He sat down in front of the computer and typed-

I stand absolved,

Of all the guilt and shame, that eroded,

The entrails of my conscience,

As I shake the shackles from my ankles,

Break away from the bonds

That held me down.

That was exactly a year ago. Now once again the voice woke him up as he was slowly drifting away to sleep.

“Well did people believe you?” the voice asked

“I am not really sure. Some said they believed me, some believed in me and most of the rest have been silent. I really don’t know whether they heard what I said.” he replied.

“I hope now you realize that however loud you shout, you will be heard only if people choose to hear you. You know what was wrong with your statements – you included a vast majority along with you and called them Ordinary. That is not acceptable. If you had shouted ‘We are all extraordinary people’ I am sure that many would have heard you. After all what is there in being ‘Ordinary’. You thought that being ordinary is a satisfactory state of mind. Well it is not. Ask me I shall tell you. I like it when I am called extraordinary and I am sure that when all those who believed in you said that shouting out like you did requires a lot of courage and therefore extraordinary, you must have felt the same despite all your exhortations that you are ordinary.”

Well that was a small dialogue I had with myself on the eve of the first anniversary of my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’. Today as I look back at the year that was, I feel elated, in a sense that I have been able connect with at least a small section of the vast number of readers out there. Reviews have come in from genuine well-wishers and readers, which I know have been in the nature of support to an author friend and as a realistic critique of the book. These are the ones that have given exposure to the book and myself as an author and I am grateful to all those who did take the trouble of going through the book in full and writing a detailed review. All of them have been illuminating and given me joy and made me look at how I have connected with the readers. May be they really liked it; I am sure that some of them did, and after a year when I myself go through what I have written, there is a sense of happiness and satisfaction that I have been true to myself to a very large extent, though there will always be a small something that I have kept back.

In the introduction to the book I write “I never wanted to write a story. My life has been one long series of conversations with myself and I thought that the only way I could really say what I want to, is speak to someone; a friend perhaps or maybe even a stranger. If you ask me why I would do that, I cannot answer truthfully; it could even be vanity.” But now, when I have just finished writing my second book I know I have moved on. For now I have not written about myself, so the question of vanity does not come in. I have become but a small part of a larger canvas where exist other lives that need to be understood.

The Ordinary Man (as in my book), does not want celebrate his birthday by blowing out candles or cutting cakes. This day he wants to thank all those people out there who had lent their ears to hear him say ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ –

I am just an ordinary man,

I do just what I can,

So let me be,

As you can see,

I am one of those who also ran.

You cannot say I do not care,

Of love and dreams, I’ve had my share,

Of pain and pleasure,

In no small measure,

Though now I stand alone and stare.