Chapter 30
Character Maketh a Man
(November, 1982...)
(Chandigarh...)
"There
was once a home where lived two brothers. Two things couldn't be as different as
they were. One a Saint, other an agent of Satan. One immersed in purity, other
deep in his liquoir cups. If one preached goodness, other practiced all things
vile.
If
different were their lives, so was different the treatment they meted out to
theor wives. Love, respect and dignity marked the relationship the Saint had
with his better half. Bitter was the life of the woman married to the Satan.
She was
beaten when he drank, abused when he gambled his way to loses and was ridiculed
by all when he would steal and get caught. She was meted every kind of
injustice her sister-in-law was sheltered from. Two women in the same house.
And the similarities ended there.
A
curious soul passing by was intrigued with the dark contrast and dared to seek
a solution. The root cause needed to be sought and he set forth for his task.
He met
the Satan who had just satisfied his ego by once again belittiling his wife.
Why do treat the poor woman so? What is her fault, he asked.
Fault,
asked the Satan, I don't know what you are talking about. All I know this is
how a woman should be treated.
Who
taught you so, the baffled soul asked.
My
father, who else - replied the Satan. I have learned from what I have seen him
do. He would drink, gamble and enjoy his life. My mother served him, worked for
him and got harsh treatment from him. I am his son. I have learnt from him.
Saying so the Satan went off to indulge in another sin of his.
The
answer perplexed the curious man and he saw the Saint coming home. His wife
came out to greet him. He bestowed a sweet smile on her and brought forth a
bunch of jasmine strung together. The wife beamed with joy, put the string
around her hair and promised the Saint a meal of his choice.
The curious
man went up to him and praised his gesture. Sir, he said to the Saint, you
treat you wife so well. Who taught you so?
Well, questioned
the Saint, I don't know what you are talking about. All I know this is how a
woman should be treated.
Who
taught you so, the curious soul was eager to know.
My father,
who else - replied the Saint. I have learned from what I have seen him do. He
would drink, gamble and enjoy his life. My mother served him, worked for him
and got harsh treatment from him. I am his son. I have learnt what not to do from
him. He showed me what was wrong. I learnt what was right.
The
answer stumped the curious soul. He pondered on both the brothers and their
answers for a while. And then he smiled. It was so simple after all.
One must
choose their own path. The instinct of right and wrong cannot be taught. It needs
to be cultivated within our own conscience."
"Is the
story over Darjee," Yash asked while barely making an attempt to hide his yawn.
"Yes son
it is," Ajaipal said in an even voice. His hooded eyes gave no emotion away as
he replied, "You may leave now if you wish."
Tisha
mouthed a 'Thank God' and rushed away after Yash.
Amrit
stood and went away to work in the kitchen, while Vicky, who was anyways sitting
with his back to his father, paused for a second and resumed with his comics.
Ajaipal
Singh Khurana was a good judge of character. Rarely ever came an instance where
his judgment has been called to question. Therefore, people listened when he
spoke.
However,
history has proved that great teachers are often ignored in their own homes.
Iqbal
walked up and stood before him. "It was a good story Daarjee, but I could not
understand it completely," she innocently admitted.
The thing
with great men was that they did not seek hoardes of followers listening to
them. It is often one student they seek to whom they can pass on their mantle,
giving them the satisfaction of giving their best to the society at large.
"Koi nai
Iqbal [Doesn't matter Iqbal]," Ajaipal blessed his daughter, "maybe one day you
will. You can always come back and ask me if you need." He paused for a moment
and spoke again, "and if I am not there you have you Maan veerji to ask."
Ajaipal
Singh Khurana did not seek greatness. His benediction was that one student that
God had blessed him with.
He had
his Maan.
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(Chandigarh...)
"Status,"
she paused for effect, "status is the only true yardstick of a person's worth."
Indira
Malhotra looked around the room full of ladies with arrogance.
She knew
what she was saying found agreement with everyone present in the room today.
These ladies, just like her, belonged to the elite class of population in the
society. Therefore, not even a single one of them would disagree with her.
And she
hated it immensely when people disagreed with her.
The way
she hated her husband.
India
was not for her. She did not belong to this under-developed country and its
backward ideologies. Her loyalties still lay with the land of the Queen. Just
like her forefathers before her. Born and brought up in London, India was a
world alien to her.
She did
one mistake in her life. She married an Indian tradesman who had come to settle
in England. She had assumed that he would now belong to the land she worshiped
too.
But you
can take an Indian out of India, but never the India out of an Indian.
It
started first with the children. He ruled to send them to India for their
education. She put her foot down when it came to the choice of school. Only a
convent boarding establishment was good enough.
It had
now come to the question of their marriage.
This
time her children too stood against her. The eldest had chosen a man from
Ludhiana for herself. Only his high status stopped Indira from disowning her.
But what
pinched her most was the decision of her son. His views were in tandem with his
father.
For the
last five months, ever since their eldest daughter was married, the Malhotras
had resumed residence in India. Chandigarh became their city of living.
Because
as far as Indira was concerened, once all her children got married, she would
pack her bags back to London. Husband, or no husband, along.
These
ladies that swarmed her house right now were mere distractions for her. Indira
Malhotra made no friends. Her eyes travelled the length of room and came to
settle on a figure clad in cream saree and heavy pearls. This lady was probably
the only lady she could consider worth being a friend. She matched Indira in
status and class. But it was more fun to watch as a spectator from outside than
empathize as a friend on the inside.
And the
sour expression on the face of Savitri Swaroop Khurana itched Indira to probe
the matter.
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(November, 1982...)
(Gurudwara Sahib, Chandigarh...)
Waheguru ji ka Khalsa!!
Waheguru ji ki Fateh!!
The
salutation was raised with great gusto by the congregation gathered in
Gurudwara Sahib.
Ajaipal
folded his palms in reverence and started to make his way outside the premises.
"Chaudhary
jee?"
A voice
beckoned him from behind and he turned to face a man of about his age standing
before him.
"Jee?"
"Sat Sri
Akal Chaudhary jee," the man greeted, "you wouldn't know me but are fathers
were known to each other. You may have heard of the Malhotra Builders?"
"Yes,
ofcourse..."
"It was
established by my father," he replied, "I am Deshbir Malhotra."
"Pleased
to meet you Malhotra sa'ab," Ajaipal smiled, "I had heard you were settled in
London."
"Jee
Chaudhary jee," Deshbir answered, "but I have returned to my land five months
back. My daughter has been married to a nice boy from Ludhiana. It's my ardent
wish now to see the rest of my children married in this country itself."
"A nice thought indeed."
"I have
been seeing you in the Gurudwara Sahib every morning and always felt as if I
recognize you. Just a few days back someone brought light to your identity and
I have been eager to make acquaintance since then. Infact, our wives are
already well-acquainted with each other."
"I am
afraid I would have to plead ignorance in this regard. I am generally unaware
of my wife's socializing."
"No need
to apologize Chaudhary jee. Had I had any control in this matter even I would
like to keep myself away from women's talk. But my wife does not leave me with
a choice," he joked.
"How are
you finding the stay here so far? If you need any assistance please feel free
to ask," Ajaipal offered.
"I will
sure do that. And I shall begin by requesting your hand in friendship."
"The
pleasure is mine Malhotra sa'ab," Ajaipal shook the hand Deshbir Malhotra had
extended.
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(Khurana Kothi...)
(Chandigarh...)
Some
wounds heal easily. Some take time.
One such
wound Savitri has been nursing since the day Maan left for Sikkim.
Her pride
had taken a great fall that day in Amritsar.
She is
keen to get her son married. Why is that seen as a crime? If she is
pressurizing the Handas a little then what is wrong in that? She is the groom's
mother, doesn't she have some rights? It is the society's norm after all.
She likes
Geet. She is ready to accept her the way she is. She is making no demands of
her. By society's standard she is actually setting an example. She still
remembers when her neighbors had gotten their son married. What all they did
not demand and so much was met by the girl's family above expectations.
Education,
learning...hmphhh...what does a girl do
with all that after marriage? The Khuranas are so well off that even if Maan
decides to leave his job; both husband and wife wouldn't need to work ever,
lest Geet needs to do so.
Mohinder
Handa may have aspirations for his daughters but why is he making her bear the
pressure of it. Such a beautiful bride she found for her Maan but seems that it
will take a while before she could call Geet her daughter-in-law.
But are the Handas interested in making Maan
their son-in-law at all? So easily did they agree to Maan leaving Sikkim. Any
other father would have insisted a quick marriage first. Are they holding us
out for a better family?
"Savitri,"
Indira crooned, "what is up with you these days? I always see you so
pre-occupied. Is everything alright?"
"It is
Indira," Savitri dismissed Indira's concerns, "everything is fine."
"It
doesn't seem so Savitri. Last weekend at my get-together too I had seen you
brooding away. Even then you had dodged my questions. I shall not give up
today," Indira declared.
"Just a
little domestic stuff. Triffle issues," Savitri claimed.
"Triffle?
A believe a son's wedding is a big matter. How can that be triffle?"
Savitri
looked at Indira with eyes wide.
"I am
just concerned for you Savitri," Indira hastened to cover up, "gossip travels
fast after all. And is always spoken behind one's back. But I care for you
therefore I have dared to speak about the matter to you directly. Maan has
gotten engaged, hasn't he?"
Savitri
pursed her lips tight. Pride sometimes works in the right direction too. She
may not be happy with the way her husband or son treats her. But her pride
would never allow her to wash the dirty linen in public. Her pride always taught
her to keep matters of family within the confines of their home.
"There
is nothing wrong Indira. As you said gossip travels fast. And it only does so
bcause there is no weight it carries. Yes, Maan has gotten engaged. Engaged into
a wonderful family," Savitri smirked with pride, "My daughter-in-law is a rare
gem and the her family is worth knowing."
No no...stop thinking like you were Savitri. Your
own words to Indira couldn't be truer. Handa ji is not such a man. His character
is so high. Even if they are not of noble birth his character is no less noble.
But what if...
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(December, 1982...)
(Gurudwara Sahib, Chandigarh...)
A man
always seeks a kindered soul in the multitude he meets in his lifetime.
Deshbir Malhotra
had found one in Ajaipal Singh Khurana.
Ever since
he had returned to India, he found himself lacking a sincere friend. A friend
he could draw support from, a shoulder he could lean on.
In the
reserved but principled Chaudhary Khurana, Deshbir found not only a friend he
sought but also an insipiration to emulate.
His marriage
was a bitter one. He always felt that it was because Indira and he were poles
apart in their ideologies. And, thus there was never a solution to be.
But after
seeing Ajaipal and the relationship he shared with his wife Savitri, Deshbir felt
that maybe there is hope. That probably, after the children were all married,
he and Indira could retire in peace with each other. Growing old could be
better rather than bitter.
Till then,
till he could bring about that change, Ajaipal had become Deshbir's sounding
board for all or any matter that distressed him. Ajaipal inspired that
confidence in Deshbir, to the extent that he discussed his marital woes with
him, because he never judged. He would hear Deshbir rattle on with patience but
never judged, either Indira for being the snob she was or him, for speaking of his
wife thus.
For some
reason Ajaipal's silence had endeared him to Deshbir forever. For he knew that
this man offered his support in only that particular manner. The morning
meetings in Gurudwara Sahib had become a complusory routine for Deshbir
Malhotra now.
The
morning kirtan had come to an end and both friends got up to leave for their
home.
"See you
tomorrow Deshbir ji," Ajaipal bade him farewell.
"Please
let me offer you a ride back home. I have noticed you always walk back home,"
Deshbir offered back.
"It has
been my morning routine for years for now. It keeps an old man like me fit."
"I
insist Ajaipal ji," Deshbir urged, "just for this once. I would also like you
to meet my son. By God's grace we will soon find a suitable girl for him too.
There he comes..."
Deshbir
pointed towards his left at the Gurudwara Sahib's porch. Ajaipal turned in the
direction pointed.
A tall
man of lean build in pristine white kurta came walking towards them. A calm
expression and a pleasant smile adorned his face.
Suddenly the peace of the Gurudwara was disrupted by a
commotion that came from the road.
A
motorcycle came ragging on the road. The rider reeked of recklessness.
Everyone
of sane mind immediately moved to safety.
But a
limp beggar wasn't quick enough.
Before
Ajaipal could even react, a blurry of white dashed towards the beggar. The
savior and saved stumbled by the force of momentum, and though safe from the
furious motorcycle that sped away without regret, they fell on the pavement to
the side.
"Ajaipal
jee, meet my son Jaiveer Malhotra," Deshbir declared with pride.
The man
in white got up and Ajaipal realized it was Deshbir's son who was just about to
be introduced to him.
"You
have done a good deed son. Your parents are lucky to have a son like you,"
Ajaipal blessed.
"It's
from them that I have learnt my values Chaudhary jee," he replied while helping
the beggar collect his belongings.
Ajaipal
looked the young lad before him calmly, assessing his character with his
experienced eyes.
"I know
for sure your mother would never approve of this. She would never come forward
the way you have."
Jaiveer
smiled pleasantly at Ajaipal and agreed, "Yes, she wouldn't. And that is why I
would."
Saying
so he took his blessings from Ajaipal and left, leaving Ajaipal to reflect on
his words.
Ajaipal
Singh Khurana was a good judge of character. Rarely came an occasion where his
judgment has been called to question. Therefore, he was glad that he met the
likes of Jaiveer Malhotra in this world.
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Hmm...you guys would probably find this update a little dull...but it is a must for some happy happenings in the future.
A new entry!!! Jaiveer Malhotra. Now its upto you peeps to guess the purpose of his entry ;)
Please make sure to add this ID for PMs ...
Edited by jazerettePMs - 11 years ago
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