Shri Husband
and I are not talking to each other again. The silence is cold, not cool, not
at all suited for a Sunday approaching summer. The quarrel has nothing to do
with either of us, but is related to an event that took place in faraway Delhi
last week, the World Culture Festival.
It began when I asked just how much
35 lakh is. “Rupees? Grains of rice? What?” was Shri Husband’s back-question.
“People,” I said.
“Why do you want to know that?” was
the counter-question. Shri Husband dislikes answering in the first go.
“Those many people are to gather in
one place in or near Delhi,” I informed him, “for a world culture festival.”
“Culture,” Shri Husband said, going
directly into lecture-baazi mode, “Includes what you eat, wear and talk, how
you sit, stand and behave with elders/ strangers, the rituals you follow, the
geography and history of where you live, where your ancestors have lived… so
what’s a world culture?”
I thought to myself, he loves the
sound of his voice.
“Culture,” he droned on, “varies from
neighbourhood to communities. Every profession has its own culture, see?
Bankers dress, talk and behave differently from soldiers. Doctors and
architects, auditors and plumbers have a few cultural similarities. A few.
Hotel managers, a-c technicians, train-drivers, cameramen, window-dressers,
sports’ coaches, all have their individual cultures. See? Take cities: Delhi,
Chennai, Mumbai, all have distinct cultures. See?”
Actually I didn’t, but when I don’t, I
pretend to agree anyway to keep arguments brief. I nodded a ‘yes’.
Changing approach, I added:
“Environmental experts are saying there will be damage to the flood plains of
the river which is the venue because of 35 lakh people being there.”
Shri Husband supposed that any place
that had 35 lakh people in one place would cause damage of some sort. Maybe. But,
he said, further changing the approach I had changed, that he was more worried
about the cows in his own neighbourhood eating polythene bags instead of grass
and we drinking the milk they provided. “I’m worried about the air I breathe
and the water I drink right here, not so much about what’s happening thousands
of kilometres away.”
Returning to my original question, I
asked: “How much is 35 lakhs?”
“Considering your maths-challenged
status, as reflected in your school report cards year after year, don’t bother
to figure that out.” Something in those words sounded impertinent; I have a
tendency to bash on regardless when somebody talks about my disability to
count.
“Tell me, tell, tell,” I urged, “how
much is it?”
Slowly, Shri Husband said,
“Thirty-five. One more zero, three hundred and fifty. Another zero, three
thousand five hundred, another zero, thirty-five thousand…”
That’s when the quarrel really warmed
up. Or the cold-silence period began. Because I got a feeling he was being
sarcastic and said so. He admitted that he was and pleased that I detected it.
“Control your anger,” he said. “Try
meditating. Deep breathing. Staying still. Thinking positive thoughts.
Dispelling negativity.”
Look who’s talking, I thought to
myself.
Bai Goanna witnessed what was
happening and said it was a very big deal to have so many people singing and
dancing and the spectators also came from different places.
“Thirty-five lakh different places?”
I asked. Naively, actually, but that made things worse. Shri Husband barked: “Don’t
be silly.” At times he says I won’t learn unless I ask questions. If I do ask a
question, it’s silly. Why do I always have to be the loser?
Bai Goanna figured something wasn’t
ok between us, so she advised us to meditate. She’s got a certificate to teach
how to change oneself, one’s attitude to situations, how to handle what destiny
dishes out, etc. “Take deep breaths, one count inhale, two counts out, then two
counts inhale, hold for one count, exhale, sit straight, cross-legged, hands
up, elbows out, put your fingers on your nostrils, not those fingers, hum like
a bee, loudly-loudly, recite the name of your favourite god a hundred and so
many times...”
Her lessons on meditation make me
wonder why/how people pay her to de-stress. To me, it’s quite bewildering.
“Calm down, smile from the inside, think of nice things, feel the cheer flowing
through you, look into the eyes of the person next to you, tell him/her your
deepest secrets…” not my scene, but to each their own. I prefer a hearty laugh
at a stupid joke, a sweaty slog at gardening or practicing a recipe to sitting
cross-legged in loose clothes with a bunch of like-minded persons chanting/singing
together in the outer room of someone’s house. I don’t mind the post-satsang snacks
and gossip. Once she said: “It’s ok if you drink liquor/smoke cigarettes, but
better if you don’t.” Strangely worded advice. It’s like saying it’s ok if you
don’t pay taxes, but better if you do. I confess, my philosophy-comprehension
quotient is low. Bai Goanna’s better equipped to talk about things vague.
“When we meditate or pray together,”
she pontificated, “the vibrations, the energy, causes miraculous things to
happen.”
“If,” I asked, truly curious, “if 35
lakh people exhaled together, say in one gigantic sneeze, would it cause
abnormal air currents?”
“I don’t know” would have been a
decent and proper reply. Instead, Shri Husband – who wasn’t even part of this
bit of the conversation-- went off on a tangent and talked about the scale of
traffic to be handled, the deployment of cops to prevent and handle crime, the
disposal of the garbage generated. Now my mind wandered, thinking about just
how many people were required to cause traffic jams.
With 35 lakh people, how many
taxi-owners, bottled-water distributors, anti-headache-tablet sellers,
chai-samosa-walas would have benefited is something I for one can’t calculate.
I’m dwelling on that boggling thought whilst there’s uneasy peace in the house.
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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