Several of my
friends and close relatives follow the rules set by a man with well-maintained
tresses. They (the rules, not the tresses) are meant to lead to happiness on
earth. For those who believe in karma, also a ticket to reserve a good seat for
the Next Life/Hereafter.
The man’s whisker-haloed perma-smile
(unknown dentist zindabad) and perfectly designed robes are displayed on
lampposts, gates, commercial-spaces’ staircase walls, restaurants, upmarket
fashion stores and Facebook posts. Those in search of happiness attend courses,
mainly attended by corporate CEOs, doctors, architects, housewives with time to
spare, children whose parents have admitted them into expensive private
institutions, industrialists, award-winning and semi-retired actors,
politicians in the fray, executives of companies whose bottom line is healthy,
etc.
“You know,” I
said to Shri Husband after briefing him about this happiness business, “Bai
Goanna has done an advanced course.”
“Oh?” he
snorted. “So now she’s happy? At last.”
“She says it’s
cured her of her rashes, sneezes, bad moods, idleness, excessive thirst and
stomach problems.”
“No smelly
gas, then? Happiness for us, what say? And no excessive thirst? Should I stop
locking my liquor cabinet?”
“Don’t be
mean,” I said, “Have an open mind.”
“Do you have
an open mind?” he asked.
“Of course,” I
retorted.
“Sad,” he said
with an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever was in it has fallen out.”
I ignored the
barb. Tentatively I suggested: “I want to do the course.”
Expected
response: “Why?”
Me: “To
de-stress.”
He: “Why are
you stressed?”
Me: “Housework
is stressful. Dusting, tidying, sweeping, mopping, washing, drying, ironing, putting
away…”
He, with the
trademark interruption: “… if that be stressful, the maid should do it.”
Me: “I don’t
know whether they have special courses for maids. There are concessional and
free courses for those who can’t afford, but usually there’s a fee to be paid.”
He: “Knowledge
is not free then?”
Me: “They need
the money for the good, charitable work they’re doing.”
He: “Who’s
they?”
Me, very
cautiously because his logic-and-reason mood always means trouble: “The
volunteer-followers of...”
He: “…the man
with the tresses and robe?” I had seen it coming.
Me, hastily
adding: “He’s called the Big-Big-Boss or BBB. His volunteer-followers do lots
and lots of work in many, many countries. Billions of people are benefiting.”
He: “Charitable
work as in running schools, hospitals, and planting trees, right?”
Me: “Yes, he’s
a great multinational fundraiser.”
He: “Hope the government is taxing
him properly.”
Me: “Bai Goanna says everything in
the ashram is above board and transparent.”
He: “She’s been there?”
Me: “And come back very impressed.
Food, music, art, gardens, all very beautiful. There are quarters you can rent,
or buy. And she made a lot of influential friends. She’s getting a new job plus
she’s found someone to buy the stuff she makes, her product.”
He: “It’s called networking.
Everybody scratches everybody else’s back.”
Me: “She says it’s the BBB’s grace.”
He: “Until recently she was talking
about God’s grace. Replaced, huh?”
Me: “There are other things the
volunteers do. They go to
farmers suffering from drought and finance related problems
and natural disaster sites…”
He: “Floods
and earthquakes sites? I’ve seen only the Defence Forces helping out there.
Never seen any of the Big Big Boss-folks helping clear the putrefying carcasses,
either. Only government agencies seem to do those jobs.”
I changed
track: “Bai Goanna was so happy because at the airport, she could click a
selfie standing right next to the Big Big Boss. And you know what…”
He: “What?”
Me: “…BBB even let her hold his
hair-brush.”
He: “Seriously?
I mean next he might even let her brush the locks off his gleaming forehead.”
Sarcasm drips
off Shri Husband’s words like shampoo off a fish-scale.
“That’s not an
appropriate simile,” Shri Husband snapped. I told you, Shri Husband can read
minds. Dangerous, no? Maybe I should do a course in meditation where one can
empty out one’s mind before someone reads it.
I changed
track again: “Bai Goanna’s learnt how to do many things the correct way. Like
eating…”
Interruption three: “…you mean like chewing
each bite a hundred times?”
Me, in a display of great patience: “No,
eating recommended satwick food, exercising using the nose…”
Interruption six (maybe it’s four,
I’ve lost count): “Nose exercises? That’s novel.”
Me, now a bit irritable: “Breathing
exercises, yaar, inhaling-exhaling done properly, they keep illness at bay and
make everybody happy/contented/satisfied.”
He: “Bai Goanna has reached level one
of happiness with the selfie and brush incident. Now I gather she’s aiming for
level two? Up the scale to delight? And if the BBB gives her permission to wash
dandruff off that brush, that would be ecstacy? Eh?”
The conversation was getting out of
hand. I was about to discontinue it by leaving the room when Bai Goanna came in.
Her greeting “Hail BBB” was ill-timed.
More about what followed some other
time.
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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