On a rainy
Wednesday, somebody somewhere (assuming a superpower exists) took a little pity
on me and gifted me a wonderful afternoon. After a tedious week of constant
toiling, I got the rest of the day off. I managed to drag along a friend for
the mere desperation of a good conversation. Everything seemed perfectly normal,
in tune with the rhythms of life. The pouring rain, the steaming hot idlis and
the perfectly brewed frothy filter coffee. We sat there for hours debating on
‘society’. What is society? Why do we call it society? Who is society and why
the hell should this word dictate our lives? And the list went on..
As we sat there fighting for the existence of the societal outcasts, there sat
another group of ladies next to our table. I don’t mean to pry on anybody but
the decibels yanked my attention to their table. So I sat there concentrating
very hard on my coffee cup and pretending to listen to my friend who by this
time is on a ferocious rant on the Martin Luther King Jr.
Meanwhile, in the next table the ladies were having a gala time by themselves
over a cups of coffee and onion ‘pakodas’. The harmless home-makers were sharing
a moment of privacy as they started unfurling their lives on their very plates.
These colourful lives seemed nothing more than colourful façades as they went
on to make fun of a certain rich neighbour’s son who found it a little
difficult to get promoted from standard eighth to ninth. The peals of laughter
seemed to have a certain sharpness, which made me shudder and wonder. Where did
it all start?
Where does man learn to discover humour in discrimination? Did it start from Hitler’s
racist cartoon of the Jews? Or was it simply deformity in minority?
I started taking a few steps back trying to figure out what could be the reason?
Or who could be the teacher? Because, isn't it impossible for a newborn to find
humour in miseries? And the earliest memories I could trace back to, was the summer
vacations in kindergarten.
I remember going to the zoo and circus with my aunt. I whole heartedly hated
both. I could never stand the stench of the caged animal and neither could I
see huge elephants chained to tree trunks and merely controlled by a frail man
almost one tenth the size of the magnificent beast. Children’s my age clapped, while I would look out for the nearest cotton candy stall. My intentions of
going to the zoo, was only to get pictures clicked with cotton candy in my
hand.
During that very summer in kindergarten; our entire class was taken to “Russian Circus”. We
were all so excited. Colourful posters painted the whole city
bright. Posters would follow us from hoardings to moving buses. Every time we
would spot the posters we would cheer and inform the whole world that the next
weekend we are being taken to this very circus. Most of us didn't know what
circus was, but we knew that there is going to be an elephant on a giant ball,
and may be a tiger that could jump through a ring of fire. Our colouring books
also informed us that there are going to be several clowns who are going to
make us laugh. Our excitement heightened, as the much awaited day finally
arrived. I remember watching a huge black bear, which had chains almost his
same weight sit on a chair for us. Me and my friends sat there motionless while
our teachers clapped. Why were they clapping? It is a feat? Was it meant to
amuse us?
Then a group of three short men with painted faces walked in the arena. They
were as tall as us, but they had voices of the grown-ups. We watched in utter
amusement as the three tiny men hit each other with hammers, bottles and
knocked each other down. The grown-ups clapped again, and we followed suit. Were
they laughing at the deformity? Or is it even legal to call something a
deformity as it is in minority? Who are we to say what is normal? Just because
the majority is 'proportionate' we term it as normal? On what grounds?
Brothers Tulsi and Basant, with pet puppy, of the Great Famous Circus. Photographed in Calcutta (By Mark Ellen Mark.)
Or were my teachers laughing at their painted faces? The exaggerated smiles,
the exaggerated frowns, pulling off a beautiful charade of painted faces. Almost
like them.
That day we learnt how to laugh at miseries. We learnt that slavery and
physical violence can conquer anything. We learnt man is capable of making a
wild animal behave like human, just by a crack of his whip. We learnt
advertising, and how to hide truths behind colourful lies. We learnt to embrace
lies. We learnt to see the world through the eyes of the grown-ups, through the
eyes of the society.
every where everybody feels they are different. every where everybody feels they should point out how they r different. r they not trying out to prove the deficiency in others. writing was good marketing but not having style of its own. i know u have style of your own for i have read it.
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