Autobiography : Journey by Chance - 1

                                                              

The motive

Usually, inspirational autobiographies are written by popular politicians, men of letters or social activists.  However, this sphere is populated by ordinary people, the common men, who did not accomplish much outstanding success as unable to recognize opportunity disguised as hardships; which eventually would lead them to the top.  Do the lives of ordinary people lack the ingredients that mould a highly successful person?

Every failed attempt would be a learning experience. This can’t be taken as excuse for every mistake that ‘we are learning’.  Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi opined, ‘we learn by making mistakes but this does not imply that we go on committing mistakes and claim that we are learning.’

Writing autobiography is as dangerous,  act as holding a 440 Volts current in ungloved hands.  Every life is a story in itself, but the real challenge in making it public is, what to conceal and what to expose?  How much to ‘cover’ while exposing the self?  How to camouflage and evade?  Narrating the past events, an objective analysis of one’s weaknesses or capabilities, respecting the privacy of people involved is an ordeal in which person is willing to be killed but the opponent is all the time relenting feeling trapped.

I encountered several persons from very close quarters when I tried to understand them; I came to the conclusion that our destiny is molded by the events, incidents and experiences during early childhood and adolescence.  Neglect, punishment and brutalities deform a person so much that he develops the inferiority complex and fails to exploit his own potentialities.  On the contrary, undeserved indulgence, excellent upbringing or absolute freedom, nourish a person with so much of overconfidence that he turns aggressive and arrogant.  How such imbalance can be rectified?  How can a person become a complete person?  This autobiography is an account of such a quest for the remedy.

I feel that I would be contended only if I tell you everything. `Memories are infinite and I intend to tell much.  However, there are limitations of time and space and inadequacy of expressions.  I find it difficult to show you the tears I had to shed and the joys I stumbled on?

This autobiography could be an encouragement for those who want to lead a life of their own, on their own terms, and are willing to pay a price for it  though they fail to make people around them realize what they actually intend.

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I don't know who sent me to this planet..... !

My mother Sunder Bai begot me on Thursday, 18th December 1947 at 04:00 A.M. at a home in Golbazar locality of Bilaspur in India.  The birth was broadcasted by ringing a Thali (platter).  It must have elated everyone in the family though I wonder whether the neighbors took notice of it.  I was the sixth child in my family.  My grandfather Jagdish Narayan had recently returned from a pilgrimage to Dwarika hence my birth was regarded as a blessing of Dwarikadheesh, so I was named ‘Dwarika Prasad’.

When I recall my infancy, I recollect fond touch of my mother’s hands and the taste of her breast milk.  I used to feel fine and safe around her.  My sister, Bina, was born two years thence my birth but she remained neglected as I continued feeding on breast milk up to the age of three.  Poor Bina was raised on a solution of dissolved sago.  Mother continued feeding me, depriving the newborn the right of breast milk because she was a daughter while I was the privileged son.  Though unaware of discrimination, I was the sole cause of her neglect.  I feel disturbed when I recall this atrocity on her.  Such discrimination is because of social attitude which regards girls inferior to boys.

Two strange incidents occurred during my infancy.  My mother told that I was abducted when I was ten months old.  Quite a few people made hectic search and found me abandoned in a basket on beside the sidewall of bridge on river Arpa.  Thus I was rescued and united with family.  The other incident occurred when I was a little older, as faintly remembered.  I was about four at that time.  The family had gone to attend a wedding ceremony at Gaurela where guests were to sleep on the floor furnished with Daris.  I was sleeping with my siblings close to my mother.  I felt as if I had high fever.  I tried hard to wake up my mother up but she was soundly asleep, she continued sleeping after admonishing a little.  Suddenly a lady entered shouting, “Run there is a fire.”  Others probably did not hear but I became fully awake.  I shook my mother’s hand to make her awake.  As soon as she woke she too felt the intense heat and began shouting asking everyone to run out.  Hearing her shouts everyone got up and ran helter-skelter. The moment we came out of the room the floor sank down allowing the flames to reach high.  Had we delayed even for a minute or two, we would have been consumed by the fire.  Mayhem grew all over the house.  The fire was doused by fetching water from a well nearby but by that time everything was reduced to ashes.  The room we had slept in had a stock of match boxes on the floor below which had caught fire.

In cricket, the batsman who gets early life plays a long inning.  So did I get a long life after these two incidents in my early childhood?  This gave me an opportunity to leave and test events after experiencing over a long spell of life.  I fully exploited the time to introspect.  I had experienced of all kinds, sweet, sour as well as bitter ones.  All these enabled me to realize their relative importance in life.

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Indian sub-continent has a long tradition of joint families.  The majority of families accepted the system and began experiments of various kinds.  All the members would stay beneath a common roof, cook and dine together and jointly experienced pleasures and sorrows of life.  This spirit of mutual goodwill and cooperation, to a great extent, proved beneficial.  The system prevailing among the Hindus was adopted by other communities also.

The senior most in the joint family become the head.  In all family matters, his decision remains final, accepted by everyone without argument or debate.  Though, the head sometimes consults other members but the decisions agreed on, are guided more by family traditions and less by mutual consultations.  This is a system in which the entire family is governed by the head, an axle around which things revolve.

The eldest in the family was my grandfather Jagdish Narayan.  He exercised full control over family matters.  Next to him was six feet tall and handsome, my father Ram Prasad.  He was followed by my elder brother Roop Narayan in the hierarchy.  In his early youth, Roop Narayan was dear to both my grandfather and father, which eventually lead to a rise in his esteem. My mother was confined to the kitchen, looking after the needs of the entire family.  However, she had no role in decision making.

My two earlier siblings had passed away in infancy hence great attention was paid in my upbringing.  I survived to pen this autobiography.

We had a spacious house, three storied high with open terrace providing ample space for the kids to play, though running was forbidden.  The dictatorship of my father, whom we used to address as Daddaji, used to reign all over the house, twenty-four hours a day.  He specialized in getting high tempered, his desire used to be the family norms.  Extremely irritating and unyielding, ­­his awe-filled everyone's heart with fear.  He was the epicenter of power with this authority. He used to interfere with children at play, not because that he didn't like games; it was mere to demonstrate that children should play to make him happy.  Every action was governed by his command, followed by its compliance.  The moment he arrived, everyone in the family would become silent. The play would come to a sudden halt, books would be kept aside, children would leave chair or bed because none ever knew what prohibition swam his mind then.  For him, there was nothing good or bad.  There were only two kinds of permissions, granted or denied.  Beyond this, there was neither logic nor argument. 

                                Life in the childhood was like we have now at the moment, a mixed bag of pains and pleasures.  True, there was no responsibility to shoulder but there was absolutely no freedom either.  We didn't have pocket money to buy whatever we wished to.  No dare to scale the mountain though there were plenty of dreams.  My childhood sobbed with three dictators wondering. ‘Why born I?’ I used to ask to myself and sobbed with my head sandwiched between knees.  Weeping would make me feel lighter and life would run on the usual track.  Over the decades I encountered so many ups and downs, the tug-of-war between hope and despair and developing or breaking of relationships yet, despite odds, life continued chasing hopes.

Memories of childhood are bundles of mixed feelings, the paucity of pleasures but plenty of pains.  Every era has its own norms of social and financial attitudes though everyone has to pass through these alleys and lanes.  Out of these one has to steer one's own direction and path.  Dauntless manage to find their paths but chicken- hearted ones get lost in the crowded fair.  Don't consider them lacking talent or skill, they were docile and submitted to fate.

Grandfather's sweetshop Pendrawala enjoyed the brisk sale.  From six in the morning people would flock to buy juicy Jalebi and hot Samosa.  By nine would begin preparation of Puri and Sabji.  The sale would continue till two in the noon.  My uncle Darbarilal used to supervise the sale.  One afternoon while he was enjoying his afternoon nap, I picked a four Aana coin making the best of the opportunity from the cash box.  I was caught red handed.  He reprimanded a lot and strongly warned never to repeat the folly.  Orange flavored peppermints with cooking effect, the Chat at Damo Dada's shop, groundnuts at Pachkaud Sahu's were  such delicacies which would often tempt coin picking from the cash box was inevitable as demand. Thus, I became adept to steal but was never caught.

My grooming in the shop began when I was ten.  After my elder brother Roop Narayan's marriage on 23rd November 1957, I was assigned the task of opening the shop early morning.  It was compulsory to open the shop by five, whatever be the season.  Babbaji, Jagdish Narayan, my grandfather, would call me to get up at dawn.  By six thirty Babbaji would reach the shop having finished his morning chores and worship and he was followed by a swarm of customers in the shop. As an administrator Babbaji was very strict, hence a slight of my mistake ensured a lot of scolding.  Nevertheless, he was kind enough but he had no kindness for me.  He had not missed a single occasion to set me right. My daily routine was, shop to school and then back to the shop.  At that tender age, I had learnt the art of preparing Jalebi, the skill of making Samosa or frying Puri.  Learning these, required lot of adulation to experts and greasing their palms.  As time passed I acquired the workmanship for running a business.

My sole companion was the roof of the house where I saw, as far as I could see, green trees in their splendor, kites flying, flights of birds and crows taking off.  The sky appeared bowing to earth as clouds gathered along the horizon.  Flash of lightening amidst thundering clouds would appear to me miraculous and I would constantly gaze at them.  My temperament during childhood didn't give me solace anywhere but only at home.  Like all the children I find myself happy and secure in the company of my mother.  She only knew what my feelings were and helped me so as to rescue me from imminent troubles.  My dear Amma ji!

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Twenty-first century has made people so comfortable and at ease, one cannot imagine the hazards that early twentieth century had.  For the middle-income group to make the two ends meet, in itself was a major concern.  There was neither power nor drinking water at the doorstep.  Schools were few, so the hospitals.  Means of communications were limited and tiring. One kept wondering how did people manage their living, yet they lived.  Despite poverty, they were generous in heart.  They knew the art of living amidst adverse circumstances and the courage to face them with fortitude.  Therefore they availed a strong sense of kinship, solidarity and goodwill.  Now time changed in two eras, former’s requirement was feeding the stomach only and latter’s is filling the pocket !

Babbaji’s ancestors were farmers.  In view of difficulties encountered as the farmer, they might have decided to change his profession from farming to business. Galle Lal, my great grandfather, left his village to settle at Akaltara in Chhattisgarh.  Babbaji was born in Akaltara.  In his youth epidemic of plague forced Babbaji to shift to a village Jaithari on Bilaspur-Katni route.  He had three sons, Ram Prasad, Darbarilal and the third one whose name I failed to recollect.  His wife, my grandmother, Punia, fell victim to an incurable disease.  Those days, people relied on local medicines and herbs available nearby, leaving the cure to Providence.  At that time he had summoned his cousin, a widow, for domestic help. My grandmother did not respond to treatment and breathed her last.  With her demise, Babbaji’s married life came to a conclusion.  His youngest child was merely three months old.  Now Babbaji had to look after three kids.  For them, he was both, father as well as a mother.  Within a few days, the infant too breathed his last.  It is often said that misfortunes never came alone.  This was proved by the events that soon followed.

My grandmother had some amount of cash which she used to lend the needy people pawning their ornaments.  She used to meet day to day expenses from the interest she got from the borrowers because her husband’s sweet shop did not fetch much income.  Jagdish Narayan had become addicted to playing cards which greatly disturbed my grandmother.  One day she reached the gambling den and took him home and scolded him a lot.  Gambler, when forbidden to gamble, is displeased, as he is crazy for gambling.  I have no idea when this addiction seeped in our family but it had a strong fascination for the members of the family.  From 1972 to 1987 I was myself addicted.  This is a different story that you can wait for the time being. 

Coming back to our story, My grandmother used to keep the pledger’s ornaments in a trunk.  However, when people came after her death to claim their ornament, the trunk was found empty.  There was no trace of the missing ornaments.  Babbaji was stunned.  It was the second blow after his wife’s death.  People began staking their claim while there was no cash at home to compensate them.  He sold his shop and home to reimburse their compensation with folded hands and left the place for good.  After one night journey by the train he alighted at Manendragarh to re-commence his struggle for survival. 

There was a family of Lappu Lal, living quite close to my grandfather’s home.  Being neighbors they used to live in amity with a lot of cordiality. Lappu Lal had a son Beta Lal and three daughters.  His youngest daughter Sundari Bai used to come to our home to assist my grandmother in day-to-day chores.  Lappu Lal was penniless, struggling to make the two ends with great difficulty though as a healer he enjoyed a great reputation.  He was an expert in curing snake and scorpion bite.  Whenever anyone knocked his door, even at midnight, for curing a snake bite he would proceed immediately without bothering about the inconvenience of the journey during the night despite heavy rains.  He would cover five to ten miles on foot though his wife would often protest for endangering his own life.  He used to turn a deaf ear to her protests.  For him, his own inconvenience was a mere trifle compared to the urgency of the situation.  What a noble era it was when people had humane consideration!  How radically the man has changed these days, when money alone makes the mare go!

A catastrophe struck Lappu Lal’s family.  His young son Bet Lal’s wife died of Cholera.  Villagers declined to attend the funeral fearing contagious nature of the disease.  Helpless Lappu Lal and his son prepared the bier and they dragged somehow the bier to the crematory ground.  While returning they decided to leave the village for good.  After completing the funeral rituals they boarded the first train and left for Manendragarh.

Both, Jagdish Narayan and Lappu Lal had to undergo similar plight and by sheer coincidence both alighted at Manendragarh.  Sailing in the same boat of suffering the two families decided to join hands and face the struggle for survival together. 

Babbaji established a sweet shop at Manendragarh which in due course of time began running.  He had two motherless kids at home.  They had to eat leftover in the sweetshop, sometimes he would cook a meal for them in the home.

Despite his burden, he didn’t agree to marry again.  Relatives would try to argue and reason with him citing that he must ensure a proper upbringing of the two sons or plea that he was not too old to marry.  However, he was adamant.  He would counter argue, ‘What if the step-mother fails? She would not pile injustice on the kids.'

Now I shall describe my father, Ram Prasad, whom we used to call ‘Daddaji’.  Imagine an adolescent of fifteen with sound health and good physique blessed with a charming personality, clad in dhoti and kurta walking with a broad chest.  This sharp minded young man with a gift of gab took the challenge with a sense of determination.

                               

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