Will You Live With Me, Just For A Day?

I can see frowns, looks of anger, disbelief, can even hear voices shouting, “You too, Varalotti?” on the lines of “You too Brutus” (It’s actually Et tu Brute) of Shakespeare. I can see all our beautiful moderators reaching for their mouse to issue infractions. But ladies, please wait. Rest assured, most gracious ladies, that this is not an ‘indecent proposal’ . To make one is “mission impossible” for me.

This is a thread to share with you a day in my life – a day in the life of an ordinary mofussil accountant. I am no cinema star and do not expect any thing sizzling or romantic.

My work concerns numbers, taxes, accounts, balance sheets, money, banks, finance, investments and savings - all of them are important, but none of them promise to be even remotely romantic. That does not, however mean, that all my days are dull or worthless.

A day in the life of an actress is like the special sweet – badam halwa – which we normally eat on festive occasions. A day with this accountant is like the idly, which you eat (or bound to eat) almost day after day. But at times the routine idly could be really interesting, and depending on your view point instructive too.

While each of my days is only more ordinary than the other, based on the wisdom conferred by hindsight, I am choosing 8^th Of June as the day we are going to share. Numerology buffs dread this harmless number. Car owners are willing to pay anything to avoid getting a number that totals up to 8. But still I choose this day; you will appreciate my choice better as the day unfolds.

Whatever happened till mid-morning does not merit a mention in this forum. And then a mail popped in my mail-box. Another forwarded message. I receive hundreds of them, some of them frighten me to forward it to 2/5/7/9 persons depending on what I want to have – mild luck, good luck, great success or a jackpot. Ignore it and I will have bad-luck, losses and even death.

Before dumping the mail I casually opened the attachment which was a powerpoint presentation.

The words hit me with the force of a gale.

“We seldom think of what we have; but always think of what we miss. “
Before I could recover from the impact of these words, the next bomb was hurled at me:

“Don’t cry because it is over now; laugh because it happened.”

And then many similar explosions followed until I reached what I consider the greatest one:

“Perhaps God would want you to become acquainted with many different people in the course of your life, so that when you meet the right ones, you can appreciate and be grateful for them.”

And finally, “Life is drawing without an eraser.”

I was reeling from the impact of these words till the evening when God gave me something much more profound to match these words. The presentation came from a friend of mine, a woman with a beautiful mind and a heart to match that. I tore myself from my busy work to drop a three line reply to her.

I was to travel to Chennai en route to Chittoor that same evening. The rest of the day flew in no time. I rushed home, packed myself up. Around 8, I was slowly walking in the highly crowded, but loveable ambience of our Madurai Junction. As usual I had come early, with some 45 minutes to spare for the departure of the train.

A few days back one of my industrialist friends had visited me. He lectured to me on the relative merits and demerits of a Honda Accord and a Skoda Octavia. Both these cars are so good that I still cant decide which one I should buy, provided, not just a small provided but a big PROVIDED I have enough money.

My friend, an automobile buff, was talking about the fuel efficiency, the CRDE engine, the plush interiors, the power-weight ratio, after-sales service, the ability of each of these machine to gain a speed of 100 kms per hour within seconds of acceleration, and the heavanly pleasure of travelling in these cars long distance.

 

Part 2!

As I was slowly walking towards the train God decided to give me, not a powerpoint presentation which my dear friend had sent in the morning, not a comparison chart, another friend gave me some time back, but a profound, powerful presentation on life itself.

A few feet before me there was an old woman walking very slowly. Could not blame her for she was holding a child. Then I focussed my eyes on the child, and then I was shocked.

For it was no child. The soft, bright, beautiful face belonged to a teenage girl. But she was severely handicapped and had to be carried along. Perched comfortably on the shoulders of probably her aunt or grandmother, the girl was smiling at her little brother who was walking behind her.

And that sweet little thing was perfectly unaware of her grief and was trying to shower her love on someone close to her; but I was longing for some sheet-metal-boxes coming under the fancy names of Accord and Octavia. God made my head hang in shame before that girl, who was, in a sense, my teacher.

My God knows how poor a student I am. So out of his boundless mercy he wanted to reinforce the learning in me, before I could lose it. As I occupied my allotted berth, lost in thought for a while, I heard a ruckus in the next bay. I went to see what happened.

There were two blind women who were intent on finding out a particular seat number. The TTE came running along to assure the ladies, that they had reached the exact bay and they could sit down in those seats. Whereupon, one woman answered, “Sir, these seats are not for us; but for our friends who are getting in at Dindigul. ”

Saying that they slowly walked away holding each other and softly requesting others to move away. Their friends got in at Dindigul. In the party there was also a deaf and dumb boy who was conversing with some members in the group in the sign language. It should have been a good, interesting conversation, for the boy was continually smiling at the other person, the only lady who was not blind, in the whole group. No word was uttered, however.

As the train sped up the group lied down and went to sleep. I could not bring myself to sleep for sometime. I was reminded of one of my very rich clients, who is a very fussy traveller.

He would travel usually by the highest class of travel, the First AC. In those days that was more expensive than the air-fare. Even then he would insist on so many things.

For example he could not sleep if his First AC berth was right over the wheels. He would say, “You see, then not only the jolting will be too much, there will also be some extra noise, which I can’t bear.” Even if he got the ideal berth conforming to his tight specifications, he would at the most only sleep fitfully.

That man had everything in life and something more; money enough to live in the same standard for the next five generations, even if he did not work for a single day.

And these blind people, the dumb and the deaf boy, who did not know what the future had in store for them, who were not even sure of the coach they were in, were sleeping without a worry in the world.

As I dozed off to sleep on night of 8^th June, aboard Pandyan Express, another day in the life of an ordinary mofussil accountant came to an end. But I was sure that the lessons I learnt would last a lifetime, if not more.

The accountant is ordinary, agreed. But the day was not.

 

Dear Kamla,

I was feeling guilty that I missed my last Wednesday's post thanks to the hectic work-schedule. And was blessed with these touching incidents which made me even more sober.

Honestly I am not that enamoured by cars though, as a typical forty plus male does, I admire good cars, which are proofs of high quality work and dedication.

When I landed in Chittoor (the outside temperature was about 110 degrees F) I did not have any desire to go out of my hotel room. After the meeting the next day when I was travelling with a few of my brethren (In Freemasonry we call each other Brother) in the mid morning train to Chennai,I was enquiring about the family of one of the brothers.

He told me that his son was an eye-surgeon attached to a famous eye-hospital. Before I could finish pronouncing Wow he told me that he has a 30 year old daughter suffering from Down Syndrome. The girl, is of course, the darling of his house. But she has to be fed and taken care of. His wife is eternally confined to the home because of that. They rarely go out.
Oh, God, what do you have in your mind?

On a lighter vein I was pretty serious that many people should read this piece. So risking infractions from my beautiful mods, I had to give that title. Today, Kamla, even Bhagavad Gita needs marketing. Then where is this small fry, with his musings?

Thanks for not issuing any infractions, dear friend.
regards,

 

Dear Mythili,

Whenever some writer complains that he does not have any plot, I ask him to go to the Railway Station. A typical, crowded Indian Railway Station, where there are hundreds of meetings and partings and hundreds of scenes like the one I described. I find more compassion in a Railway station than in a temple. In the temple people vie with each other to get His Grace. But in a station you find people who already have an abundance of His Grace.

For how else, that physically challenged girl could let out a smile, which contained all the sweetness of the world? And how else that dumb and deaf boy be continuously smiling in his speechless conversation?

In our tradition, it is said that the right Guru appears when you are ready for him. I think I am eternally wanting and also ever ready for teachers. So God sent the girl to teach me something very precious.

Thanks a lot for those nice words, Mythili. I will be even more thankful if you can be kind enough to drop the suffix Sir behind my name. Then I may have to use the suffix Madam for your name. Have your pick.
Love,

 

Dear Manju Reddy,
Thanks for those kind words. Yes, the theme enshrined in the saying you quoted and in this thread is timeless. And we need to be repeatedly reminded of this basic truth, to sustain our balance in life.

regards,

 

Dear Sudha,

Thanks for the praise. Yes, you are 100% right. The forward mail set the tone for the whole day. You will be surprised to know that the person who sent the mail is also a member of this site.

I will give you 5 chances to guess her name. (The first clue is already given, that she is a lady.) If you can guess the name of the person I will forward that mail to you.

Contest open to all the dear ILites.

regards,