Chetan and Simplicity

His was the most disarming smile I ever came across among the staff of Sawan school. Let’s call him Chetan. He always carried a small comb in the back pocket of his trousers though there was hardly any hair on his head. The few strands that grew on either side were combed over the glaring baldness in spite of their intractable rebellion against the attempt. Even while conversing with you, he would take out the comb and indulge in the mechanical act which could have been avoided because his smile would keep you so transfixed that you wouldn’t really notice his baldness.

In my very first conversation with him on the campus of Sawan, he mentioned that there were mountains not too far if I missed them. I had just told him that I was working in Shillong before landing in Delhi. “Meghalaya, the land of beautiful hills!” He exclaimed with childlike excitement. “The Aravalli here may not be a match but they aren’t bad either if you’re interested.”

“How far? Can I reach it by scooter?” My question put him off instantly. He thought I was making fun of him. I wasn’t. I had no idea how far the Aravalli Range was from where Sawan school was. I was new in the place and the road that carried me to Sawan gave me the feeling that I was going to some remote corner of the earth. The Mehrauli-Bhatti Mines Road, the only road from Delhi to Sawan, ended a few kilometres after Sawan in a village called Bhatti Mines. What lay beyond was a forest that separated the state of Haryana from Delhi. Standing on the vast campus of a school with hardly any other sign of civilisation around than the school and its own buildings, I presumed from Chetan’s remark that there were some hills nearby. When his face became clouded instantly on hearing my question, I realised that he was a highly sensitive man. I decided to be cautious in my future conversations with him.

Maggie and I had travelled quite a lot in Delhi by our scooter in those days. We were younger at heart than in our bodies and we enjoyed the freedom offered by the two-wheeler which carried us from Sawan to any end of Delhi when we felt like visiting some place such as the Red Fort or Humayun’s Tomb. My question to Chetan was nothing more than an innocuous query.

Chetan was one of the few men in Delhi with whom I longed to establish a close acquaintance. I was certain that he was the kind that would do no harm to anyone knowingly. But I learnt soon enough that he wasn’t much interested in getting close to me. He seemed to labour under some such bias as South Indians were too crooked or something like that. Maybe, he was shielding himself from the potential hazards of Dravidian cunning.

Sawan was never racist openly. The students never made me feel like an outsider. In fact, I enjoyed an enviable degree of cordiality with good many of them. Even the staff didn’t ever discriminate against the few South Indians overtly. But once I happened to hear a lady belonging to Chetan’s own department asking someone: Ab Madrasi ka bhi sunna padega? Should we now listen to a South Indian too? Until then I used to think of that lady as the most genial female colleague in Sawan.

Chetan wouldn’t have raised such a question, I think, though he must have found many of my opinions unacceptable. I wasn’t a conformist at any time though I tried my best to avoid confrontations with others. Shillong had convinced me rather perversely that I was nothing better than a gargoyle on the magnificent edifice that better people strove to construct and maintain. I knew I had to keep distance from people, especially sensitive ones like Chetan.

When the Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] cult stole into the school in 2012, troubles started on the campus. In spite of all his innate goodness Chetan was not spared either. He was told categorically that he could not keep his pet dog on the campus. Bozo, a cute little Pomeranian, was the beloved of the entire Chetan family. RSSB was a religious cult that preached love and generosity and the entire continuum of great human values. But their actual practices were the opposite of all they preached. They were a mammoth bundle of greed for land and lust for power.

Chetan chose to quit his job in Sawan and keep his Bozo. Chetan’s love for his dog was a world better than all the spirituality taught by RSSB in their quarterly gatherings for which they killed an entire school and ruined the happiness of hundreds of people.

What happened to people like Chetan reinforced my belief that the world actually belongs to the crooked and the wicked. Scratch people’s spirituality or nationalism or such ideals and you will find slyness grinning in their veins. 

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