Authors: Minakshi Chaudhry
I remember the huge temple complex. We stayed there for three days. Mamma and I slept in a hall meant only for ladies; and Dadoo and Deepak stayed in a separate hall for men. We used to meet in the morning in front of the small bakery where we had our breakfast. This was because Deepu and I had rebelled against the regular food; it was pizza and bread-jam for us.
The three of us, Dadoo, Deepak and I, joked and talked lightly about the ‘owner’ of the ashram – the baba – while we munched our fast food. Dadoo laughed while Mamma was irritated. She ignored him but she was upset that Deepak and I were hand-in-glove with him. Mamma used to be in the temple the entire day waiting for baba’s darshan, while the three of us loitered in the complex and outside in the bazaar.
Dadoo, a very gregarious person, was full of curiosity. He asked questions about the baba to everyone – other devotees, the staff at the ashram, the shopkeepers in the market and the local people – and tried to reason with them. Every evening we would happily tell Mamma all the negative things that we had discovered during the day. I remember that the locals did not believe in baba, some of them even proclaimed that he was a fake but they were happy with the business that baba was bringing to them. Mamma would be mad at us but we would always laugh it away.
Mamma used to perform puja every evening; she recited a few mantras and then sang different aartis dedicated to different gods. She narrated the divine powers of baba to us all every other day and would tell us how vibhuti, sindoor, dry fruits, toffees, diamond rings and letters materialized in the homes of devotees. She also spoke about the
amrit
(nectar) that appeared on the photos of baba. Dadoo would listen to all these stories with amusement. At times he would ridicule Mamma for her blind faith and unscientific viewpoints. Their arguments would always end with Dadoo saying, ‘Why doesn’t your baba give us a diamond ring?’ We children wanted toffees and chocolates. Mamma would look at us in disgust and say, ‘
Lalchi logon ko nahin milta hai
[greedy people don’t get it].’
Dadoo would perform puja on Diwali and ashtmi
without fail. I think he did it for Mamma. He would sit with
chandi
(silver) coins in his hands, and say to Mamma, ‘I understand that money is important in life and it is very valuable, but it is not so important that we perform these rituals with all the tikkas, amrits and mantras.
Yeh sara panditon ka khel hai
[all this has been devised by the priests]. It is because they want money from others so they have made money a thing to be revered.’ At this moment Mamma would glare at him and he would perform all the rituals amusingly, laughing in between. It was fun time for us but not so much for Mamma.
On Durga Ashtmi when small girls were called for the feast, Dadoo washed their feet, put tilak on their forehead and then gave them halwa, poori, boiled salted chana and money. Dadoo loved this, not because of the ritual but the affection he had for these small girls. But Mamma would often have to remind Dadoo to focus on the ritual, because he would always start chatting up with the girls – asking them their names and what they studied. Mamma was always in a hurry to finish the ritual, while Dadoo wanted lots of time to talk to the kids.
On one such occasion he asked me, ‘You know why people make these girls goddesses and worship them?’
’No.’
‘It is their guilt that makes them do this.’
I was surprised and blankly stared at him. He nodded vigorously and explained, ‘Our social system gives more importance to boys and so the so-called great religious men have invented this façade for a day to show that girls are also important. You will get to hear many religious explanations of this ritual but all those are rubbish. Our society discriminates against girls everyday and this one day is the token demonstration to hide the guilt.’
I did not understand this since I was never discriminated against but he was so right.
In the past few years Mamma goaded him to attend satsangs, kirtans and other such events. I asked him what he says in his prayer. He said, ‘I pray for the welfare of my children,’ and then added, ‘though I feel like a trespasser-undeserving and unfaithful. Because who am I to ask for help from a God I don’t believe in, in a temple I know nothing about. He did that for some months but was never satisfied and then he left all this. There were too many things that disturbed him. He said, ‘The more a group pretends to be religious the more their hearts are not into it.’
For Dadoo religion meant humanity, service of poor and needy. I remember, on so many occasions he would specially go to the market to give money, food and even clothes to beggars that he had promised a day before. His motto was that if you gave ten per cent of your savings to these people, you did not need a God to look up to.
He always said that no mantra, bhakti or kirtan and squatting in temples can give you joy and satisfaction as much as giving things to those who needed these most: Labourers, maids, the balloon man, the gol gappa man, the pheri wallahs crossing our house on the road were treated with sandwiches, soft drinks, cakes and biscuits. It amused me how he hung around these people, laughed and joyfully enjoyed their company and whenever Mamma reasoned that it was better to give them food he would reply, ‘Food they can have anywhere but no one gives them these things. They too should taste these delicacies.’
I think one reason, and a very strong one, for his definite belief system when it came to religion was that he was never indoctrinated. At the age of four he left home so his views were his own, he was not swayed by religious sentiments of anyone. Moreover, I do not think that even my grandparents were very religious.
Religion, especially belief in a personal God, was not important for him. I don’t think he ever asked for favours from any God. He did not also thank God for what he had got. He believed in work and that was his worship. Being a mathematician he had a logical mind and was not bothered about faith and power of religion.
A very famous baba came to Shimla in 2009. There was a lot of excitement in my house; my in-laws too came for his darshan and so had my mother – all devout fans of the baba. The day baba had to come to Shimla both Mamma and Rohit’s mother left for the temple where baba had to stay. The duty to take Dadoo and Rohit’s father for darshans fell on us. Rohit and I thought that the best place would be the airport where baba was to land. It will be quick and easy, so all of us moved towards the Jubbarhatti Airport, some twenty-four kilometres from Shimla.
Here is the conversation that took place between Dadoo and Pita-ji (my father-in-law). It was unnerving for me as much as it amused Rohit.
Pita-ji, ‘Verma Sahib we are very lucky to be graced by baba.’
‘Why so?’ Dadoo asks.
Pita-ji looks at him in surprise, ‘Baba is coming to Shimla and we will be able to have his darshan.’
‘Oh, but don’t you go to his ashram every year?’ Dadoo says unaffected by the madness surrounding the baba.
‘That is different; baba’s presence here in Shimla means we are all blessed. Moreover, you know he is not well but still he has come.’
‘What is wrong?’ Dadoo asks curiously.
‘He has gone through a very tough time, he had a hip replacement and he can’t walk and then he has high cholesterol,’ explains Pita-ji.
‘How will a handicapped man take care of others when he can’t take care of himself?’ Dadoo comments.
Rohit giggles. I am so tensed I will burst.
Pita-ji glowers. Dadoo looks back innocently and then adds, ‘I mean what kind of baba is he, if he has become sick himself.’
Pita-ji is quiet for some time. I can understand. No one till now must have talked about baba like this in front of him. After sometime Pita-ji says, ‘He has taken all the misery and disease of other people onto him.’
Dadoo looks at him aghast and then looks at me for help and whispers, ‘He really believes in all this nonsense?’ I pinch him hard. Rohit hears him and laughs aloud. Dadoo has a friend now, no one can stop him. He ignores me totally and says, ‘Do you know he is a
dhongi
[fake],’ I pinch him harder, terrified now.
Pita-ji is in a shock, he doesn’t know what to say and Dadoo goes on. ‘You should not believe in these babas,’ he explains patiently. After a few seconds of shock Pita-ji retorts back, ‘Baba is not like that, all the other babas are dhongis. I tell my wife not to believe them.’
‘How can you say that?’ Dadoo asks innocently.
Pita-ji snaps angrily, ‘Of course, I know. They are all dhongis but our baba is not one of them.’
Dadoo says, ‘If I say that others are all true and this baba is dhongi.’
I am definitely alarmed I pinch him hard and hiss, ‘
Chup ho jao
,
chup ho jao
[please keep quiet].’
He laughs and looks at Rohit for support who, of course, gives him with a smiling face, ‘It is all in the head because you believe in him so you think he is true, the others believe in the other babas so they think they are true. You cannot say which one is a dhongi and which one is not and I must tell you, all of them are dhongis.’
I can feel Pita-ji’s anger vibrating loud and clear, no one has the guts to speak in front of him like this and then Dadoo goes on further, ‘I am surprised at you.’
I am so alarmed now that I loudly say, ‘Dadoo,
chup ho jao,
bahut ho gaya
[keep quiet. Enough is enough]! ’
‘What? What?’ he says innocently. ‘It is an open discussion or do I have to keep quiet because
yeh tere sasurji hai
[he is your father-in-law]?’ He says laughingly, ‘He is also my friend and colleague of years.’ He looks smilingly at Pita-ji who glares back at him.
This frightens me and thankfully makes Dadoo quiet. No one speaks for the rest of the journey. We reach the airport; and realize there are about hundred people there already. Dadoo doesn’t like our quiet company and leaves to mingle with the devotees. He is having a good time conversing with them, while Pita-ji is standing aloof.
About two hours have passed and the baba has still not come, probably Dadoo gets bored because he picks a fight with about four-five volunteers; Dadoo is shouting at them and they are all shouting at him.
‘What is wrong?’ I intervene anxiously.
Dadoo is angry, ‘I am telling them that there are so many old people here, old women and men, who have come to have darshan and they should be given priority to stand in front. Look at all these children and young ladies and the seva dal people, they are taking the best positions. The old people are being brushed aside. Do they believe less than these people in front? Isn’t it our duty to take care of the elderly who have been standing for hours.’ He is spitting fire, I try to pacify him.
The seva dal members are angry too. I look around. Dadoo is right: youngsters between the age group of ten and twenty-five are lined on one side in the front queue. It is clear that all of them are children of the volunteers, on the other side are middle-aged men in scarves – the volunteers themselves. The elderly people, about fifteen to twenty, including Pita-ji are somewhere at the back, not visible.
Dadoo again starts shouting, ‘Old people can’t see properly, they have weak eye sight, with so much of difficulty they have come here, is it not right to allow them to stand in front?’
I pacify him with great difficulty and bring him to where Pita-ji is standing, worried why Dadoo is fighting with people. Thankfully after about fifteen minutes baba’s plane lands and his car crosses us. All three of us, Dadoo, Rohit and I could see him closely, the people gathered around are pushing and pulling each other. After baba left I ask Pita-ji, ‘Did you see baba, Pita-ji?’ He shakes his head, ‘There was too much rush, I could not see him,’ he says with sadness.
I feel bad for Pita-ji and then Dadoo throws the bombshell, ‘You are such a genuine devotee of his but you could not see him, and we the frauds, we saw him.
Yeh kaisa Bhagwan hai. Mere samajh se bahar hai
[I fail to understand what kind of God is this].’ In all the chaos and noise thankfully Pita-ji doesn’t hear him. Dadoo says to Rohit, ‘Beta now you have to manage the darshan of baba for your father. It is important for him, he believes in him, find a way out.’
5 October 2010
Today when Dadoo came from the market, he was shattered. In fact I was thinking of calling him on his cell phone because he was out for a considerable amount of time, more than two hours, which was unusual. As Mamma handed him a glass of juice, he said, ‘Something very bad happened today. I lost my way.’
His hands were trembling, I came forward and clutched them.
‘What do you mean, Dadoo?’ I asked, my heart sinking. Has the day come that now he will not be allowed to go alone?
‘I didn’t know where I was. I stood frozen at the Chowk, I did not know where to go, where our house was,’ he whimpered.
‘Don’t panic, Dadoo,’ I said.
‘For fifty years I have been living here. I know every inch of Solan but somehow everything went blank. The place where I stood did not fit into my mental map.’
‘What happened?’ whispered Mamma.
He looked at her in utter misery.
‘You should have asked someone,’ I said quickly.
He was too much in shock to reply. He didn’t even know how he had reached home. We can’t imprison him in the house, I think frantically, I will place the home address in his purse.
I have so many happy memories of him carrying bagfuls of fruit and sweets whenever he came from the market. He would ask us what we wanted before leaving the house. He would always remember the list, and now he forgot the way back home. This is so frightening.
In the evening he brought the telephone directory and asked me to tell him about one Vineet Sharma. His name and telephone number was underlined. He was so agitated and anxious because he had forgotten who this person was.
‘You must be familiar with him, Dadoo,’ I tried to assure him.
He shook his head, ‘I don’t know who this man is and why I have underlined his name.’