The gentleman stuck his hand out to shake mine and said,
‘You are absolutely right. It seems you’ve heard my earlier conversations. That’s good.’
‘I don’t find your behaviour funny at all.’
He looked at me for a long time, then said without a hint of irritation,
‘I’m sure you’ll agree that there must be some reason behind people’s words and actions.’
‘I agree.’
‘So I want you to know that I tell lies deliberately. My intention is to console people.’
‘What kind of consolation is this?’
‘By showing them that there are people in the world who are getting a much worse deal than them.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Let me explain. The human mind works in mysterious ways. When you meet a sick man, he won’t necessarily be cheered up by your “get well” message. He believes he’s in a world different from the one where healthy people reside. In fact, he’s irritated by the smiling and healthy faces that come to console him. The real consolation only comes when he sees people faring far worse than him. He’s irritated by healthy people because he fears he’ll never be able to be one again. A man in trouble is not looking for a solution to his problems. He is looking for someone worse off. The realization that his situation could have been much worse makes him feel happy. Do you follow?’
I nodded.
‘I provide that satisfaction. Yes, I tell blatant lies. I’m lucky to have all I want. I have four cars and two apartments on Marine Lines.’
‘So why didn’t you lend some money to the person who lost his wallet?’
‘You have a point there. But monetary help doesn’t always solve problems. The person may feel the burden of debt, and it doesn’t stop him from comparing. There are many people who can provide monetary help, but not many who can provide such consolation. I have taken on that task. So I request you: if you see me bluffing in some other situation, please do not expose me.’
We were outside the station now. And he wasn’t lying about his wealth. I saw an Impala car waiting for him. The man, wearing an ordinary shirt and looking very much like any other man on the local train, got into the fancy car and drove away. I stood there, staring at the tail lights of the car as it disappeared into the night.
VAIDYA
This is one of those problems that you’re always afraid of.
I have not yet found a way to solve it. I’ve travelled on the Pune–Mumbai route many times. From way back, when the fare was two-and-a-half rupees and one could still manage to get on without advance reservation. I’ve been travelling since the time one could encounter the shrill voices of vendors selling combs, goggles, Maganlal chikki, batata-wada, toys for children, books and many other things. Since those days when travel was not a punishment, and the railways were not considered public property. But the problem has still not been solved.
You stand in a queue for four hours to get a seat for the four-hour journey. You make it a point to check the departure time and date a few times, and ask a few other people as well to be doubly sure. You then pray that the seat allotted to you has not been inadvertently given to someone else too. You remember the warning signs outside the reservation counter, urging passengers to ensure that the booking clerk has entered the right seat number. There is the constant fear that someone will come over and demand the same seat as yours. But finally, the train moves, and you are about to breathe a sigh of relief.
Now all you need is to not be bothered by the constant stream of vendors, and pray for the train to reach on time.
But things are never that simple.
The moment the train moves, one of the fears turns into reality. An elderly gentleman, two or three bags in hand, enters the compartment at the last moment. You’re not sure if he knows that this is a reserved compartment. The elderly gentleman requests you to move a little. He has, after all, come with the explicit intention of finding such a space.
The first thought to cross your mind is of the four hours you’d spent in queue to reserve your seat. This gentleman, having made no such effort, comes in at the last moment and coolly asks you to ‘adjust a little’.
All eyes are on you. They all seem to be asking you to be large-hearted and give the old man some space to sit. They are safely ensconced in their own seats. It is you who has to ‘adjust’. You can read their thoughts: It’s just a matter of four hours, everyone faces such a problem at some point, and the seat isn’t going to remain yours forever, is it? You know that too. But you’ll look like a villain if you don’t give this fifth person some space to sit. Then there’ll be the dirty looks you’ll get if you refuse. And if you do allow it, the cowardice you show in not being able to stand up for your rights and the meekness with which you surrender what is rightfully yours will constantly plague your thoughts. And god save you if your wife is travelling with you! The dirty looks from your co-passengers will leave you the moment you disembark, but her comments will follow you home, and possibly reach the neighbours’ homes too! Recall the exchange:
‘So, back to Pune, huh?’ the neighbour asked.
‘Finally.’
‘You seem upset? Too crowded?’
‘Don’t ask!’
‘Didn’t you reserve seats?’
‘But of course. We travelled like kings.’
‘So what was the problem?’
‘He moved, when asked to “adjust”. What happens when there are five instead of four?’
‘Couldn’t he refuse?’
‘Not everyone can. Only those who know how to assert themselves…’
I wanted to avoid
