The Myth of Life

THE MYTH OF LIFE

By Srini

Stepping on the dark and light shades, I was walking gently touching and escaping the unknown life known for the past forty three years as the torn sky started falling scattered on the evening streets.

I know the darkness will eat away the last remains of light in minutes. I quest still for enormous light, which can drive away this darkness. And am sure it won’t, even if I put on fire the entire world around me.

A smirk on my lips. Not only on the stage. Not only when I get myself involved in a role. For every darkness, for every agony and for every hardship the habitual smirk appears on my lips.

‘Namaskar!” I heard from the back. An old woman humbly greets me with folded hands. Ramulamma! The thought process gets the answer. She has come to office yesterday for clearance of pension papers. Her husband has passed away a couple of weeks ago.

‘Sir! If you could please fasten up the process, my daughter and I would get bread in this tough world. We would be ever thankful and grateful to you.’ She spoke prayeredly. Immediately the corrupt man in me woke up anticipating a few thousand bucks from a woman who has lost her husband. A woman in distress. I distantly remember in my memoirs wherein the feeling of guilt occurred to me. I was a human being at that time. Today I am a member of this society. An individual who has slid to the level of accepting Rs. 5 or Rs.10 as bribe. The word bribe brings me into this world back from the thoughts.

‘Okay, Let me try from my side. You know my officer has to sanction the papers. And he won’t put his initials until we fill up his pocket. Anyhow come to the office tomorrow morning’ I said. Helplessly. Or the actor in me performed the role. Again an inside smirk which was the result of a pat on my ego.

Ramulamma sank. Into the deep interiors of the heart. Her voice was unable to conquer the hurt. But as a brave member of this privileged class of below poverty, she spoke ‘ Sirji, please show mercy on this poor widow. I would give whatever is possible to my extent. You know I have a teen-aged daughter who should get married.’

‘Let’s see. Come to the office tomorrow morning at 11 O’clock. My officer will be there. I will speak to him.’ I said and started my walk cutting short the conversation with her as if I have some urgent work. The corrupt man was feeling good as I have laid a trap and eagerly waiting for the catch.

Now the darkness has overtaken laughing at the light. The cruel darkness, which cannot be driven off by the so-called streetlights, which never work. Thanks to my colleagues in Electricity Department.

I could see the street playing hide and seek with me with the headlights of the vehicles coming in one or two randomly. I put my hand in the pocket to take the age-old purse. THREE TENS! Today is 21st only. Still ten days to go. My tongue dries up as if it has not seen ‘water’ for days. Heart says go for a glass only. Mind warns until the tongue joins with heart. Who knows about tomorrow. Let me take one glass only. I increased my pace decidedly after conquering the mind.

Suddenly a bike stopped calling ‘Hello Sir’. Before my eyes recover from the intensity of light, my ears acted fast to communicate that it is Sushil. ‘You have to come tonight. It seems there is a competition. Guruji brought a new play. If possible have your dinner and come.’ Sushil and the deodorant, which he used, left me.

Sushil! An ideal man. He is an unsolved puzzle for crooks like me. Indeed he goes around with purity that cannot be understood. He is THE BIBLE, THE KORAN, THE GRANTH SAHIB, AND THE GITA. Fearsome to touch.

Which play our Guruji has brought?

I never used to believe that people sacrifice their life for the sake of art until I came across Jagpathi Rao whom we fondly call him as Guruji. He has no other avagation. Bachelor still. Read the world with B.A. I don’t know how he was attracted to theatre but made his heart itself as a stage. He never goes for make-up. Always behind the screen. A fresh lease of life and newity can achieved with the very small changes on the stage has to be learnt from him only.

To know his level of absorb ness, the bookshelves in his room are a pointed reference.

‘Look at the TELUGU theatre compared to Marathi, Bengali. They are at running stage and we are crawling yet’ he used to say.

‘Look at the Prabhat Film Company established in 1920s how it has given opportunities to theatre artistes – Govind Rao Tenche – Marathi’s first opera originator Maha Sweta – How Jairam Sheleydar left cinema for theatre – If he starts speaking on these topics it appears that money is useless in front of art. But for a fraction of time to hypocrites like me. The moment we come back to the world we become slaves to our realities.

But one thing is sure. I don’t know about rest of our group. For me, performing a play is an escape route from my daily miseries. In the name of art, I spend the time outside my house. Not because I am fed up with my family. Not because of my dearest Uma. Not because I am angry with my only daughter Sujatha. My anger is on the poverty, which never gives in to my strength. I become very dwarf in front of it. I cannot withstand its magnamous form. Hence, I run away from it.

I know the scene the movement I step into the house. Sujatha is involved in tuitions for 10 small children in the verandah. As far as I know Sujatha named my daughter has carved out a special niche for herself. Started tuitions from her tenth class itself. She never talks to me. Loves her mother extremely. Her mere sight itself gives the feeling that I am the sole responsible for all the poverty in the house. She won’t even spare a courtesy look at the person who has given identity to her. She thinks me and my identity as a curse to the house.

Leaving behind a long sigh and slippers at a corner I went inside. No sound inside. Where Uma has gone? Peeped into kitchen. No! She is not there even in the backyard. Changed my clothes and went to refresh myself.

A part of world appears to be torn away, if I won’t have a cup of coffee in the evening. I can’t ask Sujatha humbly. She won’t give. After washing my face, I came till the verandah steps. Two or three kids turned towards me and hid themselves in the books. Sujatha raised her eyes looked at me and turned towards children. ‘Why the hell you are standing here! I am feeling uncomfortable.’ – her thoughts were expressed in a split-second stare at me.

I came inside the kitchen. Lit the stove. As the decoction was boiling, Uma came and hurriedly took the process called preparation of coffee. ‘Surya Rao’s daughter … just in seventh class …. Attained puberty …’ she said not as an explanation for not being in the house, not as a news too. Talking pitifully on the world’s army. Symbolic representation of womanhood.

‘By the way, how idiotic is she. Can’t she come and prepare some coffee for you. Nothing will be lost if she leaves her tuitions for few minutes. You won’t allow me to say anything to her.’ She said showing more pity on me rather than anger on Sujatha.

‘Today is not new to me, Uma. Though she is our daughter she is completely your daughter only.. Me and my name are for a mention in her certificates only.” I spoke without feelings. Folding myself I sat in the folding chair.

I could hear the children leaving. Morning one batch and another in the evening. Sujatha teaches science and mathematics. She is studying in B.Sc final year. Earns about Rs.800-1000. She will never ask a single pie from me.

There is no need to think and tell why she hates me so much. Whatever I am a clerk in District Headquarters. I can get along with my wife and daughter not luxuriously but moderately. Own house. Not a rented one. My carelessness, my weaknesses, my tendency of shirking of duties – All these make poverty stand besides me. I am the reason for insufficiency in this house. My daughter knows. I know. Any girl who has attained thinking age won’t be affectionate with irresponsible father. Anger is imminent. At times hatred increases leaps and bounds. Above all she does not like my acting in a theatre. Reaching home at 2 or 3 am in the name of rehearsals – that too drunken heavily – not getting up till 8 am in the morning – In fact, Sujatha never likes even a single deed I do. Except in only one aspect I suppose. Never I scolded neither Uma nor Sujatha. I think she may be praising me in her heart on this point.

I don’t know whether Uma loves me or not. But I am sure she never hates me. May be because I told her about my weaknesses immediately after marriage. Uma has to undergo Caesarian during Sujatha’s birth and doctors warned further issues. And me opting for vasectomy. Or may be because of her in-built quality of adjustment. Had it been other woman, I cannot imagine myself as I.

Finished my coffee. Uma brought the cigarette from the cupboard and gave it to me. Sujatha who came inside to keep her books said ‘Oh! The great faithful wife Mrs. Uma Maheswari! Why don’t you give a wooden plank with fire and keep it on your husband’s lips. This would make us to live peacefully. Stupid people. Others won’t have common sense at least that they should not smoke in front of ladies.”

‘Stupid people! Others..’ I know these are pointed towards me. Uma tried to scold her. I avoided her in doing so.

Sujatha left the room with world-full of hatred. Again a smirk on my lips.

Yes! Any daughter will react like that if fathers are irresponsible like me.

I must be surprised if my wife and daughter won’t hate me.

As an individual I am habituated to lazy life. My mind and heart goes on strike if I try to come out of that lazy happiness. I have tried to come out of that lazy happiness after marriage but I was breathless with the healthy, clean and blissful life. I could not withstand. Not withstanding I took shelter in the tent of laziness. Occasionally I peep out of that tent but never ever came out of it. I have been seeing myself for forty-three years. Still I have not realized me. I don’t know whether I am living or leading a life for forty-three years. Sometimes a thought provokes!

But I know there is another I in me whom I don’t know. That I comes out when I put on make-up and act. I identify that I as an embodiment of bliss covered with ignorance.

Be it by Guruji or written by whom so ever. Any role given to me, I transform into that character and flow like a river in performance.

I know my acting abilities are natural talents. A primitive instinct which I myself don’t know.



It’s night now.
Awakening for a pleasure in the world.
Disease and sin awake yawningly.

Streetlights are does not work. People are moving here and there as if they are in a hurry.

I need to avoid Mastan’s cycle shop and go. I have left my bi-cycle there in the morning as it stopped with a loud sound. Mastan might have repaired it by now. If he sees me he will return the bi-cycle. That’s all! My thirty in the pocket will divorce me. Oh, No!

I turned my face the other side and started walking briskly. Yes! I did. Before I could relax with this thinking, Mastan was standing beside me, ‘I have repaired it by afternoon itself….Bearings in the crank were worn-out….That’s all….’he said.

I passed a smirk, putting a hand on the handle of the bi-cycle. Emboldened myself and said ‘I will give the charges tomorrow. How much is it?’

‘Okay Sir. It’s Rs.23/-’ He said and left keeping my respect.

A feeling of unknown burden on shoulders. A second. Next moment, happiness, for there is no loss to my thirty in the pocket.

I was about to embark on the bicycle, Kumar clapped and called me from the pan shop located on the other side of the road. ‘I need to cross the road divider to come there. You please come this side!’ I shouted. I know very well that I don’t have fish, which can escape from Kumar’s fishing net. Who am I? But Kumar & I are birds of the same nest. He won’t allow me to get trapped. Then why he called me.

‘Going to that Jagpathi’s house!’ he asked furiously.

Yes! I nodded in acceptance. The smell of the liquor erupted volcanically into the air from Kumar.

‘That b****** is not having family and duties. His plays are crossing limits. He has not paid for the role done by Rajni so far. When I asked, he said he will not give to me. Instead he will pay to my wife. B******. If my wife works on the stage, does not mean that they are his slaves. Tell him. She won’t accept any role further until he clears all the dues.’ Kumar stopped as if to take some rest from his ferocity. He is not drunk too much. If I shake him up, then there will a river of slang. Kumar is not Kumar but a moth living on a worn-out tree called Rajni.

‘Okay!’ said I boarding my bicycle. He caught hold of the cycle-carrier and stopped me. ‘What?’ I stared.

‘Surinder Yadav brought two cans afresh form Mettuguda… behind Kiran cinema…will you come?’ he attacked at my weakest area.

My tongue flipped. The thirty in my purse made me to think in all directions.

‘Will come after meeting Guruji. You please go now. I will be there in half-an-hour’ I said but my legs were not going onto the pedestals.

‘Half an hour. It will be finished in 15 minutes. Just two cans have come.’ He tempted.

I controlled my heart somehow.

‘No, No. Sushil will be waiting for me. I just want to go and meet them.’ I said getting on to the bicycle.

Again he stopped me holding the carrier. Without putting my legs on the road, I asked ‘What now?’

‘Can you lend me a ten. I will return to you tomorrow’ he said hiding the literal truth that he won’t return even if he has.

‘I am having only twenty and I need to pay to Mastan for the bicycle repair. Will ask Guruji and give it to you. I will be there in half-an-hour’ I said though we both know that we lying to each other.

He murmured slang and went off.

I moved towards Cherlapalli enjoying my lie. Sushil’s bike was there in front of the rented house taken by Guruji for our SUPRAJA DANCE & DRAMA ACADEMY. Why Supraja Dance & Drama Academy – None of us know dance. We fought with Guruji over the name initially. Guruji has not agreed with us insisting that today we may be into theatre plays. What’s the guarantee that we won’t conduct dance programmes in future? Indeed he appointed a dance teacher for dance classes. And students who attend classes flatly don’t pay any fee. In fact, the dance teacher has become a burden to Guruji.

There was no power in the room. In fact the entire town is power-less. In the light of a candle, Guruji, Vani and Sushil sat on a dusted blanket like dusted portraits. The golden candle light showing their shadows as gigantic statues. Vani’s shadow with her right hand thumb merged as an elongated nose to depict a strange face.

Are these shadows our natural beings?
It appeared as if this moving flesh and muscles shapes as shadows of unnatural shadows. For a moment, it appeared.

Sushil’s shadow joined the shadow of mine.

Two shadows merged as two drops of mercury. How wonderful it would be if I merge into Sushil’s shadow. It appeared for a while.

Sat in a corner resting my back to the wall and lit a cigarette. The jarring sounds of adjacent factory machines, shouting of workers one side and the sounds of passing vehicles off the by-pass road on the other. We can get accommodation at places like these for people who are into theatre. We won’t get rooms in the so-called civilized colonies.

For, a theatre person means one who doesn’t have any ethics and social rules. They have all vices of the world. Particularly if a woman who is in theatre means she not only sells art but body too – This kind of unnatural thinking and attitude cob-webbed around the minds of civilized human world.

Bearing this kind of attitude, tolerating the culture less hatred and suspicious stares of co-members of society, our people have become stubborn and started behaving rudely more and more.

Once, at Kazipet some one came and asked this Vani to come to his room in the hotel. ‘Five thousand!’ Vani said casually looking at him.

‘That’s too much?’ he said with a slang word.

‘My rate is that much. You cannot bear it. Our director is in a good mood. I will pay you two thousand. Go and bring your wife’ she said.

That guy has lost his temper and created hell-lot nuisance unable to control his anger.

That’s it. There is a wall between the artistes and the people. It exists. They cannot unite. Cannot be united.

A reckless breeze put off the candle. As I have seen where Vani sat, I have thrown the matchbox in that direction and said, ’Vani! Please light up the candle.’

‘I don’t know on whom I shall fall in this darkness. Darkness is okay. Jagpathi Sir please let us know the details. I have lot of work at home’ she said.

In the darkness, Vani’s voice was as soft as darkness. That much calm too.

True! Polluting this calm darkness with flickering candle light is a sin. It flashed to me.
‘Yes! Guruji. Please tell us fast. I have to pick up my daughter from her tuition teacher’s house.’ Sushil said.

As Sushil was about to finish his sentence, power came. The picture of the room evolved from darkness and appeared as un-natural for a second. Vani flipped her eyes and threw the matchbox in my direction after picking it up from her lap with a big smile.

I was also in a hurry for my heart was cautioning me that the two cans may be finished at Surinder Yadav’s shop.

‘It would be good if Shankar Rao comes. I am wainting for him only. There are seven roles in the play. Two female roles. And we do have Vani and Rajni for those. So leaving them there are five male roles. Hero is our own hero himself.’ Guruji spoke looking admiringly at Sushil.

Vani and I nodded our heads. Sushil is the youngest and dynamic among us. Indeed he is known as our company’s hero.

‘The name of the play is A Ruined City. A Greek novel originally. Giridhar Goswami has translated it for drama. Shall we discuss the story’ Guruji stopped as if waiting for our permission to go ahead.

‘First let us know who is going to finance this?’ Vani asked without any hesitation.

She is a very practical person. She doesn’t want to face any problem or pose any to others. Guruji was taken aback with her words. Re-assured himself in a couple of seconds.

‘It’s tough with you Vani.’ He laughed and said. ‘Kachiguda Refineries owner has agreed to sponsor this play. But he wants to hear the story. Will sponsor only on looking at the hero and heroine. If not he, then we may get some one else. Until, then, I will bear the cost. Apart from that there are three prizes. We may win any one of them. At least the third prize which is Rs.15.000/- Is it okay?’

‘Not enough.’ Holding her teeth and laughingly Vani shook her head in negation.

‘Then what more do you want?’ asked Guruji.

‘Shares are okay. It takes 10-15 days for rehearsals. What about these 15 days?’ she asked frankly.

I felt some unknown comfort in my heart. For those 15 days, I may be paid at least Rs.50/- per day. A small desire. I thanked Vani mentally for asking what I could not.

Staring at her, Guruji spoke’ Okay. You will get Rs.50/- per day for rehearsals. Now are you happy?’

Folding her hands together Vani said in a saluting gesture ‘enough. Enough. Rs.50/- for two hours is more.’

Sushil laughed heart fully. I know Sushil doesn’t need any money. He acts for the artist in him. Working as a software engineer. Don’t have any habits. Sushil may not need any money. What about me? Guruji has sorted out Vani’s issue. He should clear others too. I thought inwardly.

‘For you, Rs.30/- only Sir.’ Guruji answered as if he has read my mind.

‘It’s okay Guruji. What’s there in money’ I replied with an internal feeling of happiness. For 15 days, no need to worry. It’s okay I assured myself.

‘I won’t inform individually again. You all need to come at 7 pm on Sunday. We will decide about story and roles’ before Guruji could complete the sentence, Vani was near the door wearing her footwear.

We all came out. Guruji turned to Sushil and asked ‘I read about absurd drama in the Hindu paper. Can you get some books or information on that?’

‘I will try on internet tomorrow and get back to you’ answered Sushil and ‘Vani, I am going the same way. Come, I will drop you’ he told.

Vani and Sushil disappeared into the crowds. I caught Guruji’s hand stopped him. What? He asked.

‘I don’t know whether to tell or not. I met Kumar just a while ago. He was using very bitter language. It seems earlier dues…. Not paid …..’ I said totteringly.

Guruji smiled at me and said ‘I went to their house in the afternoon to inform Rajni about new play. She has gone to hospital as their son was not well. Kumar was there and asked me directly for money. I know what will happen if I give it to him. I told him I will calculate and give to Rajni. He lost his temper and said so many things. Do you know the truth, I have already paid Rajni for the last play. Kumar does not know that.’

Expected. ‘Ok. Guruji. I will make a move. Goodnight. See you on Sunday.’ I said boarding my bi-cycle.

Next to the railway tracks …… avoiding the dogs crowded at the dust bin……..As the mud was splashing on to the feet from cycle wheel, the nose was breaking due to pungent smell, in that darkness, I reached Kiran cinema.

Though people call it as cinema theatre, it is an old, ruined and neglected theatre….half-walls which gave in to the rains……..Typically it is know to people as palace of devils……..Behind the road-side……….illegal liquor…….that road ends up into a small sewage lake which was a pond once upon a time.

Everyone identifies each other in that darkness. What an extra sensory perception. I don’t know.

Left the cycle at the wall and started searching for Kumar to avoid him if seen. A woman came shouting from the devil’s palace. She came runningly. Even faster two men came after her. One fellow caught hold of her by catching her hands and stretched her backwards. Meanwhile the other one kicked her in the abdomen.

‘Till yesterday it was 13 days. It is Rs.140/- including today. Come on take out the money’ he slapped her.

‘You b******. Why should I pay to you. You do this business with your mother. You do it with your wife. Who are you to me?’ she spit on his face.

‘You are spitting on me. B****! Who dares to do business without our commission here at devil’s palace. I have got this contract in the auction… Spent Rs.20, 000/- for it. Who is going to pay that. Your paramour will pay… Take out the money. If you act smart, I will kill…’ he shouted and started blowing punches on her back.

‘Oh! This b****** is killing me…’she cried. Two more women came there. One of them said, ‘Anna! Anna! Leave her. She is talking madly. Screaming sense-lessly. We will make her to pay to you. Kindly leave her. Else she will die’

‘If we won’t get the dues from her, we will kill you both too. B****, spits on me…’they both left with a feeling of terrorizing entire world.

‘Idiot! Are you mad to fight with those b*******. Where the hell you will get money to live. They will kill us if we don’t pay their commission. Brutes! the women were teaching and helping the other woman. They went away.

Taking the support of the fallen wall, Surinder Yadav sat there keeping in front a dozen disposable glasses, two cans and a small lamp made of a bottle filled with kerosene with a piece of cloth wrapped as cotton to give light.

The light of the bottle-lamp was looking painfully unable to conquer the darkness and evil around there. There was more smoke coming out of it than the light from the flame. It’s weak light is spreading to few feet only. At a distance where this light ends and darkness starts, there sat a woman with her basket. She is Raji.

The bottle-lamp was showing Raji as a bunch of flesh, un-combed hair, wrinkled cheeks hanging on, a hand on the basket, a silver Kadiya (bracelet) in that hand – Raji is visible to that extent in that dark lightness.

An illusion! Mind is struggling to form the picture of Raji out of those pieces. Yes! The major part of every human lies in darkness. An awakening thought on looking at those pieces of Raji.

Behind the dark picture of Raji, there are four or five shadows visible scantly. I know, Kumar will be searching for me with his fishing eyes. Before I am discovered to them, I should finish two pegs (or glasses).

The world of poverty, the world of miseries, the world of hardship evaporated with the sinking liquor in my throat. This ‘water’ just makes my mind numb and thoughtless – a break from vicious problems of life. An escape route for my problems. I loose my identity under its influence. I know it’s a myth. A myth built upon by shirks like me. Yet again the smirk on my lips.

To be continued……..