‘What if you are exposed someday?’
‘That’s impossible! My subordinates go out of their way to help me. They tease me behind my back but help me in my work. I consider it their entertainment tax. And I am wanted everywhere. Whether at a picnic, or at office, or at social gatherings, Vaidya is wanted all the time. At the farewell party at my earlier office, I received nineteen presents. I must have been very popular there, don’t you think?’
I couldn’t make up my mind. Was Vaidya saying this in earnest? Was he merely pulling my leg, or was he proud of his ways? He continued,
‘I am the king at home. My wife does most of the work, as I’ve been declared a nincompoop. The children are wiser than their years. My wife, in fact, treats me like her fourth child. What else could a man want?’
‘Doesn’t she get upset at times?’
‘Why, of course! She, too, is human after all. But don’t wives of smart, intelligent, well-to-do husbands get upset? Perhaps they get upset much more.’
‘Why so?’
‘They have greater expectations. That leads to conflict. Intelligent husbands have a mind of their own, which wives cannot tolerate. Wives expect their husbands to not have any viewpoint of their own.’
This was getting interesting. I was almost convinced, but I needed to object for him to continue. I said,
‘Vaidya, I’m not convinced. You can’t disparage intelligence in this manner. It has its merits.’
‘I’m not against it. But it’s different in friendship and marriage. Two intellectuals can never get along well. A man prefers to make friends with someone less intelligent than him… Someone who has less money, less intellect, less everything. It’s the same when it comes to marriage. Every woman wants to be smarter than her husband. I accept that instead of fighting it. I want life to be smooth. And this façade of stupidity really works. People go out of their way to lend a hand. In times of emergency, I am never called. Instead, people rush to help me. What else could I want?’
I stared at him, dumbfounded. But I was still unable to grasp his logic completely. Did he not have any problems? Was he truly happy?
‘You seem to be lost in thought.’
‘You should be put on a pedestal.’
‘Don’t be in such a hurry. I have my troubles, too. In fact, I’m worried all the time. Even in my sleep.’
‘Don’t tell me!’
‘I mean it.’
‘What are you worried about?’
‘That people might find out I’m intelligent! Intelligent men have to be on their guard lest they be treated like idiots. But I have to be on my guard not to be found out as intelligent. I cannot give my opinions on politics. I have to act like a dullard despite wanting to laugh at a truly cerebral joke. I have to pretend to be clueless when it comes to shopping for things. These things take a toll, you see!’
‘How do you manage?’
‘Thanks to the blessings of my guru.’
‘And who is your guru?’
‘A woman – Gandhari.’
‘Don’t tell me!’
‘Yes! I’m telling the truth. She is the most admirable character in the entire Mahabharata. Much more so than Arjuna, Bhishma, Krishna or Karna.’
I was at a loss. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Each character in the Mahabharata gets a chance to show his or her strength, whether in war, intelligence or otherwise. But Gandhari is the greatest. She blindfolded herself voluntarily. Do you know how she managed that?’
‘No.’
‘She knew that she could remove the blindfold and see the world any time she wanted. It gave her immense strength and determination. I am following the same path.’
I laughed. I understood him now.
He joined me in my laughter.
‘Philosophy teaches nothing different. The whole idea is to drop the ego. Only then can one see god. People around me are happy as I too have –’
‘– dropped my intelligence,’ I completed on his behalf.
And Vaidya stretched his hand out for a high-five.
SADASHIV
You may know the story of the Arab and his camel. I don’t intend to tell you that story – at least not in the same manner.
You may ask why.
Quite obviously, you don’t intend to hear that story even if I were to tell it to you. But the times are changing.
I don’t need to say that either. You know it. Everyone is bearing the brunt of the changing times. We may console ourselves by saying that there’s variety in the way we get pushed to the limit each time.
We hold on to our egos as we strain under it. Egos that console us by saying that no one else could have borne the stress. That anyone else would have buckled.
We get a strange kind of satisfaction when we see others suffer more than us.
We are like the proverbial Arab in the story.
The camels may keep changing.
For this reason alone, one must, even in the twentieth century, tell the story of the Arab and his camel.
The Arab in this story was one Sadashiv Lakshman Jathar, resident of Kandewadi.
And the camel?
The camels kept changing. The Arab remained the same.
There was a whole line of camels – almost a caravan! The moment the first camel left the tent, the second was ready to enter. Sadashiv always ended up outside.
The succession of camels ensured that Sadashiv never got to stay in his own home. He had a distant cousin, a second cousin of sorts, who was camped out in his house. You couldn’t blame the cousin entirely – he’d fallen ill. Within two days of his falling ill, his son came to Mumbai for a couple of days to show him to a well-known physician. Once the initial investigations were completed and the physician handed over a prescription, the son had to leave for their village because he’d received an urgent telegram requesting his presence. He promised to return soon. He never did. Sadashiv realized that the son had found
