Desicritics Author: The Hissing Saint

The Beggar and The Peanut Seller

The Hissing Saint — Sat, 27 May 2006 07:21:34 EDT

At a busy railway station a small-time snack seller was packing up his wares and preparing to head back to the place he called home. Doing so his eyes fell once again on the beggar who sat just a little distance away from his stall.

The beggar sat there the whole day lost in his own world, one hand eternally held out, begging for alms. His legs, it appeared, had been lost to some freak accident and the stumps now served as a source of sympathy from many.

All day the snack seller watched as customers would buy something from him and throw a little loose change to the beggar. It was something he was beginning to find extremely irritating. Not because it was his customers who were throwing him his alms but more so because he could not stand the incongruity.

Here he was working hard to earn his pennies and here was this useless, miserable creep who just sat there the whole day doing nothing.

He walked up to the man and bent down before him.

"Tell me brother, don't you feel ashamed of yourself? Begging all day and living off the pity of others. Just because you are disabled does not mean that you can't do anything. And look at what an odd sight we must make. Me working hard all day and you just lazing around."

The beggar looked up at him slowly and smiled...

"My dear friend we are both essentially doing the same thing...."

"We are both sellers ...albeit of different products."

"Look at the people who drop in their coins into my bowl...do you really think they do it because of pity?"

"Most of them are thinking to themselves, "I have done a good deed...god is going to bless me today."

"Ask these very people if they would so much as lift a finger to help me were I dying of cold or soaking in the pouring rain. And you say I live off the pity of people?"

"Think about the countless depressed people dissatisfied with their lives! Every time they look at me they realise how fortunate they really are!!"

"This is a selfish world my friend and we all do something for some benefit. If you are a seller I too am a seller."

The snack seller stared at the face of the beggar but there was no emotion there. He was once again lost in his own world like he had never even spoken.

He sighed and went back to his work.

Chicken Soup: Dreams And Delusions

The Hissing Saint — Tue, 2 May 2006 16:51:53 EDT

"Small or Large"

"Um...cut them into medium sized pieces"

"Okay!" said the butcher and bought down his heavy knife on the neck of the chicken.

*THUD*

It was just another day for the butcher.

Cooped up in his small 10x10 shop, surrounded by cages full of cackling birds and wearing a blood stained apron he went about his job, skillfully ripping off the feathers and skin of the dead bird. He felt no emotion or pity as he sliced the once living bird into hunks of meat and packed it off into the hands of the waiting customer.

For him it was just a job and a tiring one at that.

He took a glance at the watch as he stretched his aching back. It was 8:30 in the evening - time to clean up the shop and shut down for the day.

From behind their cages the birds watched with relief as the butcher and his assistant went about their daily chores of cleaning up the blood stained floors and carrying out the remains of the numerous dead birds that had been slaughtered during the day.

For them this ritual signified the end of yet another day and perhaps a few more hours to live.

It had been a rude awakening for all of them.

Born and bought up on the chicken farm, life had been all about eating and running around and playing with each other until one fine day they found themselves packed into a van and sent off to a fate that none of them could even dream of.

Now each day was spent in mute terror, huddled against each other in the dirty filthy cages waiting for the clanging that accompanied the opening of the cage door and the hand that would dart in and drag one of them out to certain death.

Death was a certainty but for now life had granted them a little more time. With this thought on their mind the chickens shut their eyes for the night.

Meanwhile outside the shop an old brown scrawny cat stood eagerly, watching the butcher and his assistant at work. He kept meowing pitifully at them hoping for some scrap to be thrown his way. There was a time when the cat had walked with a proud countenance and had shunned the company of men. But now, well past his prime and too old to go about hunting, it was on human mercy and waste that he now found himself surviving.

When the butcher's eyes finally fell upon the meowing and wailing cat he promptly picked it up and bought it into the shop flashing a grin at his assistant.

Now the butcher wasn't really a feline lover. In fact he had nothing but the most selfish intentions in his mind. For the past many days he had been faced with the menace of a rather gluttonous rat that loved to feast on the eggs he stored in his shop. The butcher had tried everything from traps to poisons but the rat had so far evaded all attempts at capture and the cat was now the butcher's only hope.

Caressing the head of the now very happy cat he set it down in the middle of the store and offered it a tiny piece of bread. As the hungry cat feasted on that scrap the butcher quickly exited the shop pulling the shutters down behind him locking the cat inside.

For a long time the cat tried and tried searching for a way out of the place but failed and finally gave up hungry and frustrated. As he sniffed around looking for something to eat his eyes fell upon a chicken staring back at him.

"What's wrong with you? Aren't you gonna sleep?" the cat asked her as he licked his paws.

"I don't know...just don't feel up to it!" the chicken sighed, "But what are you doing here?" she added.

"I don't know...but I will be out when it is morning" the cat said as he made his way to the egg stack. He sniffed around the eggs and quickly decided he did not like them.

"You are fortunate...we are all destined to die here..." the chicken continued in her sullen tone as the cat continued to look around the shop.

The cat by now found himself quite bored of his surroundings and glanced at the sad chicken. The need for entertainment spawned a wicked plan in his head. He hopped down towards the cage and whispered to the hen.

"I know dear...I know how horrible things are for you...but I tell you honestly...it is all going to change very soon."

"What are you talking about" the hen asked, her eyes lighting up.

"You know I am old and I have been with humans a long time and I know everything there is to know about them. They were always cruel, as both you and me know, but I tell you," the cat purred, in an almost conspiratorial tone, " things are beginning to change."

"Humans are beginning to abandon their cruel ways and are allowing animals to go free! In fact the other day a cat just like me was run over by a careless driver. People actually got together and took the cruel driver to task. It was an unbelievable sight...and it is just one of the many things I have begun to see"

"That is why I tell you...soon the slaughter that goes on here will stop and you too will be free. Ever imagined how it would be like to roam free...do as you please.... fly through the sky...wake up when you want to...go where you want to...no cages...ever wondered? Ever wondered about the beautiful world that lies beyond this filthy cage and beyond this filthy place?"

The chicken's eyes were now filled with dreams and the cat was loving every moment of it.

"Are you sure of what you say?" the chicken gasped with joy.

"Of course my dear! Just wait and you shall see" said the cat with a wide grin and walked away once again bored.

The chicken meanwhile began to float in her own world. She began to see dreams of running wild, of floating through the sky and feeling the wind against her wings, roaming where she wanted to, unrestrained by any cage or bars. It was a feeling like nothing she had ever experienced before. All her life had been spent behind a cage and she couldn't imagine a life without it. She had always wondered about what lay beyond those grilles and now she felt she could finally go out and see for herself.

Lost in her dreams she never noticed the time go by. She never heard the squeak of the mouse as it walked unawares into the path of the cat and its own fatal destiny. And neither did she even realize the coming of dawn and the arrival of the butcher.

It was only the clanging of the cage doors that finally awakened her.

It was day already and the counter was choc-a-bloc with people. The Sunday mass at church had just left and a large crowd of people had dropped by to pick up some meat for the afternoon lunch. But the poor chicken in all her elation and joy mistook the congregation to be her rescuers and saviours.

Her heart skipped a beat...her time had come..."These people have come to rescue me"

She stood up with a flourish and fluttered her wings, waiting proudly for the moment even as the other chickens retreated to the corners of the cage huddling against each other.

One of the customers pointed a finger in her direction.

"They are asking for me" her heart almost sang with glee, even as the butchers hand darted in and grabbed her proud body with iron fists and dragged her out.

With a quick move he twisted her wings around so she couldn't escape and dumped her on the scales. All of a sudden she felt her dream tumbling. She stared terrified as her supposed "saviour" scrutinized her and then nodded his approval.

Her mind was in a whirl.

"What was happening...this was not how it was meant to be..."

"This is the only chicken that has any life in it...just look at the others...all dead and lifeless!" complained a customer even as she screamed and struggled.

The butcher frowned and took the chicken off to a corner of the shop behind a little wall built to hide the gruesome slaughter from the eyes of the waiting customers. The chicken watched with horror as she felt the cold steel of a knife against her throat. With one swift cut the butcher slit the throat of the chicken and tossed her flailing struggling body into a little bin waiting for her to die.

In the bin the struggling chicken found her strength slowly disappearing. The blood oozed in a steady stream and coated itself around her flapping wings and body in a sticky mess. She couldn't believe what was happening to her but she knew of the fate that awaited her and with a sigh she gave up her struggle. The pain had now subsided and in its place a weird numbness now began to spread through her body.

Once again images began to pass before her blood coated eyes...of open fields.... of flying through blue boundless skies...and of freedom.

As her struggles stopped the butcher lifted her bloodied and still body out from the bin and placed her on the chopping block.

"Small or large" he cried out to the customer.

The chicken didn't know what those words meant but she knew what they signified.

"Large" the customer shouted back

She closed her eyes...

*THUD*

...and darkness descended.

The Great Indian Confused Male

The Hissing Saint — Thu, 27 Apr 2006 09:36:01 EDT

This incident happened about a year ago.

I was on a train, making my way to work when I chanced upon this rather interesting conversation. A group of about seven to eight men, ranging in their ages from the early 20s to 30s, was huddled together in the crowded compartment and avidly discussing the Marine drive rape incident.

I watched and listened keenly as all of them expressed their contempt for the now incarcerated cop and proposed various methods of punishment that could be meted out to him for his crime.

Interestingly as the conversation proceeded it began to take on a different shade. Some of the men began to propose that the victim herself was partly responsible for her fate.

"...and what was she doing alone with two boys," said someone.

"Once she had finished her work she should have headed back home," chipped in another.

"Who knows...maybe she was wearing something provocative?"

Soon enough the conversation shifted to college girls and how "horrible and cheap" their dressing had become. Someone began to describe the "obscene" sights he had seen outside a south Mumbai college.

As the discussion continued, I began to wonder for some strange reason about the backgrounds of these men and the circumstances under which they grew up.

I could almost imagine them as kids, watching as their homebound-mother slaved over domestic chores, took care of them and generally did everything possible to please her husband.

When they would come back home bawling after a fight with friends or nursing a bruised arm or leg, their mothers would chide them for crying saying "Are you a boy or a girl? Stop crying! You should be a brave man" or "If you want to cry like this, become a girl, wear some bangles and sit at home."

As they grew they would learn to celebrate a festival called Raksha Bandhan.

Raksha Bandhan is a festival celebrating the bond of affection between brothers and sisters. The day when the siblings pray for each other's well being and wish for each other's happiness and goodwill. As the name "Raksha Bandhan" suggests, "a bond of protection", Raksha Bandhan is a pledge from brothers to protect the sister from all harms and troubles and a prayer from the sister to protect the brother from all evil.

Soon enough the boys would watch as their mother began to involve their sisters in kitchen activities and teaching them the various domestic chores while the boy himself was strictly forbidden from doing the same.

When it came to academics, perhaps the boy's performance would always be lauded while the girl's achievements would be given a blind eye. Money would be spent on the boy's tuitions and extra classes but no such importance would be given to the girl because "she had to be married off and what use was education to her anyway."

Sometimes mother would have other female relatives or neighbors at home and the boy would sometimes hear them talking about family issues and lamenting about the increasing cost of running the household. Of course there would also be the occasional discussion about some hen-pecked husband who according to them was being tormented by his wife because he was sometimes seen hanging out the washed clothes or helping his wife in household chores. They would all agree that a man must know how to control his wife or he would end up like this person. And as they laughed mother would warn the boy to be careful or he too would end up being a "joru ka ghulam" or a "Slave of the wife."

Even while the boy was at play the messages never stopped.

As the boy grew he learnt from peers that certain games were girlie games and not stuff that boys should indulge in. If anyone was a little craven he was instantly referred to as a girlie.

Even the media did little to contradict what the boy was "learning".

The typical Indian family movie or soap would portray the female protagonist as an all-good, all sacrificing woman who silently bore the oppression of her evil in-laws.

The female antagonist character on the other hand was a woman with a keen fashion sense, indulged herself in jewellery and other luxuries, participated in kitty parties and was generally found plotting and conspiring to divide an otherwise peacefully living family.

There were no shades here - just black and white.

Invariably many of these family drama movies would also feature for comic relief, a hen-pecked tormented husband who finally finds liberation from his tyrant wife with a tight slap and the clichéd dialogue - "I should have done this a long time ago!". And voila the woman sheds a few tears, "has her eyes opened" and is suddenly transformed into the "good and loving" wife who seeks forgiveness from her husband.

Other similarly intransigent women are also bought on to the "right path" by the tight slap.

In time I assume all these messages leave a distinct stamp on the mind of this person. He sees himself as the superior one, responsible for protecting and taking care of the women in his family. He probably sees women as entities that must be controlled for their own good. His idea of the ideal woman is probably someone who sits at home, takes care of the kids, prepares the food and serves her husband.

But unknown to him things are changing.

While there are women who accept the oppression or superiority of men (as the case may be) as a natural way of life and don't think twice about it, there is a significant majority that seeks freedom from this cycle. They see themselves not just as baby makers or housewives but rather playing a larger role in society. They are street smart, confident and do not need men to play the role of caretakers or protectors.

And in all of this our Indian man, with all his perceptions and ideas, suddenly finds himself redundant - a mere contributor of sperm. He finds himself being called insensitive, chauvinistic and many other not so flattering adjectives.

Every principle, idea and thought he held close to his heart is suddenly turned upside down. He finds it hard to accept this new reality and fights it tooth and nail, distorting reality to fit things into his own perspective.

The result perhaps is what I see before me.

The discussion meanwhile is interrupted by a group of women who enter the train and occupy a couple of seats a little distance away. This sight immediately attracts the ire of the group and they launch into a purposefully vociferous discussion aimed at heckling the women.

The reason?

The General compartment (as it is formally called) of the train is more fondly referred to by the men as the Gents or Men's compartment, although officially no such exclusivity has been conferred upon it. Yet any intrusion by the women (who incidentally are offered an exclusive ladies compartment) is viewed with much consternation.

"These females have their own compartment yet they barge in here and take our seats."

"...and if that weren't enough...they get angry if someone by mistake also touches them...."

As I listen to their angry voices I wondered, perhaps this was a battle to preserve what these men perceived to be their last stronghold.

Meanwhile a couple of seats away another group of men breaks into the opening lines of a popular Hindi film song. A number of voices join in and in almost no time an orchestra of bathroom singers is in concert.

Everyone's attention is now riveted on the performance. The acrimony is shelved for a while.

Gender Equality, it seems, could wait for another day.