My hero is my Sejo Mama.
His ever smiling few words. His dress his complexion. His dress his uncomplaining nature and his weather proof habits. His short oiled hair. His Palm shoe. His Long shirt with book pocket. His Dhuti. His Pan. His independence.
I wish to watch him taking insulin injection after bath at late afternoon before meal wearing a blueish Lungi with no expression while talking mundane things to any if present by way of news. His participation in public events unlike all elders - e.g. watching Jatra. His love for plants and trees. He was in abundance and without luxury.
I even admired his death and his sense of enjoyment from his suffering. Before his death he came to see my mother. I was living then at Mudiali. He was casually telling he has a screen in his eyes and cannot see. Some blood vessel had burst. He was waiting for bus. He did not see. Some person pushed him away from the approaching bus coming to stop. He traveled alone without support and lived alone. Several days after he went back to Madhupur, he died.
The night he died I still see in my imagination. He closed all doors and windows to his room. Unlike any other day. The gardener hopelessly watched him gasping for breath before death peering inside through wooden collapsible window. He wished to die without any help. The door was to be broken open next morning. It was natural death. He wished to die naturally without anybody's touch while still alive.
He had no belief no guru no religion no prayer no habit no anger no grief and never preached or talked about himself. He was ever smiling. he respected all his elder brother and his mother. No complaint. he gave up all his property and never visited his ancestral land and was without regret. Hardship was no hardship. He was my teacher.
I was forever taught by my brother Kamal. But Sejo Mama was my hero. I was totally overwhelmed by my brother Gopal for his candid simplicity and friendliness towards all creatures big or small. But I learnt forbearance with out manifestation from Sejo Mama.
With his memory I was so overwhelmed and forgot why I started to write in the first place.
I remember Lali a remarkable pet hen we had. She was old and unable to climb to her sleeping place. She used to come and knock the door. she knew her home and us. she used to wait till we kept her in her den. She did what she was expected to do without expression or flutter, One day she did not come back. I searched a lot in the neighborhood but could not find her.
Mejo Mama had a pet dog. Tom he was too part of the family. One day Tom did not come back.
The most admirable dog was Bagha picked from the street when he was a few days old. He lived for many years about 12. He was a very responsible dog but liked his outings and often ran away.
In my childhood I was not so limited as I am now. I had much broader mind. My family was bigger and greater. I was not shamed to be poor or uneducated and not respected. There was no hunger for public achievement and I had no desire to beat drums to let distant others know.
ascetic do not write a story but live a story.
I have no ability to teach or inspire or transform others like my brothers Kamal Gopal or Sejo Mama. I instead devote myself to transform me. I use my time and every moment of my privileged present birth for my transformation to less and lesser.
My Dharma.
His ever smiling few words. His dress his complexion. His dress his uncomplaining nature and his weather proof habits. His short oiled hair. His Palm shoe. His Long shirt with book pocket. His Dhuti. His Pan. His independence.
I wish to watch him taking insulin injection after bath at late afternoon before meal wearing a blueish Lungi with no expression while talking mundane things to any if present by way of news. His participation in public events unlike all elders - e.g. watching Jatra. His love for plants and trees. He was in abundance and without luxury.
I even admired his death and his sense of enjoyment from his suffering. Before his death he came to see my mother. I was living then at Mudiali. He was casually telling he has a screen in his eyes and cannot see. Some blood vessel had burst. He was waiting for bus. He did not see. Some person pushed him away from the approaching bus coming to stop. He traveled alone without support and lived alone. Several days after he went back to Madhupur, he died.
The night he died I still see in my imagination. He closed all doors and windows to his room. Unlike any other day. The gardener hopelessly watched him gasping for breath before death peering inside through wooden collapsible window. He wished to die without any help. The door was to be broken open next morning. It was natural death. He wished to die naturally without anybody's touch while still alive.
He had no belief no guru no religion no prayer no habit no anger no grief and never preached or talked about himself. He was ever smiling. he respected all his elder brother and his mother. No complaint. he gave up all his property and never visited his ancestral land and was without regret. Hardship was no hardship. He was my teacher.
I was forever taught by my brother Kamal. But Sejo Mama was my hero. I was totally overwhelmed by my brother Gopal for his candid simplicity and friendliness towards all creatures big or small. But I learnt forbearance with out manifestation from Sejo Mama.
With his memory I was so overwhelmed and forgot why I started to write in the first place.
I remember Lali a remarkable pet hen we had. She was old and unable to climb to her sleeping place. She used to come and knock the door. she knew her home and us. she used to wait till we kept her in her den. She did what she was expected to do without expression or flutter, One day she did not come back. I searched a lot in the neighborhood but could not find her.
Mejo Mama had a pet dog. Tom he was too part of the family. One day Tom did not come back.
The most admirable dog was Bagha picked from the street when he was a few days old. He lived for many years about 12. He was a very responsible dog but liked his outings and often ran away.
In my childhood I was not so limited as I am now. I had much broader mind. My family was bigger and greater. I was not shamed to be poor or uneducated and not respected. There was no hunger for public achievement and I had no desire to beat drums to let distant others know.
ascetic do not write a story but live a story.
I have no ability to teach or inspire or transform others like my brothers Kamal Gopal or Sejo Mama. I instead devote myself to transform me. I use my time and every moment of my privileged present birth for my transformation to less and lesser.
My Dharma.
No comments:
Post a Comment