A bitter-sweet mix

LIFE never moves in a straight line. What we expect does not usually happen. Shakespeare said, ‘Things won are done, joy’s soul lies in doing’. As a school-going boy, I had developed passion for cricket. In my dreams, I often met Gavaskar, who would ask me benevolently, ‘Would you open the innings for India with me?’ In real life, our captain always instructed me to position myself as a ‘third man’. The scheduled practice commenced at 5 pm, however, I would reach the grounds at 3 pm. Our coach noticed my sincerity and included me in the school team as its opening batsman in the seventies.

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Life does not remain the same. It is always in a  state of  flux. Obsessed with cricket, I failed in the board examination, except in Hindi and English. I had to say goodbye to cricket. For a few weeks, I did not make any ‘public appearance’ among my friends, fearing that they would tease me about my failure. One day, I bumped into a classmate whose eyes twinkled with mischief when he asked me, ‘Where have you been yaar, these days?’ Like a ‘defeated soldier’ in Emily Dickinson’s Success is Counted Sweetest, I replied, ‘Malaria had struck me and the doctor had advised  me to stay indoors!’ 

Looking back, I feel that this failure in my adolescent life proved to be a blessing. Having become focused on studies, I was able to clear matriculation, the entry point to university education in those days. 

Four decades ago, there were many public libraries in Hisar. I became a member of some of these, paying a fee of Rs 20 for each. Besides providing newspapers and magazines, the managers of these libraries occasionally  organised literary functions attended by noted writers. Here, I got access to The Tribune too. 

My friend and classmate, Justice Suryakant, and I were regular visitors to Sarvodaya Bhawan to read books on the life and teachings of Gandhi. Dada Ganeshi Lal once gave an opportunity to citizens of Hisar to felicitate  Hindi writer Vishnu Prabhakar on his magnum opus, Awara Masiha — the first authentic and elaborate biography of Sharat Chandra Chattopadhyay. He had taken 18 years to complete this great literary work.

He reflected on the inherent  selfishness in humans and shared his own experience. ‘In a burning railway coach, I saw relatives and family members rushing towards the exit, trampling one another under their heavy boots. In moments of peace and prosperity, everyone seems to be good around you. When a great crisis engulfs your life, many people desert you.’

 Besides such literary programmes, Dadaji began the tradition of holding weekly ‘goshthis’ on national and international issues. To my knowledge, this glorious tradition still continues at Sarvodaya Bhawan. I believe that in Hisar itself, the creative ambience stirred the dormant writer in me.  As a humble reader and writer, I have been on the ‘batting crease’ of The Tribune for over three decades. Like the Bard said, ‘Experience is by industry achieved and perfected in course of time’.