Having finished his bath Ganeshrao was putting his clothes on. White terycotton shirt and white stringed pyjama of the same cloth. From his movements his body seemed more tired than that of his normal fifty-year’s age. And why not, more than age he was harassed by various ailments like BP, Sugar and Acidity. He recollected…
When he was young he wore trousers and shirt …
That too, tucking in, at the beginning … very neat….
How changes take place slowly in human beings. …
And circumstances also have such great influence on them …
While Ganeshrao was hurrying to put on clothes and get ready, in the kitchen, his wife was unnecessarily banging vessels and cribbing aloud. …as usual…
“You are serving since 25 years … serving since so many years … and what did you earn? Not even casual acquaintances in the department. …This was such a nice taluqa place .. and we had our own house here … But they caught hold of you and flung you 70 kilometres away on transfer. .. In some god forsaken village… they thus got permanently rid of their headache …. I was telling you so many times --- true honesty is of no use. … Only honest people have to suffer like this, like us.
A sentence flashed in Ganeshrao’s mind.
Straight trees are cut first.
“Does it apply to me?”
“It does, to some extent.”
Whose quote is it?
From which book?
“I am unable to remember.”
“But it seems Chanakya has written something alike in our Sanskrit.”
His wife was continuing with her chattering.
“But who will listen to me? …Just because I am not much educated.
Common sense is always superior to bookish knowledge… But who is there to listen to me ….”
Ganeshrao could no more remain quiet. The mention of bookish knowledge had hurt him.
“Will you now stop grumbling for a while … I am getting ready to go there … Am I not going to the bungalow for that very purpose?”
annoyed, he said sharply.
“So, my talk seems nothing but grumbling to you…. Remember, all these years I have managed the household and taken care of you. .. Last time, had not my brother helped you, who knows, where you would have been rotting … in your job….
“Your brother only talks … He does not help … only makes tall claims.”
Ganeshrao was also now getting into a combat mood.
“Look. I am telling you once for all, you shall not say anything against my people,” his wife warned him.
“And if I do say something, what would you do? Will you leave me?”
“Hmm, that’s what you want, don’t you? If I leave you, you can go and get a brand new bride.”
Just then their son Vinya came out. At 25-26, he was heftily build and had a rugged face.
“Quiet …Shut up,” he shouted.
“Sala, these old-hags are making life impossible to live.”
At once, both fell silent.
What do we say to these today’s youngsters? …
He calls his parents ‘old-hags’.
But let it be, at least he addresses them with respect.
One should be thankful for these small mercies.
Their son, seething in anger, went in and again came out. Seeing that Ganeshrao was getting ready very slowly, he snapped,
“We are going to the bungalow, aren’t we?”
“Yes. I have almost finished”, Ganeshrao said pretending to hurry through.
‘And don’t just talk about your transfer... remember about my job, also. That is most important of all.”
“Yes,” Ganeshrao mumbled.
Vinya was all ready in his black T-shirt and black jeans.
“You are going to come in these clothes?”
“Yes, what’s wrong with them?”
“Why don’t you wear the dress you bought for Diwali? … The T-shirt and jeans may not look nice to meet those people in.”
“Will not look nice? Tell them that my son is always like this. And then this is today’s fashion.
“But..”
“Don’t bother about my clothes and looks. Just take care of how to talk to them and what to tell them, that’s enough.”
Ganeshrao did not reply. He just waved his hand in the air as if to say, “Now what do I say to him?”
Complete novel - Honey - A story of a feminine power
Re: Complete novel - Honey - A story of a feminine power
Ganeshrao and his son, Vinya, got into a rickshaw and started for the Bungalow. In the rickshaw, the sponge seat next to Ganeshrao was vacant but Vinya did not sit on it. He did not sit beside Ganeshrao. He sat on the wooden plank fixed opposite. When Ganeshrao asked him to sit beside him, he declined, saying,
“It’s fine here. I’ll get a good breeze”
Ganeshrao knew that sitting on the wooden plank or on the sponge seat next to him would not make any difference to the breeze coming in.
Generation gap. What else?...
Or else, have I failed in creating a friendly relationship with my son?…
What could I do? Right from the start, the equation of my life had gone awry...
I blundered while selecting a bride and, as a result, a highly tempered wife came into my life. But she was not temperamental earlier. She has become so only recently. Since last 5-6 years. Is she also feeling that she has married a wrong husband? Besides, has given birth to such an idiotic son? ...
It is true that because of my job I could not pay much attention to his studies, still …
There are other children whose parents also do not pay any attention to their studies ….
How do they do well in life?...
It is my son who is a dullard....
He was born when I was of his present age...
So far, nothing has happened about his job....
The question of his marriage is also far off....
What is there to do, except blame and curse fate?...
Just then the road began to climb steeply. The rickshaw driver got down and began to pull his rickshaw. He was pulling it with his entire mite. As he pulled the rickshaw, the muscles of his dark legs and dark hands began to bulge. The veins swelled almost making one afraid that they would burst any moment. Further, under that hot summer morning sun he also began to sweat profusely. But maybe, the sweating was more due to his physical strain than due to the summer heat. Ganeshrao felt pity on the rickshaw driver.
“I’ll get down. It will make it easy for you.”
The rickshaw driver did not answer him. He was engrossed in pulling the rickshaw. When the rickshaw slowed down a little, Ganeshrao took the opportunity and got down. Vinya sneered at his father and continued to sit in the rickshaw looking at the shops on the pavement as they passed by.
“Why did you get down, Sir ? Be seated. The steep climb is almost over. Then on, it is all slope, downwards,” the rickshaw driver said.
When the steep climb ended, the rickshaw driver paused allowing Ganeshrao to once again get into it. The rickshaw driver sat on his seat and the rickshaw began to quickly roll down the slope without support of the pedals. The rickshaw driver, who had earlier seemed tired and worn out, now began to rotate the pedal freely in reverse direction. He even began to whistle a tune under his breath.
What should one make of this?...
Even amidst hardship and a strenuous life he is able to be joyous...
This would mean that being happy does not depend on one’s circumstances, it depends more on one’s outlook towards things....
My condition is a hundred times better than that of the rickshaw driver.
Then, why is it that I am always sad and burdened…
The rickshaw pulled near a vast compound that had huge trees on all its four sides. Ganeshrao and Vinya got down.
“How much?” Ganeshrao enquired.
“Four,” the rickshaw driver answered.
Ganeshrao took out a five-rupee note and gave it to him. He took it and began to search for a one-rupee coin to return. He foraged first, in his right side pocket and next, in his left.
“Don’t bother, keep the change,” Ganeshrao was tempted to tell him.
But he stopped himself in the nick of time.
After reaching home, his son Vinya would have certainly raised a hue and cry.
“You never have any money for me but you have plenty to give in charity to the rickshaw driver.”
Just then, the rickshaw driver found a rupee coin which he placed in Ganeshrao’s hand. Ganeshrao put the coin in the left pocket of his shirt. This was his regular habit. Small notes went into his top pocket, loose coins in the left pocket of the shirt and higher-value notes were tucked in the secret pocket that was stitched in the cloth-vest that Ganeshrao wore under his shirt.
“It’s fine here. I’ll get a good breeze”
Ganeshrao knew that sitting on the wooden plank or on the sponge seat next to him would not make any difference to the breeze coming in.
Generation gap. What else?...
Or else, have I failed in creating a friendly relationship with my son?…
What could I do? Right from the start, the equation of my life had gone awry...
I blundered while selecting a bride and, as a result, a highly tempered wife came into my life. But she was not temperamental earlier. She has become so only recently. Since last 5-6 years. Is she also feeling that she has married a wrong husband? Besides, has given birth to such an idiotic son? ...
It is true that because of my job I could not pay much attention to his studies, still …
There are other children whose parents also do not pay any attention to their studies ….
How do they do well in life?...
It is my son who is a dullard....
He was born when I was of his present age...
So far, nothing has happened about his job....
The question of his marriage is also far off....
What is there to do, except blame and curse fate?...
Just then the road began to climb steeply. The rickshaw driver got down and began to pull his rickshaw. He was pulling it with his entire mite. As he pulled the rickshaw, the muscles of his dark legs and dark hands began to bulge. The veins swelled almost making one afraid that they would burst any moment. Further, under that hot summer morning sun he also began to sweat profusely. But maybe, the sweating was more due to his physical strain than due to the summer heat. Ganeshrao felt pity on the rickshaw driver.
“I’ll get down. It will make it easy for you.”
The rickshaw driver did not answer him. He was engrossed in pulling the rickshaw. When the rickshaw slowed down a little, Ganeshrao took the opportunity and got down. Vinya sneered at his father and continued to sit in the rickshaw looking at the shops on the pavement as they passed by.
“Why did you get down, Sir ? Be seated. The steep climb is almost over. Then on, it is all slope, downwards,” the rickshaw driver said.
When the steep climb ended, the rickshaw driver paused allowing Ganeshrao to once again get into it. The rickshaw driver sat on his seat and the rickshaw began to quickly roll down the slope without support of the pedals. The rickshaw driver, who had earlier seemed tired and worn out, now began to rotate the pedal freely in reverse direction. He even began to whistle a tune under his breath.
What should one make of this?...
Even amidst hardship and a strenuous life he is able to be joyous...
This would mean that being happy does not depend on one’s circumstances, it depends more on one’s outlook towards things....
My condition is a hundred times better than that of the rickshaw driver.
Then, why is it that I am always sad and burdened…
The rickshaw pulled near a vast compound that had huge trees on all its four sides. Ganeshrao and Vinya got down.
“How much?” Ganeshrao enquired.
“Four,” the rickshaw driver answered.
Ganeshrao took out a five-rupee note and gave it to him. He took it and began to search for a one-rupee coin to return. He foraged first, in his right side pocket and next, in his left.
“Don’t bother, keep the change,” Ganeshrao was tempted to tell him.
But he stopped himself in the nick of time.
After reaching home, his son Vinya would have certainly raised a hue and cry.
“You never have any money for me but you have plenty to give in charity to the rickshaw driver.”
Just then, the rickshaw driver found a rupee coin which he placed in Ganeshrao’s hand. Ganeshrao put the coin in the left pocket of his shirt. This was his regular habit. Small notes went into his top pocket, loose coins in the left pocket of the shirt and higher-value notes were tucked in the secret pocket that was stitched in the cloth-vest that Ganeshrao wore under his shirt.
Re: Complete novel - Honey - A story of a feminine power
Ganeshrao and Vinya were about to enter the vast compound when a security guard stopped them. Only when they identified themselves and told him the purpose of their visit, did he allow them in. They entered and began to walk on the wide road lined on both sides with ornamental trees. All along the road there were tall, high-rising Ashoka and Nilgiri trees. As the two walked on, the bungalow began to show itself little by little. When they went further, the entire bungalow presented itself to them. No, it wasn’t a bungalow, it was virtually a palace. A huge compound wall ran all along its four sides and huge trees stood majestically within. From outside only the trees were visible and no one could suspect that they had a bungalow in their midst. When they reached the bungalow, they saw that it was teeming with people. Outside the bungalow several flocks of people squatted under the shade of trees. There were people of all sorts… in dhotis, pyjamas and in shirt-trousers. People of all kinds. There seemed to be more people from villages wearing dhotis.
Among them some, who were attired in Khadi shirt and pyjama or dhoti and who were leaders or who considered themselves leaders, were strutting about. Some how Ganeshrao was given to believe that any one sporting a Gandhi cap that too, placed at an angle on his head, was a political leader. Ganeshrao was always in awe of such people and therefore as far as possible he avoided coming in contact with them. But today...the situation was such that he was helpless.
People were lingering outside the bungalow waiting for their turn.
But it would not be necessary for me to wait like them...
I know the Minister from close quarters....
Being sure of this, Ganeshrao threw a glance at the people waiting all around. There was just a hint of contempt in his glance.
“Vinu, come. Let’s straight away go in,” Ganeshrao said to his son, proud and confident of his close acquaintance.
Both went inside the bungalow. At the entrance there was a huge lounge for people to wait. There were arrangements for their seating. Ganeshrao entered the hall accompanied by Vinu. He once again glanced at those who were awaiting their turn. Some of them, wearing freshly starched clothes like politicians, were seated with full confidence and expectation. Some people were pathetically looking at the inner door waiting for them to be called. Seeing so many people, some of whom were certainly, higher in status and prestige than him, Ganeshrao’s confidence began to waver. But no, why should he fear when he knew the Minister so closely?
He shook off the feeling of inferiority and, looking around; he chose one of the four-five doors that could perhaps take him to the Minister. He unhesitatingly began to go through it.
A strong ruffian steeped in his way and asked roughly, “What do you want?”
“I want to meet the Minister”
“All these people are also here to meet the Minister,” the man replied gruffly.
“No. But I know the Minister very well,” Ganeshrao told him with a certain pride.
The man looked at Ganeshrao from head to foot with contempt and said, “Everyone who comes here claims the same thing. Go to that counter. Write your name, address and purpose of visit on a slip of paper and leave the slip there. When your name is called, only then can you go in.”
“But …”
“Look! If you really know the Minister that well, you will be called soon,” the ruffian tried to explain him as he would to a naïve child.
Even then Ganeshrao did not feel like moving away. Another man, who was sitting nearby and had overheard this exchange, calmly explained the procedure of going in. Ganeshrao’s face reflected the insult which he was facing just then. Trying to ignore the insult and avoiding Vinya’s eyes, he meekly went to the counter. There, too, was a long queue. He joined the queue. Ganeshrao sensed that Vinya was purposefully trying to catch his eyes.
Is this your ‘close’ acquaintance? He seemed to ask.
Instead of facing this insult it would have been better had he not known the Minister. At least he would not have been so insulted.
Perhaps this was what Vinya wanted to tell him, Ganeshrao thought, looking at him from the corner of his eyes.
When his turn came in the queue at the counter, Ganeshrao handed the slip on which he had written his name, address and purpose of visit. Then, turning back, he tried to spot a vacant chair in the lounge. There was none. He looked all over. He also walked around the lounge. He couldn’t find a single unoccupied chair. Vinya was standing at the door giving his father an angry stare. At last Ganeshrao began to avoid his son’s angry and annoyed stare.
“Ganeshrao, Sir,” suddenly a voice sounded from behind.
Ganeshrao turned in surprise.
Good, at least there was someone here who recognised him.
He felt relieved. Before turning back, he threw a glance at his son. There was no change in the expression on his son’s face. When he turned he saw that a villager, calling him, had got up from his chair. He could not place him. Perhaps the villager had recognised him. In the course of job one comes across thousands of persons. It is impossible to remember each and every one of them. Moreover, with his advancing age his memory also had not remained sharp as before.
He smiled at the villager.
“Come, Sir…have this seat,” the villager offered him his chair.
Happily he walked to the villager. He was truly touched. Patting the villager affectionately on his back, he said, “Oh,.let it be. Remain seated. I’ll go and wait outside.”
“No, Sir. How can that be? You, remaining standing and I sitting in this chair? Please, Sir, take the chair,” he offered politely.
“It did not seem proper to make the villager get up from his seat. He could not however, refuse his repeated pleadings. Finally, gratefully accepting his repeated pleadings he took the chair. After occupying it he looked at the door. He could not see his son there. Perhaps he must have gone out, to stand in the cool breeze.
“I’ll be outside, Sir,” the villager said and he, too, went out of the lounge.
He walked away so quickly that Ganeshrao did not even have an opportunity to thank him.
Among them some, who were attired in Khadi shirt and pyjama or dhoti and who were leaders or who considered themselves leaders, were strutting about. Some how Ganeshrao was given to believe that any one sporting a Gandhi cap that too, placed at an angle on his head, was a political leader. Ganeshrao was always in awe of such people and therefore as far as possible he avoided coming in contact with them. But today...the situation was such that he was helpless.
People were lingering outside the bungalow waiting for their turn.
But it would not be necessary for me to wait like them...
I know the Minister from close quarters....
Being sure of this, Ganeshrao threw a glance at the people waiting all around. There was just a hint of contempt in his glance.
“Vinu, come. Let’s straight away go in,” Ganeshrao said to his son, proud and confident of his close acquaintance.
Both went inside the bungalow. At the entrance there was a huge lounge for people to wait. There were arrangements for their seating. Ganeshrao entered the hall accompanied by Vinu. He once again glanced at those who were awaiting their turn. Some of them, wearing freshly starched clothes like politicians, were seated with full confidence and expectation. Some people were pathetically looking at the inner door waiting for them to be called. Seeing so many people, some of whom were certainly, higher in status and prestige than him, Ganeshrao’s confidence began to waver. But no, why should he fear when he knew the Minister so closely?
He shook off the feeling of inferiority and, looking around; he chose one of the four-five doors that could perhaps take him to the Minister. He unhesitatingly began to go through it.
A strong ruffian steeped in his way and asked roughly, “What do you want?”
“I want to meet the Minister”
“All these people are also here to meet the Minister,” the man replied gruffly.
“No. But I know the Minister very well,” Ganeshrao told him with a certain pride.
The man looked at Ganeshrao from head to foot with contempt and said, “Everyone who comes here claims the same thing. Go to that counter. Write your name, address and purpose of visit on a slip of paper and leave the slip there. When your name is called, only then can you go in.”
“But …”
“Look! If you really know the Minister that well, you will be called soon,” the ruffian tried to explain him as he would to a naïve child.
Even then Ganeshrao did not feel like moving away. Another man, who was sitting nearby and had overheard this exchange, calmly explained the procedure of going in. Ganeshrao’s face reflected the insult which he was facing just then. Trying to ignore the insult and avoiding Vinya’s eyes, he meekly went to the counter. There, too, was a long queue. He joined the queue. Ganeshrao sensed that Vinya was purposefully trying to catch his eyes.
Is this your ‘close’ acquaintance? He seemed to ask.
Instead of facing this insult it would have been better had he not known the Minister. At least he would not have been so insulted.
Perhaps this was what Vinya wanted to tell him, Ganeshrao thought, looking at him from the corner of his eyes.
When his turn came in the queue at the counter, Ganeshrao handed the slip on which he had written his name, address and purpose of visit. Then, turning back, he tried to spot a vacant chair in the lounge. There was none. He looked all over. He also walked around the lounge. He couldn’t find a single unoccupied chair. Vinya was standing at the door giving his father an angry stare. At last Ganeshrao began to avoid his son’s angry and annoyed stare.
“Ganeshrao, Sir,” suddenly a voice sounded from behind.
Ganeshrao turned in surprise.
Good, at least there was someone here who recognised him.
He felt relieved. Before turning back, he threw a glance at his son. There was no change in the expression on his son’s face. When he turned he saw that a villager, calling him, had got up from his chair. He could not place him. Perhaps the villager had recognised him. In the course of job one comes across thousands of persons. It is impossible to remember each and every one of them. Moreover, with his advancing age his memory also had not remained sharp as before.
He smiled at the villager.
“Come, Sir…have this seat,” the villager offered him his chair.
Happily he walked to the villager. He was truly touched. Patting the villager affectionately on his back, he said, “Oh,.let it be. Remain seated. I’ll go and wait outside.”
“No, Sir. How can that be? You, remaining standing and I sitting in this chair? Please, Sir, take the chair,” he offered politely.
“It did not seem proper to make the villager get up from his seat. He could not however, refuse his repeated pleadings. Finally, gratefully accepting his repeated pleadings he took the chair. After occupying it he looked at the door. He could not see his son there. Perhaps he must have gone out, to stand in the cool breeze.
“I’ll be outside, Sir,” the villager said and he, too, went out of the lounge.
He walked away so quickly that Ganeshrao did not even have an opportunity to thank him.