THE FLOATING DIARY (Supplements): CHINTA-MONEY SWAMI

This is the tale of how Mr. Chintamani Swamimetamorphosed into CHINTA-MONEY SWAMI! Born in an orthodox Brahmin family, Chintamaniwas the only son of his parents. His father was a poor schoolteacher and was the only earning member of the family. Wealth and opulence were distant dreams in the family. However, education was considered a prized ornament of their lineage. Thus Chintamaniwas inculcated into a strict disciplinary routine of studies and good behavior!

Chintamaniwas inducted into a school where English was the primary medium of teaching and his father spent the lion’s share of his income for the same. However, this was the commencement of a unique life of comedy of the convent educated orthodox Brahmin boy Chintamani Swami!

On one side, were the boys from middleclass to affluent families who reflected a stable and decent financial and social status along with their education. On the other side was Chintamani, for whom a meagre and ordinary living was held as a reflection of his father’s achievement as a poor teacher! This created a constant monotonous tune within the innocent mind of Chintamani.

“Money is power! It can buy comfort! It can buy respect! It can buy everything… Money is power!” rang the rhyme in his mind!

Then, one fine day, when the school authorities were taking down the formal spellings of the names of the students, Chintamaniwrote his name as… CHINTAMONEY SWAMI!

The incident came as a shock to his parents when they first saw the spelling of his name in the school’s report card. However, Chintamoneywas adamant to keep the spelling of his name unchanged. His father tried to persuade him with the calmness of a teacher but failed. His mother tried with strictness and failed as well. His stubborn mind could only think of one thing… MONEY! Despite his fascination towards the currency, Chintamoneynever ever resorted to stealing or forgery. In school, his performance remained good, but all his creative writings, his mathematical calculations, his vernacular prose had the single focus… Money!

“My life needs plenty and plenty of money!” he would often tell his classmates and then discourse a fantasy tale about his future affluence and how he would purchase everything with its power. 

Even though his childhood was a nondescript one, the happiness and innocent world of fantasy that thrives within the heart and mind of a child, died an untimely death, unknowingly. In its place, a puppet of monetary-hunger made an entry. Thus, he was never happy.

“My son, not everything can be equated with money!” his father used to say,“Don’t worry about it. The human being within us is more important. You need to be happy with life, because life is simple. It is not complex!”

However, nothing seemed to impact Chintamoneyand he brooded over the fact that the shadows of lack of money always overwhelmed their household. There was never plenty and his father’s income could not make a difference to this stigma.

That was the beginning of a journey and it continued through the years as the little boy grew up through his childhood, adolescence and reached adulthood, while the rhyme rang around the corners of his ears, “Money is power! It can buy comfort! It can buy respect! It can buy everything… Money is power!” 

The unhappy frown, the constant distress and consistent struggle within him, made Chintamoneylook a decade older than his actual age. Slowly, but steadily, he lost most of his friends (because they began to consider him insane) and family (as they considered him unsocial). He was a complete misfit for the society.

Chintamoney Swamihad one religion, one ambition and one desire in his life… MONEY! When he was 21 years old, his father passed away and then two years later his mother breathed her last. The young man felt sad, but there was a strange emotion of an ecstasy and freedom which churned within his heart. It was a happiness that he felt ashamed about, but it was very much real. He couldn’t tell it to anybody, fearing social taboo. He hung two big framed photographs of his parents on the main wall of the living-room, to display his attachment with them. The young man had just started off his career as a marketing executive and he became a staunch practitioner of transaction based relationship. Every move, every relation, every emotion of Chintamoney was associated with some monetary benefit and he ensured that his earnings register kept clocking in more and more in everything he did.

Soon, Chintamoney Swamibecame a real estate broker and began to earn handsomely. Another decade passed and gradually, his wealth started to inflate and his exhibition of affluence became more and more prominent. Within the social strata where he treaded, people displayed their camouflaged adulation, but laughed behind his back. 

Chintamoneyunderstood this gesture. Every evening, as he sat on his comfortable sofa inside the living room of his plush apartment in Mumbai, he used to look at the framed photographs of his parents and used to speak with them, “These people are jealous fools who are envious of my success and wealth! Let them be so.’

Deep within his hardened heart, a subconscious soul of a child tried to break away from its chains and free itself, but Chintamoneyensured that it remained caged and wished that it died a predetermined death. When the uncomfortable feeling tried to irritate him more, he used to scribble on a piece of paper and write his own name… “CHINTA MONEY! MONEY, MONEY…. MONEY!”

Two more decade passed and Chintamoneywas now past his middle age and was a rich man. He had the abundance of currency notes and lived alone in his bungalow. Inside his ever grander living-room, Chintamoneyhung the framed photographs of his late parents. Every evening he used to look at them and scorn the rest of his acquaintance in the society, “These people are jealous fools who are envious of my success and wealth! Let them be so.’

One rainy evening, somebody came to meet him. As the person came in, Chintamoneysprang up from the sofa as a sudden rush of memories flooded his consciousness. In front of him stood Radhika!  Chintamoney could recognize her from her face. From inside the overflow of memories, Chintamoneycould recall a glimpse of the little girl who used to study with him in school. Chintamoneyknew that she secretly adored him, but his own obsession for money never allowed him to indulge in anything else. His young heart garnered a hidden admiration for Radhikaand desired her love, Chintamoneysuppressed everything with all his might. Every emotion seemed to him as a barrier that was supposed to stop him from thinking about how he would become rich one day! Those days had gone past and so had those years of untold affection of little Radhikawhose affection Chintamoneyhad never reciprocated. At this juncture, after so many years, Chintamoneyfelt an unexpected pinch in his heart. 

As Chintamoneystood silently, he observed that little boy of about ten-years stood holding Radhika’shands.

Before Chintamoney’stransactional soul could brush away the sudden gust of emotions. Radhikalooked at him with her large expressive eyes and asked, “How are you?”

Chintamoneypaused a while and replied, “I am fine. How are you? And who is this young man?”

Radhikabroke down in tears and replied, “I am not good. I am a single mother and this is my son Raghu. He is suffering from a critical ailment of a malignant disease of the liver! I need a lot of money for his treatment, else he will pass away! He is all that I have… Please help me! I have faced rejection from everyone. Nobody is ready to help us financially. I don’t know what to do!”

As the words emerged out of Radhika’svoice, Chintamoneystared at the despondent kid. In his eyes, he could see his own childhood where money was never enough. However, there was something more in those eyes that haunted him. There was a question… Is money always enough? Can it buy everything? What is happiness and how can we buy it? Can it buy innocence? Can it buy life? Can it buy love? Nobody asked these questions but Chintamoneyfelt their pricks deep within the layers of his flab and inside his throbbing heart.

Chintamoneywas speechless for some time. Then, he got up, almost mechanically as if drawn by a controlling inner force. He took out his cheque-book and wrote a cheque worth a fortune and handed it over to Radhika. 

The latter looked at the figure on the cheque and then asked with an awe in her eyes, “Thanks! But, I don’t think I can ever refund this money! Do you want anything in return? I only have my own self, that I can offer you in return! I am ready to do so for the sake my son! The people say that you never do anything for FREE…”

Chintamoneysat down on the sofa with a thump. These last words shattered him. He somehow gathered his disposition then quietly replied, “No, I don’t want anything in return… just never come back to me again! And take care of him… he is special.”

As Radhikawent away without further delay, Chintamoneylooked at the framed photographs of his parents. He felt that there was a sardonic smile on his father’s face. He could hear a distant voice… “My son, not everything can be equated with money! Don’t worry about it. The human being within us is more important. You need to be happy with life, because life is simple. It is not complex!”

“Yes Baba!” said Chintamoney, as if he was speaking with his deceased father, “I wish I had never grown up! What have I earned in my whole life? I wish Chintamaninever became Chintamoney! I wonder, how life would have been then…”

THE FLOATING DIARY (Supplements): HUNGRY

Rahul felt HUNGRY ! It was a strange sensation that made him feel uneasy and Rahul was unable to understand what his mind and body was asking for.

The young man of twenty-seven years, was traveling to his ancestral home for the last rites of his maternal grandmother. Rahul had reached Kolkata only a day ago. The cremation had already been done, but the religious rituals for the last rites were pending. Rahul took the express-train from Kolkata to Azimgunj Station, a suburb of West Bengal. It was a four-hour-long trip that was supposed to reach its destination around noon. However, a sudden disruption in timetable caused the train to be delayed by another two more hours. The rising heat and humidity of the summer, made Rahul perspire profusely and raised his frustration as he sat inside the compartment.

Rahul had spent the lion’s share of his life in Denver, Colorado. His parents had migrated from India when Rahul was less than a year old. As he sat inside the congested compartment of the train, his mind flew away towards recollection of his childhood days. During his annual visits to the city of Kolkata, along with his parents, his grandmother used to come from their village and the family used to spend a month together in Rahul’s father’s apartment. Rahul had never visited his ancestral home, where his grandmother used to live. His father never preferred to visit the village! He disliked the unhygienic environment and illiterate culture. Rahul didn’t have many memories of his grandmother, but deep within his heart, he cherished the warmth of love that she garnered for him and the beautiful milk-cakes she used to prepare for him, every time he visited Kolkata.

As he got down at the Azimgunj Station, Rahul thought, “I am famished! My stomach is crying out loud for some food!”

However, the rural setting of the small railway station and the unhindered flow of dust in the wind, made him feel a bit skeptical about the hygiene. His ancestral village, Haldipara, was another ten-kilometer-long bus ride away. With the gastronomic turmoil inside his body, Rahul knew he would not be able to manage the journey. He was traveling alone, as he was representing his parents, and didn’t have the luxury to fall sick.

Rahul came out from the station and saw a little sweetmeat shop at a corner. Even from a distance, the place reflected a cleanliness that attracted Rahul’s attention. He thought, “Let me eat something there. Skipping breakfast was a bad idea before I started my journey.”

Rahul went inside the shop, sat on a table by the road and ordered for a plate of Samosas. The shopkeeper took out two pieces of the freshly made delicacy and placed the plate in front of Rahul. However, just as he was about to take his first bite, Rahul’s eyes fell on something in front of him. Beside the table, stood an old lady, perhaps a beggar woman, with her eyes fixed on the Samosas!

Rahul could not take his bite. He felt uncomfortable. Within his mind, a question wheezed, “Has this woman eaten anything since last night? How hungry is she? Certainly, I cannot be hungrier than her! She looks so despondent and helpless…”

Rahul took one Samosa from his plate and gave it to the old woman. She took it with an unimaginable ecstasy, blessed Rahul and went. The look in her eyes melted his heart and felt a strange pang in his heart. Rahul was not used to such scenes and sat wondering for a while. After, he finished the other Samosa and got up. He felt relieved after quenching the thirst of his digestive juices and sensed revitalization of his energies.

As he went near the bus stop, Rahul looked at his watch to note the time. The bus was supposed to leave within the next fifteen minutes. As he stood and waited, Rahul thought about the upcoming appraisal time at office and what his boss going to say. His financial status would be defined by what rating he would receive and that would subsequently shape his career progress. His mind got engrossed in these thoughts while he stood and daydreamed. He had managed to earn a prosperous career after graduation and with his wit and talent, he aspired to soar high through the ranks within a couple of years. 

Again, Rahul felt a pang of hunger. This time he didn’t understand why he was again feeling hungry. The sensation made him feel giddy and he started to feel anxious.

“I just had a Samosa!” wondered Rahul, “This cannot be hunger! What am I feeling?”

Presently, a local vagabond came and stood beside him and said, “May God bless you son! I see all your dreams would soon come true… My celestial powers are giving me this vision!”

Rahul tried to avoid eye contact and looked away at a different direction. The vagabond came closer and whispered with a sardonic smile, “Son… I have not eaten anything for the last two days…”

This time, Rahul stared at the vagabond. The old man had a body that was emaciated far beyond his actual age and had given the man the structure of a living skeleton. He was visibly poor and underfed and looked ailing. Rahul took out a decent currency note and handed it over to the man.

The overjoyed vagabond touched Rahul’s head and before leaving, said, “You are an angel! I don’t have to beg for food anymore. I can devote myself to God now.”

As Rahul got inside the bus, he looked outside the window and saw that the vagabond was begging in front of the passengers of another adjacent bus. A sudden thought struck Rahul’s imagination. He felt amused and thought, “We are so similar! We are rascals of the same tribe! He is begging for more money, when he should be devoting his energies towards God… while I am thinking about my appraisal, when I should be grieving the death of my grandma! We are both hungry for money!”

As the bus started to move, a young lady hurried inside with an infant in her lap and sat beside Rahul. The little child was crying loudly and the lady was struggling to calm her down.

The cacophony of the baby’s cries created a visible discomfort among the passengers and the young lady was left embarrassed. Rahul decided to help and began to many funny expressions at the baby and cajoled her from his own place. The little creature felt amused by this and stopped crying. It first smiled and then began to laugh.

The young lady said with a sigh, “Thank you so much! I was not able to calm her down for such a long time! I thought she was hungry, but even after feeding her, she kept on throwing her tantrums! Now, you have finally managed to bring her to peace!”

As the passing wind fluttered over his face Rahul wondered how he himself cherished the attention of his parents and how he craved for their love, even at his matured age. He replied with a smile, “She was hungry for attention!”

Rahul reached his ancestral home at around four ‘o’ clock. His distant relatives greeted him inside, gave him some refreshments and then all of them sat down for performing the religious rituals of the last rites. The entire episode took another hour and the formalities got completed. It was the first time Rahul had been to this village and he roamed inside the earthen house where his grandmother had spent her entire life.

Rahul didn’t feel bad in that rural environment. There was a sense of peace amid everything. However, his pang of hunger crept back. Rahul wondered, “What is going on? Why am I still hungry?”

As he pondered over his strange feeling, a distantly related aunt came up to him and said, “Rahul, here are some milk-cakes that your grandmother had made a couple of days before she passed away. She used to say that she was making them for you! She knew that you loved her milk-cakes. I don’t know whether she understood that she won’t live long and that is why she made these!”

Rahul felt an emotional upheaval and took a piece from his aunt and placed it inside his mouth. The milk-cake melted away like butter and, after a long time, Rahul’s hunger vanished!

As everybody left, Rahul sat on his grandmother’s bed and wondered, “I now know why I was hungry! Throughout the day, my hunger had shown me so many aspects of my own character! I felt my hunger for food, my hunger for money and success, my hunger for attention! But, I was still HUNGRY!”

Tears rolled down from his eyes as Rahul looked around the room. It smelled of his grandma’s presence. Rahul looked up and tried to say something to the invisible air, “Nothing could calm down the real hunger in me. Only your milk-cakes did! I am sorry, I could not be with you when you went away grandma! I was and I am… really HUNGRY for your LOVE!”