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Saturday, July 5, 2008 |
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Saturday, July 5, 2008 |
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According to legend, Babar, who led a stormy life full of battles till he established himself as the founder of the Mughal dynasty in India, was in the habit of foreswearing wine on the eve of battles when the odds were against him. He would have his wine goblet smashed and promised that if Allah granted him victory, he would never again touch wine. But no sooner Allah granted him victory, Babar got new goblets and went on a drinking binge for a few days. He is reported to have explained his conduct in a few words in Persian: Babar ba-aish-kosh, kay zindagi do-baara na-est (Babar, enjoy your life to the fullest, for, you will never get this life again). What he thought during the hangovers that must have followed bouts of heavy drinking is not recorded. Is hard drinking the best thing one can do to enjoy the one life granted to us? Is the popular concept of wine, women and song the summing up of a good life? Certainly not. For one, it looks upon women as objects of pleasure. Have you ever heard of a woman talk of liquor, men and music as her idea of a good time? People’s ideas of a good life differ according to their circumstances. What an Ambani or a Birla has in mind is likely to be very different from that of their domestic staff. What an educated, sophisticated person would consider good life is bound to be poles apart from that of the uncouth person with a lots of money to splash about.
However, one thing that is common to all classes of people is that the idea of a good time requires indulging the five senses to their fullest extent, depending on one’s age and state of health. In order to do that one should be in buoyant spirits (charhdi kala) and not allow any kind of mental depression. There should be no regrets but only resolve to enjoy life to the fullest extent. Omar Khayyam’s rubayee is pertinent: Come, and in the fire of spring; The winter garment of repentance fling; The bird of time has little time to go; And lo, the bird is on the wing. Lies after death Why do people want to be remembered after they are dead? Most do because they indicate whether they would like to be buried underground, in the sea, cremated on wood pyre, electric or gas cremator and how their ashes are to be disposed of—immersed in the Ganga, or strewn on some hillside, or in their garden. Some even leave money behind to pay for annual shradhs, bhogs, shabad kirtans. Their loving relatives go further by having their pictures with messages of rememberance published in newspapers, assuring them how much they are missed. Presumably, they do so in the conviction that these newspapers are available where their dear ones have gone. They are usually full of lies about their goodness, truthfulness, cheerfulness etc. To me, a non-believer, all this is childish exercise in futility. I can understand the need to announce a person’s demise and meeting to pay him tributes. But I fail to appreciate the need to remember the dead, year after year. However, I confess I, too, had expressed the desire to be buried under the earth rather than be cremated, provided no prayers were recited, no grave made or saplings of peepal planted above my head. The only cemetery willing to accept my terms was Bahai at Ghaziabad. But they insisted they would have prayers said. I gave in as I wouldn’t be able to hear them. Then they said I would be laid along side other Bahais without any kind of tree on my grave. I reneged from my agreement and have left it to my children to deal with my body as they wish and throw my ashes anywhere convenient to them. All this came to my mind as I carried an urn full of my one-time English secretary Yronne Le Rougetel. She was allotted to me when I joined UNESCO in Paris. She turned out to be an unusual person. She had no religion but lived for others, without bothering about herself. She found me a home in a suburb of Paris, and English girls to help my wife run our home. When I returned to Delhi and got a grant from Rockefeller Foundation to write a history of the Sikhs, I wrote to her, asking her whether she would like to be my secretary again on a measly salary. She flew over immediately and found lodging for herself. She helped me write the two volumes. At times she went on vacations to the hills. She died two years ago, leaving a will that her ashes be scattered on Mahasu peak near Shimla. My son Rahul picked up Yronne’s ashes from London. Next week he went to Mahasu to carry out her last wish. Without meaning to do so, some people leave their names behind for perpetuity for works they have done by setting up hospitals, schools, colleges, libraries, museums, works of art, music etc. Such great people wish to serve humanity and are remembered with gratitude due to them. Those who leave their assets — whether they be in gold, silver and precious stones kept in vaults, or money accumulated in banks — to their heirs or retainers, are only remembered by them. The desire to leave one’s name for posterity is no more than an extension of one’s ego into an imagined after- life existence. It is sheer vanity. In actual fact, nothing of one outlasts his or her life for very long, and soon, that, too, is forgotten. I have often quoted Omar Khayyam on the subject. I quote him again: There was a door to which I found no key; There was a veil beyond which I could not see; Talk awhile of thee and me there was; Then no more of thee or me. Mirror image Banta came home one night very drunk. He went to the bathroom to wash his face. As he looked into the mirror, above the wash basin, he could not recognise himself. He asked: "And who are you"? He got no reply. He looked more closely and said: "Now I know who you are. You look like the rascal standing by my wife in our wedding photograph". (Contributed by J.P. Singh Kaka, Bhopal) |
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