The Brahmin and His Cow

There is this story about the Brahmin and his cow, which left an impression on me, even when I heard it as a kid.

A Brahmin was very proud of his garden and tended to it like a doting parent. His garden bloomed under his loving care and soon its fame spread in the entire district. Whoever saw the garden, always asked the Brahmin the same question- “Who tends to this garden?” Puffing out his chest in pride, the Brahmin would reply, “I do. With my own hands.”

Once, the Brahmin’s cow was accidentally let out of its shed and wandered into the garden. Seeing the lush foliage, the cow started munching away. The Brahmin, who had gone out for some work, returned home and to his shock, saw his cow chewing away his precious flowers. Blinded by rage, the Brahmin took a stout stick and mercilessly hammered the cow. So ruthless was his punishment that the cow succumbed to its injuries. The Brahmin was horrified! Killing a cow was a sacrilege. It was the ultimate sin. As news of the cow’s killing spread in the village, the Brahmin was heard telling people, “Brahma is the controller of our hands. He makes us do the actions which we do. So, I had no control on my actions. It was Brahma who made me kill the cow”. The simple and ignorant villagers believed him and soon the Brahmin felt he was absolved of his crime.

One day, an unknown gentleman entered the village. He too stood admiring the Brahmin’s garden. On being asked about the flowers, the Brahmin proudly proclaimed, “I have tended to this garden with my own hands”.  About the fruit trees, this is what the Brahmin said, “I have tended to this garden with my own hands”. He said the same about the coconut plantation also. Suddenly, the gentleman asked the Brahmin, “...and what about the cow?”. Taken aback at the sudden question, the Brahmin replied that it was not his fault that Brahma controlled the hands and he was in no way guilty. The gentleman, who was actually Brahma in disguise, scolded him and cursed him. “When you used your hands to create this beautiful garden, you took all the credit but when you used your hands to kill a dumb animal, you blamed Brahma. You are nothing but an evil soul and shall never find redemption for this”.

The reason I bored you with the story here is to pin point how we too resort to this tactic. When our child does something good, it is “Mera beta…my son”…and when he/she does something wrong, we go, “Your son is becoming naughtier by the day…aakhir tumhara beta hai”.  When we are praised for our spotless houses, it is always, “ I am very particular about cleaning my house myself. I always like it neat and clean” but when we litter our surroundings, it is “Our government/ municipality keeps the city so dirty…what difference does one paper thrown by me make?”.

Why is it that there is so much rush to take credit but no one to take up responsibility?

Road Rage

This Sunday, I met up with a dear friend after a very long time. After a leisurely dinner, we were standing near Lokhandwala Circle, Andheri, where I was witness to a terrible case of road rage.

A red Quallis was in front of an autorickshaw and there was a decent gap between them. However, a silver Merc suddenly appeared in front of the Qualis and he had to brake suddenly. The auto driver did not have very sharp reflexes and was a bit slow in applying the brakes which caused him to bump into the Quallis. Tell me, how much damage could a puny auto cause to the mighty Quallis? But no, the driver of the Quallis was an Alpha male, who just had to prove the he was the “Road King” and would take no nonsense from anyone. He sped ahead, reversed his car and with full speed, backed it into the auto! The poor unsuspecting passenger sitting in the auto was thrown out of the auto by the impact!

I could not believe my eyes! How could anyone be so ruthless ? Luckily, before the matter could escalate into something more ugly, which I am sure it would have, the sudden  arrival of a police van made both drivers sit in their respective vehicles and speed away.

Road rage is becoming an epidemic. The blaring horns, the pock marked roads, the hawkers encroaching upon the roads, the ever increasing number of vehicles and the ever “under construction” pits and ditches are enough to try the patience of a saint..so where do mere mortals stand a chance? But giving vent to this irritation and frustration in such extreme ways is too dangerous.

I learnt driving a car about 4 years back. It was a big achievement for me at the age of 40 and I was mighty proud about it. Suddenly, I felt empowered. My little Maruti 800 could speed away on the pot-holed roads while the powerful Merc and Audi owners had to drive oh-so –carefully so as to not damage their super expensive set of wheels. Many a times, I have experienced the kick of driving speedily and over taking the big cars…and boasted about the same too. Now that my son is soon going to start driving himself, I am feeling the jitters. I curse myself for boasting about my driving thrills. I should have set an example to him but the ego of becoming a driver, that too at 40, was something I wanted to tom-tom about.

I have since become more conscientious about my driving. I keep noticing how more and more drivers are paying no heed to signals and other traffic rules. There seems to be no respect for the law and youngsters, especially, have become more brash and flash their parents’ money when caught by the traffic policemen. If each one of us takes a vow to respect the traffic rules, I think atleast half of the road rage will disappear and hopefully, the roads will become a little more sensible. I hope when my son takes to the road, he remembers the more ‘sober’ avatar of his mom.

Back to the Future

As a working couple, my husband and I are one of the millions in this maximum city who are always on the move. After catching up with how the day was and the usual cribbing about the traffic/boss/ deadlines and other pain points, it is time to hit the sack…to recharge mind and body to face a similar grueling day ahead.

Last night, just as we were channel surfing, we ended up watching a documentary based on a very isolated tribe located on a remote island. As the documentary was more than half over, we could not catch the name of the island. We watched how the tribals lived. They had very clear-cut roles… the men had to go hunting, the women folk took care of home and hearth and the family, the children played joyously while the elders supervised all the activities. They lived a very self-sufficient life; the forest provided them with all their requirements- food, wood, fuel and shelter. They blended so beautifully with the ecosystem that there was no danger to Nature. They looked blissful and content.

Watching this, my husband remarked, “They too are humans like us, they too are fulfilling all their needs and wants. Why is it that we have complicated our lives so much to fulfill our wants?” Sleep was forgotten as the debate started. Questions and counter-questions started flying back and forth- “Are they happy without cars, TVs, computers, etc?”, “We have all that and much more- are we happy?”, “They have to struggle for everyday needs”, “We lead such stressful lives …isn’t our life also a struggle?”.

  After a lot of discussion, we could not arrive at any conclusion. But the thought kept wandering around in my head- “Why have we complicated our lives?” 

I recalled a radio interview of a vegetable vendor who was speaking about the soaring vegetable prices. He had been in the business for more than 40 years. Till a few years back, Mumbai could produce its own vegetables like cabbage, cauliflower, beans, etc in the fertile belts of Vasai- Thane. This helped in keeping the prices low as dependency on Nasik/ Pune and other supply centres was not much. However, with these belts now being turned into mass housing schemes (scams??) all vegetables have to be outsourced. Pune and Nasik too are turning into mini-metros and most of the farmland there has been converted to housing. So the areas of vegetable procurement are going further into the hinterland, making it an expensive venture.

What is the solution? Back to Basics! Grow your own vegetables in your balconies, gardens, compounds…this is no exaggeration…this is the picture of the future! We may have all the gadgets in the world, but can we eat them? So it is back to satisfying the lowest needs- food, clothing, shelter.

In the Eastern philosophy, thinking is not linear like the Western philosophy, but more cyclical. So, what begins must end and what ends must begin afresh. Maybe, it is payback time to Nature for all the atrocities committed by us and soon we may have to learn to live like the tribals- don’t laugh, it could happen sooner than you think.  

The Lost Art of Neighbourly Love

The funniest memory I have of my childhood days is- believe it or not- searching for a lock to put on the main door!  Weird, isn’t it? I never remember doors being closed during day time in our building. Throughout the day, all the doors on all the flats in our building remained open. There was so much of openness …one could just walk into anyone’s home without informing/ announcing/ invitation. It was as if we were not neighbours but extended family members. Hence, while travelling out of station, the lock for the main door would be the most searched item…it was never used otherwise.

Children had the option of checking out everyone’s kitchen to see if there was a better option available to the “green, healthy ghaas phoos” made at home. If one felt sleepy, one had to just go to sleep at whosoever’s home one was playing at. No one had heard of booking guests into hotels or lodges…what were neighbours for? Be it a marriage or a mundan in anyone’s family, guests were adjusted in any neighbour’s home.  If there was an emergency at one’s “native place” , parents just left in a hurry, assured that the children would be taken care of by their neighbours.  Just like that….no questions asked. It seemed the most natural thing to do. After all everyone was a migrant back then. Everyone was a stranger to the big, bad world of Bombay.  Be it making pickles and papads during summer or “faraal” during Diwali, every activity was a “joint venture”. All the neighbours got together to make this. We kids has the privilege of being watchmen; we shooed away crows and sparrows and vigilantly guarded our “booty”. No movie was watched “only by hum do aur hamare do”. It was a grand affair with all the neighbours going together- Fathers donning freshly ironed shirts, mothers in their brightest best and we kids wore our biggest smiles. Moving outings were nothing short of pilgrimages- more valued in fact!

I wish I could pass on this legacy of idyllic neighbourly love and sharing to my child. For him these tales are nothing short of fairy tales. For him, it is a Utopian world, beyond his imagination. For him neighbours are those who live behind closed doors, with whom he shares the occasional “hi” or “hello” . He meets them at society functions twice a year.  Sweets and savouries are exchanged with them during the annual Diwali celebrations. For him they are strangers whom he ‘recognizes’, not “knows”.  

How ironic it is that in this age of technology, we can talk to persons on the other side of the planet instantly, but cannot walk across to greet our neighbours. Can we “confirm” our “friends” status with our neighbours once more?