Once upon a time, there was a young man who had been suffering from a dreadful, degenerating disease for the past many years. It was a curious disease; the cause of which lay in his unhealthy lifestyle and living habits. The disease spread gradually – though with certain damage- making all his vital organs dysfunctional over years. His life, which had started off on a very promising note, had degenerated before his own eyes, and he had been reduced to a state of self-destruction, despair, defeat and - and above all-a denial. Much like a young drug addict – caught between helplessness, self-disgust and yet- continued depravity, he lingered on.. hopeless against hope.
Every night, he would go to sleep uneasy: his breathing was slow, his vital parameters signaling a mortal warning: “Change now! Or Else!” Nights were a struggle: he would toss and turn many times- anticipating disaster any moment. Was his life beyond repair? Or could he go back in time- pick up the pieces of his soul that made him the special, unique creation of God on earth, as they had hailed- upon his birth? Could he simply take control over his body, overpowering the slow-death-inducing cells? He would toss and turn around in bed all night: making a hundred new resolutions each: to wake up a new man tomorrow. To quit all unhealthy elements in his life- and walk out clean and sober. It will all be alright- he would console himself. The consolation, this small ray of hope, along with a sleeping draught (prescribed to him by his doctor) helped him survive each night. As one might guess though, and as it happens with most addicts – the next day was not much different from any of the earlier days: after all, the unhealthy is often the easy, and more pleasurable and after all- it was the only way he had known how to live life. The bright sunshine of the day helped him hoodwink the dark corners of his own heart and the noise of life drowned the voice of his soul. The dreadful nights of deafening silence followed. At night, he was someone else: a white, helpless ghost that cried of innocence, remorse and cursed the evil spirit that haunted his body during the day, and who had stolen his sacred soul bit by bit.
The evil spirit became the greatest enemy of the poor, helpless Ghost. The Ghost spent all night hurling curses at the Spirit; the latter spent all day mocking and torturing the lame, weak nemesis that was the Ghost.
One night, the Ghost – in a state of half-slumber- had a vision. He saw a faceless doctor showing him a pill- engraved, “Cure”; He jumped out of the bed and decided not to fall aleep- and let the Spirit take over, the next morning. No! Why hadn’t he thought of it before. He had been taking sleeping draught all his life- to “get by and around” the symptoms of his disease; to sleep over them. What he needed was a treatment- a cure. A waistband that would hurt him everytime he would indulge in something unhealthy, so bad, that he would have to fight his urge and terminate the action. A draught that would have him faint and topple over before he acted on the urge- thereby, preventing its execution. (Not AFTER- to avoid facing its terrifying outcome) A cane that would rap on his head – everytime the Spirit would infuse unhealthy urges into his head- and slowly and steadily, rap some sense into him. Teaching him the alternate model of living.
It was now Or never. He would walk up to his doctor the first thing in the morning, and scream for help- plead for some cure to rid him of this malaise- before it was too late.
Early, the next morning, the doctor, seemed a bit taken aback as he heard the suggestion. Taking in every word expressionlessly, this is what he thought: Give him the pill to END this illness? But it was selling the draught – year on year- that kept my kitchen running. Keeping the man alive just enough to make him pay. Keeping him diseased, just enough to make him keep coming back to me.
He smiled and said something to the effect that he understood the man’s problem- and could not help but sympathize with him. He offered him a drink as they sat, apparently, mulling over the solution. Looking through the window, he knew that the sun would be overhead soon. And the sleeping draught would work its magic sooner. And when he awoke next, the Ghost would disappear. All he had to do then, was to connive with the Spirit – an old chum – and hand over a stronger bottle of draught. When the spirit did awake, this time, a bit unsure, the doctor briefed him –with a grave look of concern on his face. He elaborated on how “the other doctor” was no one different: but one of their own: a cleverer evil spirit, out to make bigger business, selling his own drugs under the excuse of “curing” an ailment, which was clearly never possible to cure cure. “Imagine!”, the doctor snickered tactfully, “playing our own game with us - are we that naïve or what? Like we do not know what life is all about- how to live it- and how to deal with the consequences of what we do. I mean..come on..”. The man nodded… looking more and more convinced – but not completely so.
The doc leant closer to the man, and said in a conspirational whisper, “ .. of course we get all kinds of disturbing thoughts in the silence of night.. but the best we can do is sleep over them..right?..both of us know, in our hearts of hearts… that a pill like that would mean the end of our lives..pulling the oxygen-tube out of our systems- you think you’re sick now- when all you suffer from is a few hours of anxiety at night- but both of us know what life would be like- without the oxygen tube- sixteen whole hours a day! And you won’t even be able to sleep over those 16 hours. It’s a trap, is all I can say. That charlatan of a doctor too has his own spirit- believe you me, that makes him manufacture these shady pills – for doing god-knows-what!
Tough to know whom you can trust these days- you can scarcely trust yourself. If I were you, I would know better. Now sleep tight, tonight. And let’s talk some more later.”
The next night- as the man, turned and tossed around in his bed- struggling to fall into the dark chambers of slumber- he found himself wondering if the doc-with-the-pill would visit him again? That money-spindling-scoundrel! As if there *were* some cure to this disease! As if he were dumb enough to think that in a world of spirits- feasting off each other’s souls, some random doctor would want to help his spirit grow. As if that scoundrel were disease free! How was that possible, neither the man himself or his doctor were spared of the infection! Devil knows what he had mixed in those pseudo-charitable pills – and why he wanted to give them away…
No.. he wasn’t about to fall for this trap.. he didn’t know exactly how he was going to come out of the hell that was this sickness – (his own devil of the doctor – oh yeah! They were all the same crooks- had never given him any other solution) .. but, for now, he wanted to sleep his fears away. And he had the sleeping draught for the night.
A reconstruction of the most common conversation these days:
A: I don’t support this Anna movement. Shady guy- I hear he’s himself corrupt.
B: Forget Anna- What’s your opinion on the Lokpal Bill?
A: I dunnoo.. I don’t think their so-called solution will really be a solution. What will Jan Lokpal Bill do.. we already have so many systems in place for fighting corruption- how has that helped ever! Anna people are just getting unnecessary publicity.
B: Forget Anna- what systems/solutions do you propose for corruption then?
A: I dunno! .. See, there is always the Government’s bill- and I’m sure they’ll come up with something good.
B: So.. moving from “ nothing can prevent corruption” to “I’m sure something will work out” –what logic? Anyway, so you believe (on faith) in the political parties’ commitment to fighting corruption?
A: I don’t think you can trust any of these politicians – they’re all corrupt. And because of them, we also have to become corrupt. Let’s see what happens.
** Well, it’s funny how we keep complaining of the pain of our ailment, perpetuating the disease day after day- under the pretext of helplessness, and we don’t even want to suggest/design a cure or treatment.
And the Cherry on Top of the Icing on the Cake?
When some of us decide to attempt to doctor the disease, far from helping out or hearing out- many of us focus not on analyzing the merits/demerits of the cure so proposed- and pitching in with ideas for solution building; instead, our energies are diverted to the vital stats of the self-appointed doctors – and reading and writing gossip columns on them.
Which is fine, really. But the next time one files for one’s income tax refund and has to grease a few palms to get one’s hard earned money back- they would do well to look for a similarly-styled shoulder to cry on.
- The Common Man is an excuse devised by Man for all his self-inflicted (and self-perpetuated) woes.
- A perfectly able-bodied and healthy individual almost loses the right to a fair hearing in Court of Justice when they turn a blind eye, a deaf ear AND most importantly, an irresponsible mouth, to the process of justice.
- We are keen to spot the speck of dust in another’s eye, but fail to notice the log in our own (One of the spot-on truths in Jesus Christ’s Sermon On the Mount)
- The Masses, the People or whatever they’re called – are the most unreliable, immature, indispensable, and useful ally of the leader in any cause. Yeah- all at the same time!
More on these and more take-aways later.
Oh, and also, I feel really terrible for Dr. Manmohan Singh. To have led such an impeccable life for most years- only to have it almost undone towards retirement, is so sad.
