The man whom i respect
When I was a small boy, a school student rather, I used to sing. I dont think it was exceptional though many in my family thought so.
Thus I got a music teacher, a man who was in his early 30s, wearing rudrakshaas, chewing pan and smoking cigearettes and beedis. He used to come once a week (or twice?) to my house at morning 7 a.m. and start teaching me. Like anything you venture into, I found myself eagerly waiting for his arrival. And like anything else, the initial enthusiasm wore out, and my mom had a tough time waking me up as I was pretending that I am deep in sleep.
After getting up, I would sit in front of him with "BORING" written in bold on my face. The ritual went on for quite some time, with the knowledge of my parents. Suddenly, one Thursday, he didnt turn up as usual. After I was completely sure that he wont come, I got out of the bed on my own and was asking around why hasnt he come yet, with a fake tone saying I'm eager to learn. He never came after that, and gradually, him and the music he taught disappeared from my active memory.
Some years later, I went to attend a marriage of my relative. As we all were meeting after a very long time, after finishing the lunch feast, we were just sitting around the venue, a small temple's auditorium in a small town, with the men discussing general affairs, women gossipping, small children playing and some of us, who are caught in the no man's land in terms of age, shuttled between these people.
As it is usual, we have the practise of providing lunch to the destitutes in the round of meals. There, sitting amidst beggers and lifeless ex-prostitutes, I saw him waiting for his one meal a day. He didnt see me.
The man preferred the life of a pauper to teaching someone who was not interested in what is being taught. And I, who lost self-respect and dignity at this place where I'm working right now, continue to work.
Wish I had his resolve..
Thus I got a music teacher, a man who was in his early 30s, wearing rudrakshaas, chewing pan and smoking cigearettes and beedis. He used to come once a week (or twice?) to my house at morning 7 a.m. and start teaching me. Like anything you venture into, I found myself eagerly waiting for his arrival. And like anything else, the initial enthusiasm wore out, and my mom had a tough time waking me up as I was pretending that I am deep in sleep.
After getting up, I would sit in front of him with "BORING" written in bold on my face. The ritual went on for quite some time, with the knowledge of my parents. Suddenly, one Thursday, he didnt turn up as usual. After I was completely sure that he wont come, I got out of the bed on my own and was asking around why hasnt he come yet, with a fake tone saying I'm eager to learn. He never came after that, and gradually, him and the music he taught disappeared from my active memory.
Some years later, I went to attend a marriage of my relative. As we all were meeting after a very long time, after finishing the lunch feast, we were just sitting around the venue, a small temple's auditorium in a small town, with the men discussing general affairs, women gossipping, small children playing and some of us, who are caught in the no man's land in terms of age, shuttled between these people.
As it is usual, we have the practise of providing lunch to the destitutes in the round of meals. There, sitting amidst beggers and lifeless ex-prostitutes, I saw him waiting for his one meal a day. He didnt see me.
The man preferred the life of a pauper to teaching someone who was not interested in what is being taught. And I, who lost self-respect and dignity at this place where I'm working right now, continue to work.
Wish I had his resolve..
posted by greyMatter at 12:21 AM
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