LIFE- KAL, AAJKAL AUR KAL
More than five
decades back, my neighbour Mr. X, born to a farmer, was a student in the only government
Junior High School in my village situated at the bank of river Yamuna. The area
is full of fertile agrarian land. In the bucolic area, the life was very
peaceful and healthy those days. Teachers had a strange propensity of sending
their pupils back to their residences to bring milk and other edible items
like- curd, ghee, sugar, sometimes even lunch. It was termed as a GURU SEWA. One
fine day, a new teacher, unaware of the fact that Mr. X was slightly hard of
hearing, called Mr. X and said, “Listen carefully. In the recess time, go home
and bring me some BOORA (also called TAGAR).” He said, “Fine, sir.”
When the recess
bell rang, he ran to the cycle stand, rode his bicycle and reached home. As an
obedient student, he went straight to his kitchen, took out a plastic container
from the cupboard and ran straight to his cow ranch. Cow ranch? Yes. He came
out in a minute and whisked his bicycle to the school. The recess was over by
then. The teacher gave him a questioning look. Mr. X took no time to realize what
was being demanded. Hurriedly, he reached the table laid before the teacher,
opened the lid of his container and unloaded it no time. Phew! The room was
filled with odour (scent, I should say) of GOBAR (cow dung). The teacher punished
him. After half a century has passed, Mr. X narrates the incident with laughter. Life was simple!
On the other
hand, my cousin Mr. Y lives in Delhi and he pays Rs. 4000/- per month as the
school fee of Mr. Z, his only child, who is still in KG. Of course, the teachers
of this kid will never put up such demands as did the teacher in the first
case. Instead, the school administration has already sucked so much from his
father. When the child visited his home village for the first time after
attaining consciousness, he was astounded to see house flies. He said to his
mother, “Mom, see. How big mosquitoes!”
Throughout his
life, Mr. X did everything. He farmed, drank, ate, married, raised his
children, danced, and fought with his neighbours. Mr. X remained poor but he
never complained. Mr. Z will become a rich man some day. But will he be able to
relish and cherish life as Mr. X did? A day will come when Mr. Z will surpass
our bookish knowledge but what about the practical aspects of life? He can
never realize the importance and availability of fresh morning air, clear firmament
with twinkling stars, open fields, clear water of the river Yamuna and so many
other gifts of nature that we may not pass on to the next generation.
I won’t discuss
more. These days, we talk about growth. Has the meaning of growth shrunk to
merely growing in terms of riches one possesses? What about the mental peace? Real
India is in villages. In the age of Mr. X, there were less amenities but life
was worth living. The real progress of life lies in making it easier, not
complicated. When I visit home now, I witness foul smell of sugar mill in the
morning. I don’t see twinkling stars as the sky turns yellowish at night,
thanks to the giant lights. The pious river Yamuna is before your eyes. We may
have progressed economically, but we have regressed in those aspects of life
which make it worth living.
