A STORY RETOLD – PART 1
FROM
DARKNESS TO LIGHT
My friend
asked me why my writings are always on the darker side and felt that maybe if I
shifted my genre to something lighter, I would find a larger audience. I
understood what my friend was trying to convey. Accepting reality is not easy
and we would rather read to escape the daily anxieties that surround us and enter
a world of mystery and romance. True, these keep you occupied without leaving
lingering effects of angst. Two questions arise here – why we read and why we
write. While I can answer for myself, it will differ from reader to reader and
writer to writer. As a reader, I have read all genres and as I aged it shifted
and settled down to an exploration of life itself, a peek into reality, the need
to understand before time passes by.
In his book ‘Why
I Write’ George Orwell says that one cannot assess a writer’s motives without
knowing something of his early development. If he
escapes from his early influences altogether, he will have killed his impulse
to write.
I told my
friend, that at this stage it is not possible for me to write something that
takes me away from my desire to see things as they are. I have long since known
that my writings get across to a minuscule of the large audience out there and
this fact has steered me away from the thoughts of commercial success. More importantly,
I realized how true Orwell was when he said ‘If he escapes from his early
influences altogether, he will have killed his impulse to write’. There are
people who read, there those that connect, and for me, it has been a journey of
life through my books and it is still on.
And as I once
again travel through that journey, I have taken a slight pause to recapitulate
and look at the road left behind. That is why I call it ‘A Story Retold’. For
those who have read my books will recognize familiar words and passages as
I have tried to tell this story by culling out portions from all my books and
stitching them together.
The first
part of this story covers the journey from ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ and
Darkness and Beyond- A Medley of Many Lives’
I am a
passionate man. I am a hopeless romantic and I have remained like that ever
since I remember. I have my life, my experiences, and above all, my
fantasies. I have my own world to which
I retreat and seek my own answers about life and death; after all, both the
ordinary and the extraordinary merge at the point of death. It is my journey
and I have traveled it. I continue to question and the only way I
release my angst is by writing letters to God, who I am not sure is reading
them or is listening to me. The
journey of self-discovery that started with the lighting of my father’s funeral
pyre was still on. But I have traversed a long distance since then.
If you ask me
whether I believe in Karma, I will say yes, but at the same time, I have not
acted in a manner with the expectation of better things to happen as a result
of my good actions, for that would have been selfish. I have acted as per the
callings of my heart and not by the machinations of the mind. I do not want to
be judged by what I have done. I would rather be accepted for what I was.
I have been a
dreamer and at times travel back to that village on the banks of the river
Thamirabharani. I had always wanted to
live in a small cottage beside a stream, with the hills in the background and
the lush green paddy fields in front, and as the gentle breeze blew across,
causing ripples on the sheet of water, I would watch the paddy dance, a slow
waltz. I would read ‘The Solitary Reaper’ and listen to the song of the lonely
maiden waft across the fields. I would wake up to the morning sun just peeping
out from the hills and the chirping of the birds on the trees in my backyard,
and then the milkman would arrive with the milk, fresh and undiluted straight
from the udder. Then in the garden sitting on my rocking chair with a steaming
cup of coffee, breathing in the freshness of the morning, and then off on my
morning walk to the village nearby, being greeted by friendly faces. The
unpaved street cleaned and sprinkled with water mixed with cow dung, and kolams
(a form of drawing that is drawn by using rice flour/chalk) adorning the front of every house as if reminding
one that the street was the canvas on which every house let their creativity
flow. The only mode of transport, the bus, would make its visit twice a day to
keep you in touch with the outside world. The newspaper, at least two days late
ensured that you were always behind what was happening out there: not that one
was really bothered about being out of sync.
Then I would wake up to the reality that this was a dream, a distant
dream and would remain as such.
I have learned a lot from my encounters with people; they stayed in my
mind and their lives touched mine in a way that opened my eyes to the fact
that each one is a piece without which this puzzle of life can never be completed.
I realized that it is essential for me to know from where I come in order to
look ahead and see where I am going. I remembered my grandfather and the little
village where he lived and the values he had passed on to his progenies. I
understood the meaning of ‘Roots’.
My chance encounter with an old man made me see ‘Hope’. His parting
words still ring in my ear “I believe that there does exist something beyond
this darkness and that is the hope I carry with me”.
Soon after his mother’s death, I met Ambi to offer my condolences. His mother
had been bedridden for a number of years and he had looked after her as much as
he could during her last years. His words were poignant “We are also growing
old and my wish is that when I go, it should be just like that, in a flash. I
dread becoming a burden on my children. Despite all the love they have for me,
they should not be put in a position where they feel that it would be better if
I passed away. It is a reality that we have to accept”. Yes, I said to myself,
the reality of it all is stark.
It was during my college days, a youth full of energy and aspirations
to make it big in life, that I came across Satyajit an idealist and a rebel with
a cause. His life and his travails in the course of sticking to his ideals and
the resultant suffering was a lesson that the authenticity of life can be
realized only if there is a cause, no matter what the odds against you are. Years
later after I had graduated and settled down comfortably, I had the chance of
meeting him again. Though physically he looked weather-beaten his spirit was
not. His eyes still shone with that same old fire and purpose. During the course
of our conversation, he told me –
“I still believe in my ideals and what my father taught me - the
equality of all human beings. I believe that exploitation takes place because
of the deeply ingrained feeling of subjugation and inferiority inculcated over
centuries of class and caste domination. Violence will only lead to another
type of domination. But I did learn a lot during those five months I stayed with
them; a commitment to a cause and a sense of sacrifice to achieve their goals.
I was surprised to find a number of them belonging to what we have usually
termed as the bourgeoisie. They had thrown away a comfortable existence to join
what they thought was a just cause. I did talk to a few of them to understand
the reason for their doing so. I have arrived at a conclusion that theirs was
an existential problem. Most of them faced with the absurdity of routine
existence not knowing where they were headed to, found rebellion and revolution
as an outlet to authenticity. The majority of the people in general, do not
want violence to upset their lives forever. Even the peasants who had initially
been at the forefront of the uprising are slowly withdrawing themselves due to
the uncertainty in their living. The police persecution on one side and the
violence unleashed by the Naxals on the other side. It is as if they have been
caught in the crossfire.
You see at last I feel vindicated that my belief in educating people
and raising their awareness and making them believe in their own strength will
one day bring about a radical change in society and not through violence, is
proving correct. A number of those people I know who were part of the
revolution and survived have themselves settled down to the bourgeoisie life
against which they had fought. I am happy that despite all the tribulations, I
have been able to remain as I was and that’s my success and the meaning of my
life.”
Whether it be the visually handicapped Raghav, the patriarch Periachamy,
Swami Ekantananda, or the child widow Rajam, all showed me that darkness
can be dispelled by the light of hope.
I understood pure love when Jyothi talked to me about her relationship
with Raghav
“What attracted me to Raghav was that he could connect directly with my
innermost feelings and he spoke to me through his violin. His physical
disability never came in the way of how I related with him. But I knew that he
was always hesitant because he thought that he could be a liability in a
relationship. His parents have played a great role in making him what he is
today. He can take care of himself and he has had them with him all along. His
parents have shown him the way and like he has brought happiness into my life,
I am sure I can bring a bit more light into his.”
Periachamy attributed all his success to one person – “Arumugam
was the first person in my life who made me feel that I was valuable, and like
I told you before, he gave me shelter when I needed it most, but above all, he
was a father that I never had. He made me realize that life was not all
darkness and that it can be dispelled with the light of hope. I learned the
value of faith and loyalty in the conduct of one’s life, for that was how he
led his”.
But perhaps the most poignant encounter was with Rajam, widowed in
childhood and the dark days she faced before she found her redeemer in
Parvatham. She told me –
“It has been ten years since Parvatham passed away, but I still feel
her presence guiding me, telling me that there is no such thing as eternal
darkness. Though she was only fifteen years elder she was more like a mother to
me, for it was through her that I was reborn. She found me when I was just
seventeen years old and parted fifty-three years later. I still believe in God
for he has created people like Parvatham, her father, and others who have made
it their life’s mission to lead people like me from the darkness into which we
had fallen to light. They have shown that there is a purpose in life in the
midst of all the adversities one is surrounded by. They have been beacons of
hope in what would otherwise have been a hopeless world.”
I have often wondered how traumatic life must have been during those
dark periods of a patriarchal society. A woman was dependent on the man and
hence his property and hence on his demise continued to remain so. The shackles
imposed on her through the institution of marriage held her in bondage till her
death. The widower still remained a free man.
(To be continued)
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