Venkatachalam garu goes for a walk every evening. He’s gotten into this habit after his retirement as a matter of necessity.

While he was working, his limitless duties, umpteen activities, and responsibilities that went beyond his means, left him with not a moment to breathe. Like a contestant in a running race, he ran without looking back, was exhausted and, now, finally, after his retirement got a chance to rest. Now he has plenty of leisure.

He has plenty of time now to look back and ponder over, and to evaluate the good and the bad in his life. There’s no more need for rushing, there’s nothing to do. He could just take care of his own tasks and not worry about others. Those days were gone. All he had to do now is to review the pleasure and pain of those days.

 

While Venkatachalam garu is at home, he sits on the front porch in an easy chair and mulls over the memories of the past—that’s one way of spending his time. The second is to go to the park in the evening, sit on the grass, watch what’s going on in the area and review the pages of his past.

During the course of his first activity, Venkatachalam garu came across some incidents that touched the innermost corners of his heart. While he was sitting on the porch, his wife and children would sit in the living room and talk loudly, raising their voices. Whether they intended it or not, he could hear them.

The eldest son says, “I can’t figure out why he has to be so mulish. He could have easily pulled the strings and got our little brother a better grade in school. It’s so common nowadays, so many people are using their positions and improving their lives.” It sounds like the younger brother’s life was ruined only because of father’s [Venkatachalam’s] incompetence.

The second son complains, “Huh! I begged him to let me finish my master’s. If I’d finished my master’s, I would’ve certainly got that job at the firm. He said I could study at home and write the exams, like that’s a viable option in this house! I’m stuck in this stupid clerical position with no hope of promotion.”

The third one takes it to one step further and growls. His grievance was not about education or job but about a hoard of cash father didn’t earn and hand over to him. “Look at this house! He got it built in this god-forsaken corner of the town! Look at the neighbors! Just ordinary middle class who could never raise above the level of average life. Had he gotten a house site in Banjara Hills or Sri Nagar Colony,[1] we could’ve built the house ourselves. What could have he lost if he’d not built this house here? He could not improve his lot and would not let’s improve ours,” he whines. He sounds like he was keen on making it good in the world and only his father chopped his wings and forced him to lie low.

This is the attitude of his sons. Now about the daughter who has been married and left for her in-law’s home. Each time she returned to visit them, she pours her heart out, wailing in the presence of her mother. Her major complaint was that her husband was not promoted, they couldn’t move up from scooter to automobile status, she and her husband couldn’t have a better life since all his family—her mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and brothers-in-law—depend on them, and all this is because her father did not find a better husband for her.

Venkatachalam’s wife listens to all their whining, moaning, groaning and the long-drawn-out complaints, feels sorry for them, accepts that their miseries were caused only by her and her husband’s incompetence and bullheaded attitude, and wipes her nose until the nose turned red.

“What a misery! We are not good enough even to help our own children! I think it’s true. What’s wrong if our children hope for a better life? Do they also have to live in narrow rooms and on concrete floors like us? Nowadays everybody is going to America and earning a bundle. They return home just in two years, buy cars, mansions and live a dazzling life. Here we are! What for? We could not help even one son to become an officer! Well, it’s their misfortune that they were born in our house. How could they expect a better luck?” says Venkatachalam’s wife, implying that only she and her husband cast a shadow like eclipse in their children’s lives and spread darkness over their future.

Comments of this sort reached Venkatachalam’s ears directly and indirectly. He heard such conversations only on rare occasions prior to his retirement. After his retirement he has been hearing these harsh words fairly frequently. That’s why Venkatachalam garu can’t sit on the front porch and enjoy his peace of mind. He did not have to ponder over the past. His wonderful sons and daughter are holding the canvas in front of him and pointing to him what a disgraceful picture it was, and thereby crushing his heart. His wife, as if supporting them, would dab her eyes with her saree end, blow her nose, point to the lines on her forehead and reaffirm their misfortune. For all these reasons, to go to the park became not only a habit but a necessity for him. He goes to the park located just outside their colony.

***

Venkatachalam went to the park on that day as usual. At the center of the park there was a Gandhi statue on a pedestal with concrete steps. Venkatachalam garu enjoys the scenery—the green grass, dewdrops on the grass, children playing at a distance, their screams—all these give him a kind of pleasure, a kind of solace. The park is not big but has a charm of its own with beautiful flower plants and attractively trimmed crouton plants.

Several other older people also gather there and sit on the cement benches. Young men stretch on the grass and chitchat. Little children play on the swing or the slide. The gardener, who’s instrumental in bringing pleasure to so many people, is hardly visible, busy in some corner digging a hole for a plant or in some other similar activity.

Gandhi, standing at the center of the park seem to be broadcasting, with his smile that, “This is what I’d call a peaceful atmosphere.”

Venkatachalam dusted off the bench with his uttareeyam, spread it and sat on it. He felt like he understood the message. Two minutes passed by. Suddenly there was a loud scream at a distance. At first it started out in a low pitch and then kept increasing, eventually filled the park and raised a huge commotion. Venkatachalam garu found that out after asking a young man sitting nearby. A group of young men formed into a society and elected a leader and were walking down the street in a procession. They were the fans of a movie star and celebrating the success of their society.

“Interesting. I can understand the fans forming into a society to express their admiration for a movie star. That much is good. But why all this other stuff like electing a leader, singing his praise? … Isn’t it beginning to look like folk song with a hero and a second hero?” Venkatachalam garu laughed.

“You don’t understand, sir. Anytime you call it a society, they must necessarily have a leader. They have to organize meetings to discuss what they can do for their favorite actor. They also have to collect donations as and when necessary. And they’ll have to fight if somebody made a negative comment about their favorite actor! All this is possible only when they have a competent leader. Their old leader was inept. That’s why they got a new leader now,” the young man explained in detail.

Venkatachalam garu couldn’t laugh, he was stunned. The procession kept walking peacefully for a while. In the next five minutes, some differences of opinion arose among its members and it led to a furor. It turned into bickering, jindabad turned into murdabad,[2] then followed fist fights and soon the police arrived and threw them all into lock up.

Venkatachalam garu watched it painfully. He turned to the gentleman, Gopala Rao, who was sitting next to him and said, “Look at them! Current generation youth rush into things for fun then and get themselves into trouble.”

Gopala Rao laughed. He brushed off the cigarette ashes and said, “Do you think they understand the meaning of the word pleasure? If they had known what it meant, they wouldn’t have developed this hatred, pigheadedness, and ill-conceived competition, and declared war on the other party and called it pleasure. It seems somebody honored a couple of days back another actor who is not their favorite. So, this party wanted to felicitate their own favorite actor and asked their leader to arrange it right away. The leader said, “Not now,” and so the members threw him out and elected another leader at once. That’s the reason for this procession—a show off. What’s there to be happy about in all this? Where’s the justification for a leader to be taken in a procession? They are doing it since the other party did it. Riot took place at that time too and these people are experiencing the same thing. They claim there is a pleasure in that too!”

“How did you know all this?” Venkatachalam asked with surprise.

Gopala Rao said, “That leader is no stranger; my own delightful son. He gives the same speeches at home too. I’m exhausted by his lectures and am tired of life. I had high dreams for my children, hoped that I should give them good education and help them reach high goals in life. I sold my land and had a house built; paid donations for admissions in colleges; I even took bribes when it became necessary. My eldest son lives in the States, the second one in Delhi, the third son, an engineer, lives in Vizag. And here’s the fourth one, left college while studying for his master’s degree. It’s five years now! I’m tired and let go of it. Our house is located in Ananda Sagar Colony, complete with all the amenities, I didn’t skimp on anything. We all were very happy at the time. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake. I took care of everything; gave them no opportunity to learn about responsibility. Not one of all my four sons is concerned about the house. They’re convinced that I’d take care of everything. They mind only their own business. People don’t care about others when they have a comfortable life.

“A couple of days ago, my neighbor was seriously ill. I panicked and was anxious to take him to the hospital. And this son said he had to meet somebody in his fan club and took the car. Luckily, my neighbor’s son managed to get a taxicab somehow. I went to the hospital with them but I was ashamed. Although I have a car, I couldn’t help my neighbors. They’ve always been helping us. Their son brings vegetables from the store for us occasionally. But when they needed my help, I could do nothing. His blood pressure shot up and because he did not receive medical attention in time, he’s confined to bed permanently.”

“What happened?” Venkatachalam asked with concern.

“He lost the use of arms, legs and also speech. There’s no guarantee when he could recover,” Gopala Rao replied.

“Oh, no! You can’t blame yourself though,” Venkatachalam tried to console him.

“Maybe that’s true but still something is tugging at my heart, like I’d done something wrong. We’re humans after all. Sorry. I don’t know about you but that’s how I feel.”

Then they introduced themselves to each other, chatted for a while and left for their homes.

Venkatachalam reached home and noticed that his eldest son was watching TV and his granddaughter sat down with her books and studying.

Venkatachalam sat in his easychair and was resting. His granddaughter was asking her father for meanings whenever she didn’t understand a word. She was admitted in Telugu medium school since it was closer to home and also the fee was lower. The girl’s mother whispers to the neighbors that maava garu, Venkatachalam, could have taken the initiative and got the little girl admitted in the English medium school. Venkatachalam heard those whispers several times and chuckled, wondering why the son himself could not do that himself if that’s what they wanted.

Venkatachalam lay back in the armchair and closed his eyes. His wife came and said, “Emandi![1] Sleeping already?”

“I’m not sleeping, just resting. What’s the matter?” he said.

“Bhadram garu came earlier, with a couple of others. He said they were planning to build a library and asked for donation. I told him that you weren’t home.”

“A library! That’s good. But isn’t our son home?”

“That’s cute. What can he do? You’re the senior in the house, you should be the one to give donations. Besides, how can he give donations? Bhadram garu may come tomorrow again. Give me the money, 40 or 50 rupees. That should do it,” she said and went in.

Venkatachalam smiled to himself. He heard the little girl ask her father, “Dad, what’s this letter? I don’t understand. Tell me if this is a misprint.”

“Chup! Stop asking me every little thing. If it’s a misprint, you’ll find the correct word on the last page in the list of corrections and misprints. Check the list,” he yelled at her and reverted to his TV.

Something occurred to Venkatachalam. He told himself, “That’s true. Corrections for the mistakes in a book would be given on the last page, and readers will have a chance to look them up and obtain the correct reading. But in the book called Life, we don’t get a chance to correct the misprints. We don’t have the opportunity to publish a list of corrections and revisions at the end. All the episode and events, once occurred, they’re done. The particular time slot will not return so we can say that this is what I really wanted to do at that time or suggest to the audience that this is how it should be read. The datebook will not recur. Past is past! We cannot do yesterday and today what we should have done the day before yesterday and yesterday. After today is past, we can’t turn around tomorrow into today.

“The letters once printed in the book called Life can’t be revised modified. Oh, God, what a huge mistake! I spent all my life, day and night, taking care of children, their education, family and property but never considered doing one, just one good deed like helping others or doing something that could be remembered for years to come. I could not save even one such sweet moment that could offer comfort to me. Everybody works for the betterment of one’s own family, no big deal. I did so much for my family but they attribute no value to my work. Earlier in the park Gopala Rao said the same thing. In other words, all the worldly attachments are based on karma.

“I wish I’d done some good deed instead of losing myself in the ocean of karma. It’s true that every person could not become a mahatma. But why should we forget human values. I spent all my time worrying about ration cards, school fees, vegetable bags, and festive meals. Instead, why couldn’t I provide one meal to a poor student at the least? Why not support an orphan? What a shame! I did not think of even these little acts of kindness. The kind of things I wasted my time on—haggling for every paisa with every person, not giving even a paisa to any beggar or giving something and asking for the change from a beggar, shortchanging the day laborer, and then I felt proud of myself for saving that paisa. Chi, chi, shame on me!”

Venkatachalam felt rundown. “Oh, God, how many mistakes have I made? And I can’t even correct them now. I can’t print the corrections list on the last page. What can I do in this old age? I think, the best I can do is to give to Bhadram garu as big a donation as I can, and write a huge book, narrating my entire agony and warn others that they should not make the same mistakes as I did; in fact, they should avoid all mistakes. That’s the only good deed I can do now. All other thoughts of mine, I will postpone to my next life.” He went on thinking like that and took a deep breath with satisfaction.

***

Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi and published on thulika.net, September 2003.

 (The Telugu original, “Akhari pageelo … achhu tappulu,” was published in the anthology, “nuurella panTa” Comp. by Bhargavi Rao. Bangalore: Prism Books, 2000. )

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[1] In some families, the wives don’t have a specific form of address for husbands. Some words like emandi is used in such instances.

[1] Wealthy neighborhoods in Hyderabad, capital of Andhra Pradesh.

[2] Jindabad means long live and murdabad means may you die.