For the past few months I have not been able to write much as I have been obsessed with- getting a haircut or rather trying to lose my Indian passport. Have I lost it ?!- trust me, this one ruling even the babus of the passport offices must not have thought of......
And now the bare bones of it- I went to Vrindavan and visited the ISKCON temple there with my extended family (some of who are borderline religious fanatics). There we met this person who is apparently quite high up ladder in the organisation. My god fearing relatives, overwhelmed by their good karma to have met with such a person, performed the customary greetings. Now, I am still to make my peace with many issues in the Hindu religion, which is the religion given to me by birth. And although, I may be uncomfortable with the specifics, completely male oriented and regressive as they are, I do believe in certain cosmic truths like being human or taking one step at a time and doing your bit for the world. A sort of common sense meets girl scout kind of philosophy that, by the way, has held me in good stead up until now.
Anyway, coming back to my story, this person apparently detected my discomfort at the obeisance that he seemed to, quite frankly, demand rather than generate. And that's when he and I crossed paths, as before that, we had no thread linking us. Now, this gentleman decided to teach me a thing or two about India. With his entourage (such likes are seldom without one) hanging on to every word that he was saying he went on to explain to me how my short hair was anti India. Not anti- Hindu mind you! He went on to explain how the great founder of this organisation had converted so many hippies of the evil West into good Indians and how I was causing national shame. I needn't get into the details of it all as I am sure that you can guess the rest of it. To cut the story short, my relatives looked apologetic for my short hair and the disgrace they cause, promising on my behalf that I shall mend my ways. My children,utterly confused at the high handed jargon dished out to their mother, were torn between their good manners and their wish to stand up for their mother. And as for me, I suddenly was lifted away and outside of myself as I disconnected completely with the entire episode.
Now, I am outspoken person if I have had the time to prepare, but this kind of on the spot verbal feud usually ends in a feud of the non-verbal kind as I will fly into a rage, and cut lose. But luckily, the social boundaries were strong enough for me to bite the bullet and just appease my raging bull by casting defiant glares at the Holy man.
I have been accused of a lot but let this go down in history as by far the most amicable argument that I have ever had. I had begun this article as one written in hurt and anger and somewhere the humor crept in and all I am left with is this Malgudi-Days-kind of feeling about the situation. One where I am the poor Swamy, whose happiness at catching a toad, has been dashed to ground by a portly Panditji, with whom he had the misfortune of colliding, thereby warranting a purificaion ceremony replete with curses and promises of hell for Swamy. While, I, Swami and my children fidget and wait to go catch another toad.
One regret-perhaps I could have done better. I did have a million conversational replays of the entire event in my mind with me emerging as a clear hero and every one else seeing the proverbial light.
But such was not the case and all I could do to redeem myself was to get another haircut!
I hope the passport authorities of India are not listening!
