“Sattar rupaiya.” The bearded cab driver called out as the taxi grinded to a halt in front of Karan’s building.
It was two am and Karan was exhausted from all his partying. He pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, only to find it empty. He had started the night with a thousand, but had spent it all on entry into the club and then drinks. He looked around for the watchman on duty to see if he could borrow the money. But there was no one in sight.
The cab driver stared at Karan with unblinking eyes, underneath thick eyebrows. Karan shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Ghar se lata hoon.” He addressed the cabbie, gesturing towards his house.
The driver scowled at him, unconvinced. He maintained his glare for a moment longer and then grunted his agreement, turning off the engine of his beat-up old Fiat.
Karan entered the room that he shared with his brother, who was snoring away in his bed at that time. Not wanting to wake his brother by turning on the lights, he fumbled around his desk drawer in the darkness looking for his spare money. But there was nothing left from his monthly allowance. He slid quietly across to his brother’s desk, hoping to find some money there. Much to Karan’s disappointment, his brother was broke too.
Karan stood in the lighted passageway outside the room, with his hands on his hips, considering what options he had. He certainly couldn’t leave that sullen cab driver waiting for too long.
Reaching a decision, Karan walked towards his parents’ room. As silently as he could, he tiptoed into the room. He went for the drawer next to his mom’s bed where her keys to the cupboard were kept. The only sound that could be heard was that of his breathing. Slowly and deliberately, he groped for the keys inside the drawer. On finding his mom’s key set, he picked them up and wrapped his fist around the keys to cushion them so that there would be no jingling sound.
He went to his mom’s cupboard, trying to figure out which key to use from the set that he held. He couldn’t afford to make many trials as that would surely wake his parents. He made a guess of which was the right key, based on what he could recollect. Trying his best to keep the sound down to a minimum, he turned the chosen key in the lock. The key refused to turn. Karan took it out and tried it again, but with no luck. He let out a long, deep breath.
Suddenly, in the pin-drop silence, Karan heard a soft, shuffling sound behind him. He turned around cautiously, and saw a figure approaching him. Just as Karan turned, the person rushed straight at him. He appeared to be holding something in his right hand.
In the next instant, there was a man towering over Karan with a shoe in his hand, ready to strike him down. In a flash, Karan recognized his father.
“No, Papa. It’s me.” Karan shouted.
“It is Karan, papa. Don’t hit.” He pleaded.
His father stopped himself just as he was about to strike Karan. He had a determined look in his expression. It took a moment more for him to relax and put the shoe down.
“What the hell were you doing, beta? I heard someone opening the cupboard and I thought it was a thief.”
His mother, awakened by all the commotion, had turned on the lights in the room.
“I needed some money to pay for my cab.” Karan mumbled sheepishly. “I didn’t want to wake you’ll.”
He turned to look at his mother, who had a grin on her face. It must have been a comical sight for her to wake up in the middle of the night to find her son stealthily opening the cupboard and her husband standing over him with a shoe in hand.
The doorbell rang loudly, interrupting them. Karan saw a flicker in his father’s eyes as his expression changed back to what it had been moments earlier. His father instinctively reached for the shoe as the doorbell rang for the second time. Karan just stood there, frozen stiff, not sure how to react. Who could be ringing the bell so late?
“Oh, relax. It is probably just your cabbie, demanding his money. How much do you need?” It was his mother, calm as ever.
Sure enough, it was the cabbie, who was not pleased at being kept waiting. Karan apologized and paid him a bit extra to pacify him. Then, he went back to his parents’ room.
“This was hilarious.” His mom still saw the funny side. She looked at Karan.
“Next time, wake us and ask for the money. Don’t go sneaking around like a robber.”
She turned to Karan’s father, smiling.
“And next time, you may want to choose a better weapon than that old shoe.”
Karan said good-night and walked towards his room, with a smile, reflecting on what had been an unusual ending to his Saturday night.
The Spark of a Child
Naveen trudged ahead, heading home. His eyes were half-closed. His head hung low and his shoulders sagged. Each step was heavy and labored. To say that he was having a bad day would have been an understatement.
That morning he had arrived at work, only to learn that due to ‘financial setbacks in the economy’ his company had to let him go. Naveen felt sick in the stomach. He had collected his things and cleared up his desk by noon. There were some awkward farewell moments with friends and colleagues whom he had worked with for the past two years.
Later that afternoon, he had met Sonya, his girlfriend of three years, for coffee. Naveen really needed to unload his disappointment at losing his job to Sonya, the one person he always counted on for support. Before he could bring up the subject, Sonya took charge of the conversation and in a not-so-subtle manner unleashed another bombshell on the already battle-scarred Naveen. After much consideration, Sonya claimed, she had decided to move on from their relationship. She said her priority was her career and gave him an assortment of reasons, none of which eased the pain of the hammer blow that had been struck to his chest. Naveen started hyper-ventilating. He engaged Sonya in a brief shouting-match that inevitably follows a break-up. Then, it was over and she was gone.
So, Naveen walked one step at time on the lonely road that led to his house. There were cars honking, people talking, and all the usual hustle-bustle of Mumbai city roads. But Naveen did not notice any of this. He toyed with the circular dial of his wrist-watch. His mind was swarmed with a myriad of bitter thoughts. The hollow feeling in the pit of his belly wouldn’t go away. He wanted to cry and vomit, at the same time.
Naveen looked up at sky and let out a volley of abuses, which were very uncharacteristic of him.
“Why?” He demanded. “Why?”
Upon receiving no answer, Naveen plodded ahead.
“Kaise ho bhaiya?” A voice asked him.
Naveen saw the smiling face of the bhel-puri wallah looking at him. Naveen nodded his acknowledgement.
“Kya loge?”
“Ha, ek sev puri.” Naveen tried to smile. He usually exchanged a friendly banter with the neighborhood hawkers. But, not on that day.
Naveen took his sev puri and moved ahead. On one corner of the footpath, he saw a street kid, dressed in rags, squatting down and rubbing his eyes. When he reached closer, Naveen saw that the boy was sobbing softly. Naveen went a couple of steps ahead, and paused. He turned to look at the kid again.
There was something in that boy’s eyes that called out to Naveen. He felt some kind of connection with that unknown child. Maybe it was just the sight of another human being in pain, much like he was.
Naveen turned around and walked towards the weeping boy. He lowered himself and sat down next to him. Without a word, Naveen offered the kid a piece of his sev puri.
The scrawny boy wiped his eyes, and accepted the offer.
For the next five minutes, the two of them sat there. They shared the rest of the sev puri, but neither of them spoke.
After they had finished the last piece, Naveen noticed a number of small marbles lying on the ground next to them.
“Yeh kiske hai?” Naveen asked and pointed at the marbles.
The kid picked up a couple of marbles and grinned at Naveen. “Khelna hai?”
Naveen returned the smile and nodded.
The kid gave Naveen one shiny marble, took one himself and lined up the remaining a few feet away from them. They played a game of marbles, something Naveen hadn’t done for a very long time. Naveen had been fond of playing marbles when he was younger. That little boy proved to be an excellent player.
For the next twenty minutes, the two of them played marbles. Naveen laughed and joked with the boy. He forgot all about his job and his girlfriend. He was just a kid again, playing a game in the park, having fun. There were no barriers between Naveen and the street boy. No barriers of wealth, social status or even age. They were just two people, enjoying a simple game.
This spark is seen so often in children, but not as much in grown-ups. When we were children, we were so free and uninhibited. We played, and laughed and cried. That was when we were really alive. As we grow older, we begin to learn about the ways of the world. We understand things like money and the hierarchy of society. We build barriers around us that decide who we can or cannot be friends with. We go to work and go through the motions of our routine. Our minds are always preoccupied with some worldly concern or the other.
What kind of life is that? Are we really alive? We become mechanical in our habits and are consumed by the barrage of thousands of useless thoughts that came to our brain every minute. We are always doing things that are required of us. The economic and social demands on us increase more and more. Somewhere along the way, we forget who really are. We leave ourselves behind as we move ahead in the rat race of the modern world.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could be children again? Wouldn’t it be nice to get that spark back?
Take a moment to step back from your busy routine. Get a room or a certain time of the day, where you can just be yourself. Do the things that you love to do, the things that bring that spark in you. Play that music you like the most, even if it is corny music that no one else respects. Read that book you always wanted to read. Watch that favorite movie of yours. Dance. Take a boating trip on the open sea. Experience things that make you feel alive again and release the enthusiastic child inside you. Then you will get some intuition of who you really are.
That morning he had arrived at work, only to learn that due to ‘financial setbacks in the economy’ his company had to let him go. Naveen felt sick in the stomach. He had collected his things and cleared up his desk by noon. There were some awkward farewell moments with friends and colleagues whom he had worked with for the past two years.
Later that afternoon, he had met Sonya, his girlfriend of three years, for coffee. Naveen really needed to unload his disappointment at losing his job to Sonya, the one person he always counted on for support. Before he could bring up the subject, Sonya took charge of the conversation and in a not-so-subtle manner unleashed another bombshell on the already battle-scarred Naveen. After much consideration, Sonya claimed, she had decided to move on from their relationship. She said her priority was her career and gave him an assortment of reasons, none of which eased the pain of the hammer blow that had been struck to his chest. Naveen started hyper-ventilating. He engaged Sonya in a brief shouting-match that inevitably follows a break-up. Then, it was over and she was gone.
So, Naveen walked one step at time on the lonely road that led to his house. There were cars honking, people talking, and all the usual hustle-bustle of Mumbai city roads. But Naveen did not notice any of this. He toyed with the circular dial of his wrist-watch. His mind was swarmed with a myriad of bitter thoughts. The hollow feeling in the pit of his belly wouldn’t go away. He wanted to cry and vomit, at the same time.
Naveen looked up at sky and let out a volley of abuses, which were very uncharacteristic of him.
“Why?” He demanded. “Why?”
Upon receiving no answer, Naveen plodded ahead.
“Kaise ho bhaiya?” A voice asked him.
Naveen saw the smiling face of the bhel-puri wallah looking at him. Naveen nodded his acknowledgement.
“Kya loge?”
“Ha, ek sev puri.” Naveen tried to smile. He usually exchanged a friendly banter with the neighborhood hawkers. But, not on that day.
Naveen took his sev puri and moved ahead. On one corner of the footpath, he saw a street kid, dressed in rags, squatting down and rubbing his eyes. When he reached closer, Naveen saw that the boy was sobbing softly. Naveen went a couple of steps ahead, and paused. He turned to look at the kid again.
There was something in that boy’s eyes that called out to Naveen. He felt some kind of connection with that unknown child. Maybe it was just the sight of another human being in pain, much like he was.
Naveen turned around and walked towards the weeping boy. He lowered himself and sat down next to him. Without a word, Naveen offered the kid a piece of his sev puri.
The scrawny boy wiped his eyes, and accepted the offer.
For the next five minutes, the two of them sat there. They shared the rest of the sev puri, but neither of them spoke.
After they had finished the last piece, Naveen noticed a number of small marbles lying on the ground next to them.
“Yeh kiske hai?” Naveen asked and pointed at the marbles.
The kid picked up a couple of marbles and grinned at Naveen. “Khelna hai?”
Naveen returned the smile and nodded.
The kid gave Naveen one shiny marble, took one himself and lined up the remaining a few feet away from them. They played a game of marbles, something Naveen hadn’t done for a very long time. Naveen had been fond of playing marbles when he was younger. That little boy proved to be an excellent player.
For the next twenty minutes, the two of them played marbles. Naveen laughed and joked with the boy. He forgot all about his job and his girlfriend. He was just a kid again, playing a game in the park, having fun. There were no barriers between Naveen and the street boy. No barriers of wealth, social status or even age. They were just two people, enjoying a simple game.
This spark is seen so often in children, but not as much in grown-ups. When we were children, we were so free and uninhibited. We played, and laughed and cried. That was when we were really alive. As we grow older, we begin to learn about the ways of the world. We understand things like money and the hierarchy of society. We build barriers around us that decide who we can or cannot be friends with. We go to work and go through the motions of our routine. Our minds are always preoccupied with some worldly concern or the other.
What kind of life is that? Are we really alive? We become mechanical in our habits and are consumed by the barrage of thousands of useless thoughts that came to our brain every minute. We are always doing things that are required of us. The economic and social demands on us increase more and more. Somewhere along the way, we forget who really are. We leave ourselves behind as we move ahead in the rat race of the modern world.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could be children again? Wouldn’t it be nice to get that spark back?
Take a moment to step back from your busy routine. Get a room or a certain time of the day, where you can just be yourself. Do the things that you love to do, the things that bring that spark in you. Play that music you like the most, even if it is corny music that no one else respects. Read that book you always wanted to read. Watch that favorite movie of yours. Dance. Take a boating trip on the open sea. Experience things that make you feel alive again and release the enthusiastic child inside you. Then you will get some intuition of who you really are.
The Other Side
Ram and Shyam were classmates in Engineering College. Ram was studious and intelligent, and had always been a class topper. Shyam, on the other hand, struggled to concentrate on his studies, leading to poor results in his exams. In a couple of semesters, much to his dismay, Shyam came precariously close to failing. But, for the seventh semester final exams, Shyam made a sincere effort to work hard. When the results were announced, Ram scored in upper seventies at the top of the class, and Shyam was just a couple of marks behind him. Their reactions, however, were in stark contrast. Ram shrugged his shoulders and casually put his report card away. He barely smiled, and went on his way. Another class-topping semester was business as usual for him. His classmate Shyam clutched his report card, staring at it as though he were in some kind of trance. Then he looked up, with his pupils dilating. His face lit up in a broad smile, stretching from ear to ear. He held the report card high above his head and jumped up and down, screaming something indistinct. This was the first time he achieved such great results, transforming from the brink of failure to second in the class.
Amar and Prem grew up in the same building, and went to school together. As they moved to college, Prem blossomed into an extroverted personality who was especially popular with the girls. Amar remained relatively shy and reserved. His childhood buddy had gone from one girlfriend to another and was rarely seen without a girl by his side. Amar too longed for a relationship, but he didn’t get close to any of the girls he knew. On Valentine’s Day, during their third year of college, both the buddies set out on a mission. Amar was determined to summon the courage to go up to the girl he had been fond of for a while, and ask her out. Prem was looking for a new girlfriend and had his sights firmly set on the hottest babe from the junior batch. Both made their proposals in their own unique way: Prem with a necklace and a public message on the notice board; Amar with a simple rose and a quiet word in the corner of the hallway. Both were successful in their endeavors. Prem put his arm around the pretty junior girl’s waist, and strode out of college to join his friends at their favorite haunt. He showed no sign of surprise that he had received a positive response. After all, he always did, from every girl that he had gone after. His friend Amar, parted company of his new beau with a promise of a phone call later on, and then went to an isolated corner to celebrate. His face was flushed and had turned scarlet. His hair stood on end, and he couldn’t control the goose bumps that ran through his body. He skipped around in a circle and did a little dance. He couldn’t believe his luck.
Neha and Sonam were sisters, who went to different colleges. Both were passionate about dance. Every year, both the sisters entered the annual dance competition of their respective colleges. For three years in a row, Neha, the elder sister by a year, won the first prize. She was a naturally gifted dancer. Sonam too, loved to dance, but always got nervous when she went on stage, and fumbled her moves. She failed to win any prize. During their final year, once again the sisters geared up for the dance competition. This time, Sonam, found the self-confidence that she previously lacked. Both Neha and Sonam claimed the first prize in their respective colleges. Neha dumped her trophy alongside the others in her closet and didn’t give it a second glance. She was so accustomed to winning and had so many trophies. Sonam came homes and cuddled the trophy like it was a little baby. She balanced it on her head and jumped on the bed, giggling uncontrollably. Her dream of winning the dance competition had finally been realized.
Karan was seated comfortably on his couch. It was late in the evening, and he was watching his favorite television program. He sipped orange juice from a glass kept on the side table. He was almost oblivious of the glass in his hand and the juice in it. Arjun was outdoors playing tennis for three hours on a hot summer day, with the temperature soaring to thirty five degrees Celsius. The sweat drenched every pore of his skin. In the scorching heat, his body felt like the inside of an oven. Then, Arjun picked up an identical glass of orange juice and took one long, tantalizing, refreshing gulp. He exhaled deeply, looking at the juice as though it were an elixir sent down from heaven.
The point of the above stories is that everything in life consists of pairs of opposites. To truly enjoy the things that give us happiness, we must first experience the other side of them. Only then will we appreciate the value of what we have.
In fact, most things can only be defined in terms of their opposite. Imagine a place where there was always sunlight at all times. It never got dark or cold. It never rained or snowed. In such a place, there would be no concept of summer or winter. Summer only exists because of the contrast to its anti-thesis, the winter. One has no significance without the other.
The saintly people who are on a higher spiritual plane will tell you that you must move beyond pairs of opposites: good and evil, light and dark, day and night. To attain nirvana, you must find your inner, immovable center and be in a state of non-dual consciousness.
For those who are not on such a spiritual journey, think about all the things that bring you joy in your life. Have you previously experienced the other side? Now, think about the joys that you wish for, but haven’t experienced yet. If you are deprived of that pleasure, then you are currently seeing the other side of things. When you see people around who already have these things, just imagine how much more you will cherish them, when you do experience them, because you have had the privilege of living through the other side.
Amar and Prem grew up in the same building, and went to school together. As they moved to college, Prem blossomed into an extroverted personality who was especially popular with the girls. Amar remained relatively shy and reserved. His childhood buddy had gone from one girlfriend to another and was rarely seen without a girl by his side. Amar too longed for a relationship, but he didn’t get close to any of the girls he knew. On Valentine’s Day, during their third year of college, both the buddies set out on a mission. Amar was determined to summon the courage to go up to the girl he had been fond of for a while, and ask her out. Prem was looking for a new girlfriend and had his sights firmly set on the hottest babe from the junior batch. Both made their proposals in their own unique way: Prem with a necklace and a public message on the notice board; Amar with a simple rose and a quiet word in the corner of the hallway. Both were successful in their endeavors. Prem put his arm around the pretty junior girl’s waist, and strode out of college to join his friends at their favorite haunt. He showed no sign of surprise that he had received a positive response. After all, he always did, from every girl that he had gone after. His friend Amar, parted company of his new beau with a promise of a phone call later on, and then went to an isolated corner to celebrate. His face was flushed and had turned scarlet. His hair stood on end, and he couldn’t control the goose bumps that ran through his body. He skipped around in a circle and did a little dance. He couldn’t believe his luck.
Neha and Sonam were sisters, who went to different colleges. Both were passionate about dance. Every year, both the sisters entered the annual dance competition of their respective colleges. For three years in a row, Neha, the elder sister by a year, won the first prize. She was a naturally gifted dancer. Sonam too, loved to dance, but always got nervous when she went on stage, and fumbled her moves. She failed to win any prize. During their final year, once again the sisters geared up for the dance competition. This time, Sonam, found the self-confidence that she previously lacked. Both Neha and Sonam claimed the first prize in their respective colleges. Neha dumped her trophy alongside the others in her closet and didn’t give it a second glance. She was so accustomed to winning and had so many trophies. Sonam came homes and cuddled the trophy like it was a little baby. She balanced it on her head and jumped on the bed, giggling uncontrollably. Her dream of winning the dance competition had finally been realized.
Karan was seated comfortably on his couch. It was late in the evening, and he was watching his favorite television program. He sipped orange juice from a glass kept on the side table. He was almost oblivious of the glass in his hand and the juice in it. Arjun was outdoors playing tennis for three hours on a hot summer day, with the temperature soaring to thirty five degrees Celsius. The sweat drenched every pore of his skin. In the scorching heat, his body felt like the inside of an oven. Then, Arjun picked up an identical glass of orange juice and took one long, tantalizing, refreshing gulp. He exhaled deeply, looking at the juice as though it were an elixir sent down from heaven.
The point of the above stories is that everything in life consists of pairs of opposites. To truly enjoy the things that give us happiness, we must first experience the other side of them. Only then will we appreciate the value of what we have.
In fact, most things can only be defined in terms of their opposite. Imagine a place where there was always sunlight at all times. It never got dark or cold. It never rained or snowed. In such a place, there would be no concept of summer or winter. Summer only exists because of the contrast to its anti-thesis, the winter. One has no significance without the other.
The saintly people who are on a higher spiritual plane will tell you that you must move beyond pairs of opposites: good and evil, light and dark, day and night. To attain nirvana, you must find your inner, immovable center and be in a state of non-dual consciousness.
For those who are not on such a spiritual journey, think about all the things that bring you joy in your life. Have you previously experienced the other side? Now, think about the joys that you wish for, but haven’t experienced yet. If you are deprived of that pleasure, then you are currently seeing the other side of things. When you see people around who already have these things, just imagine how much more you will cherish them, when you do experience them, because you have had the privilege of living through the other side.
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