THREE DIARIES

THREE DIARIES There was nothing ostentatious nor any adornment about him. He was unpretentious and naïve; exceedingly shy by nature, he was a perennial victim of stage fright. His name was Gandhi. Not the emblematic Mahatma whose revolutionary and prototypical movements shook the very foundations of the British Empire in India. Eknath Gandhi was hugely inspired by the story of Mahatma Gandhi and had read The Story of My Experiments with Truth in English, Hindi and Gujarati, his native tongue. Some other books that fired his imagination included Lust for Life, Whose Life is it Anyway, and a few plays of the dramaturge Shakespeare. Eknath had developed a singular passion in life and that was to write. But he was not mettlesome enough to get his works published. He simply lacked the robustness and tenacity to disseminate his literature on suitable platforms. This Gandhi was fearful of rejection and lived in perpetual fear of non-acceptance by society. Eknath was the only child of Sudhakar and Madhuri Gandhi. His father was a domineering and tyrannical cop, while his mother though a strong personality by nature maintained an adequate distance from her husband, dreading the bouts of his wrath. The youngster was often a witness to his father’s holler in the house. He’d shed copious tears when his authoritative father gave him and his mother a hiding for no particular reason. Having a dictatorial father enfeebled Eknath. He was shrunk into a wan personality who remained insecure all through his childhood. In fact, the household resembled a prison where mother and son were no more than inmates. Several times in an inebriated condition Sudhakar Gandhi used the choicest of abuses against his Madhuri, her parents and Eknath. Redemption arrived one fine day, when the patriarch of the family was killed in an encounter while combating a group of gangsters. Mother and son caroused in private. It was certainly a macabre response, but they could not bring themselves to choose any other option available on the platter. *************** Who was telling the story? And whose story was it anyway? The words fluttered and flew in the wind, penned by Eknath Gandhi as he sat down to write an array of tales. This was yet another of his umpteen attempts to weave short stories. He had recently penned a short story called Heart Break at a Coffee Shop, but could not gather the pluck to send it in for the Times of India short story competition. His mother watched haplessly at the cowardice of her son. Eknath nevertheless was diligent and punctilious and made all efforts to hone his craft. Though unsure and tentative about his writing skills, he was in pursuit of that magical story which would fetch him wide acclaim and accolades. But on the question of putting his stories out to the prospective reader, insecurity continued to grip his brain. As a child he had suffered from a severe bout of typhoid and later was plagued with a frail stomach which added to the never-ending misadventures in life. All these events made him even more timorous. He lived with antipathetic ideas towards his father and would then be subsumed with guilt. Thus, the gifted child could not blossom as he had quotidian nightmares of his draconian father. His confidence remained at the lowest ebb and he could never develop a brawny personality or flower into a confident writer. After a series of struggles, Eknath Gandhi became a banker by profession and his passionate dream of churning out literary masterpieces languished in some cranny corner of his mind. Several plots had mushroomed but were to still see the light of the day. As he grew older, his idols were two former bankers, Chetan Bhagat and Amish Tripathi. These two exemplar Indians had emerged as bestselling and chevalier authors in India and overseas. But he, Eknath Gandhi, who had several manuscripts in his custody, he was still struggling to find his place in the sun on account of his self-effacing and timid nature. Often Eknath acted out the roles of Chetan Bhagat or Amish Tripathi by giving bytes and staging imaginary interviews to the media, as he envisioned his works being converted into movies and translated into other languages. These delightful nuggets provided a spark in his otherwise desultory life. The writer who had yet to send his first manuscript to a publisher, often enacted a scenario where he was feted by an eminent jury for winning the Pulitzer Prize, the Booker Prize or even the Nobel Prize for an outstanding piece of literature! Of course, all of this was within the four walls of his dreary bedroom. He would be thrilled to receive these imaginary accolades from book lovers. Here are some of the teachings which the mighty Bhishma gave to the new emperor of Hastinapur, Yudhishtir and his brothers, while lying on his deathbed. “It is imperative and mandatory that human beings should positively possess nine qualifications in order to live a righteous life …” Eknath continued writing this piece on the celibate and venerable ace-archer Bhishma. He chiseled it a couple of times but felt that he was still to get into the skin of the character of Bhishma and his sermon. To ensure greater authenticity he prepared a bed of arrows and ended bruising his back as the temporary bed collapsed under his weight. Eknath Gandhi was ironing out the characters of his tale and wondered as to whether he should pursue the story on Bhishma or not. As usual he remained tentative, unable to share this tale on Bhishma with publishers and literary agents. His mother was exasperated but still comforted him and hoped that one day wisdom would dawn on her son and he would emerge triumphant. *************** If not Saraswati, Goddess Lakshmi entered his life. An alluring woman from a wealthy family, blessed with beauty and brains was married to Eknath. In Apra, he discovered an ideal soul-mate and an intrepid personality. Soon Apra became aware about the banker-husband’s interest in writing and she tried to instill the confidence to continue writing and hopefully get the works published. Madhuri’s sixth sense made her believe that her daughter-in-law would perhaps perform the much-required magic and see that her doting son would get his works published someday. She was sure her daughter-in-law would play a pivotal role in this endeavour. Though she was extremely attached to the son, Madhuri decided not to interfere in the lives of the newlyweds and moved over to her brother’s household once Eknath got married. Though he resisted the move, Eknath could not compel his mother to stay with him and Apra. The protective mother who loved her son in an unalloyed manner did not lower her guard. She prayed to Goddess Saraswati that Eknath would one day emerge from the feeling of privation and meekness and find his place as a writer on the world stage. *************** One night, after an intense lovemaking session where she played the dominant partner, Apra Gandhi chanced upon her husband’s writings rather fortuitously. She had been aware of his interest in writing, but was unaware of the exceptional talent he possessed; talent which was papered over on account of his pusillanimity. “You have this exceptional talent and have never shared this with the world! Why are you not getting these published?” Apra confronted her husband. Eknath Gandhi merely sulked upon being cornered. “These are some exceptional ideas which will storm the world of writing. You are being depriving people of something newfangled, Eknath,” Apra questioned her spouse. “In my opinion it merely requires a little bit of editing and polishing. I can do that for you, and I won’t charge a penny!” Apra jocularly mentioned. Now that she had had a glimpse of his work, Apra was relentless and virtually coerced her husband to fashion his ideas and put pen to paper. “The skeleton and scaffolding are ready. All it requires is some flesh and muscle, and we will have a chart buster in our family,” Apra added, tying up her saree as Eknath lay nonplussed in his night suit wondering how to respond. *************** Eknath was born on the 15th of March, but he insisted on celebrating his birthday on the auspicious day of Basant Panchami. This was quite like the famous Hindi wordsmith Surya Kant Tripathi Nirala. For Basant Panchami is a singular festival in which Goddess Saraswati, the fountain and epitome of knowledge and letters is worshipped. The celestial personality was Eknath’s favourite deity whom he worshipped with extraordinary intensity. *************** Basant Panchami is a festival which marks the beginning of preparations for spring season. It is celebrated by scores of the populace across swathes of the land. The celebrations of Basant Panchami also indicate the beginning of preparation for Holika and Holi, which takes place forty days later. For large numbers of Hindus, Basant Panchami is a festival which is dedicated to Goddess Saraswati. The deiform symbolizes knowledge, language, music and various forms of arts. This also is indicative of the development of the right hemisphere of the brain. Goddess Saraswati embodies creative energy and power in all its majesty, including longing and love. The festival also heralds bountiful agricultural fields, ripening with yellow flowers of the mustard crop, which those professing Hindu faith associate with the deity’s chosen colour. Individuals dress in yellow saris or shirts or accessories, share yellow-coloured snacks and sweets. A large number of families mark this day by sitting with babies and young children and encouraging their children to write their first words with their fingers, and some study or create music together. The day before Basant Panchami, Goddess Saraswati’s temples are filled with food so that the celestial being partakes of the feast along with the celebrants in the traditional feasting the following morning. Several educational institutions organize special prayers. To mark the event, it is not uncommon to hold poetic and musical gatherings in reverence of Goddess Saraswati. Eknath Gandhi wrote Basant Panchami: An ode to Goddess Saraswati as a college student and was suffused with jollity. He sent the piece for publication in a magazine but under a pseudonym. The piece got published and the stripling writer’s joy knew no bounds. However, Eknath was deprived of the associated fame and the monetary premium on account of his reticence. Shyness is a coquettish quality perhaps among prepossessing women but in Eknath Gandhi’s case it was a retarder. His dreams of writing and getting his works published remained confined to his mind and the rough notes he prepared. *************** Since his childhood Eknath developed a few worthwhile qualities which any writer ought to possess. He maintained a couple of diaries to fuel his passion of writing. In one diary, the demure budding writer jotted down twenty new words and twenty quotations unfailingly every single day. This assisted him in bolstering his vocabulary and to muster fresh ideas and thoughts. There was yet another diary which was peppered with various plots and stories which evolved in the alcoves of his mind. The third diary was one where he scrupulously noted down the events of the day. Over the years he developed this unique characteristic of adding a twist, either tragic or positive to the trail of events of the day, before going to bed which created a series of tales. More often than not these were tales of how his mother like a venturous warrior had staved-off the challenges of her tyrant husband and a brutal world. Thus, there were many stories in his arsenal which could have been published with a degree of assembling and abridging. However, his introvert and self-effacing nature acted as the biggest roadblock. The diaries were Eknath Gandhi’s prized possessions, kept at the feet of Goddess Saraswati. He sought blessings for the diaries from the deiform every day after worshipping her. Only his mother was privy to this habit. “Mother, my world will come crashing in case they are not accepted,” he shared with his mother. “Let them remain in the closet, that way they represent hope that sometime in the future I’ll get my due.” Nevertheless, he was encouraged by his mother to fuel his passion. The duo continued to send articles and stories, but always under a pseudonym. On the occasions that his works were published under a nom de plume mother and son would celebrate the moment. Madhuri Gandhi fervidly hoped that one day he would overcome this trait of coyness. Writing was a way of channelizing his energies and attempt to break the ring of diffidence and apprehension. As a last resort Madhuri Gandhi prayed that if not her, his future wife would find a way out. *************** As Time Goes By, Radhika The girl next door is charming My neighbour is alluring Radhika is winsome Lord Krishna’s precious is awesome She is blessed with both beauty and brains Radhika hopefully is attracted by Sri Krishna’s strains ... Radhey Radhey Radhey Krishna... Our love is Divine The one which Radha Developed for Krishna As time goes by Radhika you would loosen the grip on that rock The only anchor you always thought was your home And you will realise over a period of time That home is not a dwelling It is a state of mind Let the moments pass by Radhika will get a clearer picture You were subsumed by your enchanting beauty You were and are always pretty But as time goes by Your thoughts will emerge with clarity And you will make adjustments in life with alacrity … And the poem went on. Eknath penned these lines as an ode to his prepossessing neighbour, but simply could not muster the courage to share it with her. His mother stumbled upon his adoration for the girl and deftly managed to pass it on to Radhika. The girl was ecstatic and at the first opportunity confronted Eknath. “Hey Eknath, you write so well. I never realised you had feelings for me,” the charismatic girl gushed. But Eknath, caught unawares by his mother’s move and subsumed by his bashful nature, was overcome by a strange sense of guilt. As a result, he disowned the poem preferring to live in the world of anonymity much to the consternation of Radhika. The shy boy failed to express his feelings for his classmates in school and college. These were smart women whom Eknath admired, but concealed his feelings and instead wrote about them and filled his diaries. As a result, when Eknath agreed to marry Apra, Madhuri was pleasantly surprised. She had often pondered on the sexual orientation and preferences of her son and questioned him obliquely on the matter, only to embarrass him. Madhuri fondly hoped that the assertive and self-assured Apra would transfigure his repressed personality. The banker had over the years developed a robot-like routine, which was observed keenly by his discerning wife. He was an early riser. After the freshening up he would jot down the twenty new words and the twenty quotations. He would then go for a long walk while his wife would practice yoga at home. At work too, he would spend time reading and writing and end the day by jotting down points and stories in his diaries. Now his mother was replaced by two characters, an old woman and his wife, though the stories continued to have amazing twists. “These are my jewels Apra, and I have placed them at the feet of Goddess Saraswati. I worship the deity and this is my humble offering to the her. My mother never tampered with them and I hope you too will never tinker with them. Your name symbolises materialistic knowledge, I hope you bring me fame, wealth and prosperity. But my affluence and collections are these three diaries. They are my treasures, so let them remain sacred,” he shared with her. His wife was supportive and understood her husband. She cajoled him to enrol for online writing courses and other programmes to hone his skills. The constrained and hesitant person agreed after enormous persuasion. Next Apra began goading her husband to get his works published. This was an uphill task. Each time she brought up the topic, Eknath’s childhood experiences and his reticence and disinclination would rear their ugly heads. She realised that she had to treat her husband with kid gloves on this matter. But Apra Gandhi was made of sterner stuff. She continued working on him. One day, Eknath went to bed after his usual routine. He had offered prayers to the celestial being as he replaced the diaries at the feet of Goddess Saraswati. It was past midnight and there was a nip in the air. Suddenly there was a sharp shower. The householder was in deep slumber when he was awakened by a shimmering light and a strong smell of incense in the puja room. He turned around and found his wife to be asleep. Eknath rushed to the puja room and to his utter bewilderment saw the vision of Goddess Saraswati. The deity in all her finery, playing the veena was seated next to the idol that he worshipped daily. The deity was looking absolutely dazzling and radiant. The banker was astounded and fell at the feet of the Goddess as he wept inconsolably. He cried out to Apra asking her to witness the divine spectacle. “Child, do you want money or wisdom? Calm down. I have come to help you and unearth the talent with which you have been born. This is an appropriate time for you to overcome your reticence. Rise to the occasion. The Divine has blessed you with sparkling wisdom and writing skills which is being wasted. You are a Gandharva born on Earth. Share this talent with lovers of literature. You have a great future lying ahead of you. Hold my hand and trust me,” the Goddess said. “Your virtuosity should not be confined to these diaries alone. The entire world is waiting to read what has been written. Let it be clear to you, it is me who is writing, you are merely wielding the pen. So, from today, commence writing and get your works published in YOUR NAME. No PEN NAMES. If you do not write, you are doing me a great disservice and an injustice to the talent provided by the Universe,” the Goddess added. She gifted Eknath a book on writing. It was called Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clarke. “Son, read this book with exceeding care and master each word with precision and write your first novel. The book will be a masterpiece and a best seller,” the deity added. Eknath continued to shed copious tears as he witnessed this spectacular event. His mind was flooded with emotions as he thought of his mother, his wife and the past. “Do not wake up your wife. Let her rest. You have to begin writing and it will not be long before your work gets published,” the Goddess added. “Now meditate on my name and take up the onerous responsibility from tomorrow after your customary walk,” she added. The following day, Eknath began writing at a furious pace. He shared the events of the previous night with his wife. Apra was incredulous as she heard her husband describe the events from the previous night. Both husband and wife read the book provided by the Goddess with utmost earnestness and sincerity. Eknath decided to take two months leave and write his first novel consulting the three diaries and the book given by Goddess Saraswati. The couple paid obeisance to Goddess Saraswati and like all Mumbaikars offered prayers at Siddhi Vinayak Mandir too. With all passion and conviction, they eschewed everything and focussed all their energies on writing. Eknath wrote and Apra edited the work with precision, ironing out all frivolous material. Through some friends of Apra, they were connected to a budding publishing house, AKS Publishers. The company had recently forayed into publishing fiction. Not one to do things in half-measures, Apra roped in an event management company, JashnEvnts, to take care of all the promotional activities. Within four months Eknath Gandhi’s inaugural venture An Author in Search of a Story hit the stands. The book became an Amazon best seller and swamped the market. Eknath became an overnight sensation. The book was also translated into several different languages. The tentative and shy Eknath became a wordsmith of repute and was feted with awards and his coffers were unexpectedly filled with enormous wealth. He became the toast of the literati and the social media. The banker was blooming with the blessings of Goddess Saraswati and Goddess Lakshmi, much to the pride of his mother and happiness of his wife. They celebrated this success eating Vada Pav at Chowpatty beach where he was surrounded by a substantial fan following seeking his autograph. In a corner stood Madhuri and Apra, basking in the reflected glory. Despite the remarkable success and accompanying fame, Eknath remained a humble being. Often, he would ask his wife to sign a few copies of the books as she was the editor of the book. The new writer on the horizon was soon approached by film makers, OTT players, literary agents and leading publishers to be signed-on by them. Eknath Gandhi continued to remain a shrinking personality who was contented with the accomplishment and returned back to work as a banker. He was happy with the achievement and thanked the Gods for bestowing this success on him. His only unfulfilled desire was to have an interaction with his icons, Chetan Bhagat and Amish Tripathi. Apra and Madhuri implored Eknath to convert writing into a full-time profession especially considering the numerous offers he received, but Eknath was content with the one-off success he had tasted. He wished to proceed at a more sedate pace, savouring the journey along the way, whether it meant dizzying heights of success or not. “You feel ashamed to be the wife of a banker! Instead, you pine for the razzmatazz and glitz of the literary world,” Eknath chastised Apra, as she wiped her tears. Very soon a leading literary agent approached Eknath Gandhi and offered him five million dollars for his next work. This offer too was turned down by the banker. The agent left the cheque with Apra and urged her to persuade her husband to take up the offer. *************** The auditorium was packed with no space for manoeuvrability. On the stage there were life-size cut-outs of Chetan Bhagat, Amish Tripathi and Eknath Gandhi. A large contingent of press corps and electronic media were covering the event. The audience consisted of noted writers, some film personalities and OTT players among others. In walked Chetan Bhagat and Amish Tripathi to a standing ovation. On stage with these literary giants was Apra Gandhi. Madhuri Gandhi, the proud mother was seated in the very front row. The former bankers and chart busters unveiled Eknath Gandhi’s second foray in literature. It was called Diary which was culled out from the diaries Eknath Gandhi kept. An absolutely stupefied Eknath watched the proceedings on television and was non-plussed. “I am going insane. My wife shares my story… The book is unveiled by my favourite authors and it is in my name and I was totally kept in the dark about the event,” he fumed. That night the couple had a major showdown. Eknath felt slighted and cheated. Their squabble went on past midnight, with both trading charges and insinuations and finally exhausted they slept. The banker was now in deep slumber when he was awakened by psychedelic lights and a strong smell of incense in the puja room. Eknath rushed to the room and to his utter surprise once again he saw the vision of Goddess Saraswati. The deity in all her finery playing the veena was seated next to the idol he worshipped daily. The deity was looking dazzling and radiant. “Son Eknath, you have disobeyed my command. How could you treat your wife so lamentably? She merely collated my writings. I think you forgot what I told you a few months back. I am the inspiration; I have written all these stories. You are merely wielding the pen. I have come here to make you realise that shyness is nothing but a form of EGO. Children are not shy. They play with gay abandon without any hesitation. How can you come between my works and my audience? Remember, I can find several Eknaths like you. Feel blessed that the Universe has chosen you to be an instrument to weave my thoughts,” the deity uttered. Eknath fell at the feet of Goddess Saraswati and once again wept like a child. “In case you are not interested in the five million, establish Saraswati Vidyalayas for students, writers. Spend it on art, culture, on supporting aspiring artistes. But never fritter away the wisdom and the wealth bestowed upon you, for they will never return to you. This is the Law of the Universe. Be grateful to nature which has chosen you for this mission. Get over your inferiority complex, your inhibitions and be ever grateful to your mother and your wife,” the Goddess admonished him. “I know you are pure of heart; hence I am giving you one last chance,” the goddess uttered. Before Eknath could process everything that was happening, Goddess Saraswati had disappeared. The following day Eknath Gandhi was extremely apologetic and made amends to his wife. Meanwhile Diary was an astounding success, a chart buster. Eknath was soon awarded by the Sahitya Akademi. That was just the first step. He went on to win the Booker Prize and the Commonwealth Prize among others. He realised the value of money and soon set up several Saraswati Vidyalayas that dotted the landscape of the country. *************** It was a wintry Delhi as fog hung thick in the atmosphere. There was absolutely negligible visibility as cars honked, trying to find space and a parking spot. Kamani Auditorium in Delhi was choc-a-bloc with writers, poets, artistes, politicians and a wide spectrum of publishers and literary agents as Ruskin Bond unveiled Shakti Power, the third book in the trilogy by Eknath Gandhi. “My mother was tormented by my father, a policeman, no less. He would brutally assault her in an inebriated state. He lashed and whipped her black and blue with his belt ruthlessly. I was a timid observer to the events. I fervently prayed to Goddess Saraswati to assume the form of Ma Durga and slay my father. Which son would beseech divinity to devour and vanquish his own father? But I did pray and a few months later my father was brutally felled by a group of gangsters. Ma and I celebrated the death of my authoritarian father. This country is populated by such personalities whose so called masculinity is nothing but false bravado…,” read Ruskin Bond from Shakti Power, to a standing ovation. The preeminent author gave Eknath a warm hug and asked the banker-author to present him with a signed copy. This overwhelmed Eknath as the two posed before a posse of press corps while cameras clicked and vintage moments were captured. The book was to become an overnight success as millions of readers swamped bookstores and procured copies online. This book too became an Amazon chart-buster. As they flew back after a holiday at Goa, Eknath whispered into the ears of his wife Apra. He had no hesitancy in holding her hands in public. “Apra, a few days before we commenced writing Shakti Power, I had the vision of Goddess Saraswati. She said, ‘Eknath now that you have accepted Lakshmi, keep writing. If you accept money, you will lose all your wisdom and the proficiency to write. Whatever gets accrued from your writings, keep ten percent for Apra and your mother and donate the remaining amount to construct schools, colleges and fund budding artistes, musicians and others who are struggling to establish themselves in the field of arts’.” “I seek your forgiveness for not sharing this interaction with Goddess Saraswati with you,” Eknath added. Apra was absolutely befuddled hearing her husband. In order to invigorate her husband, for him to rise from the slumber of constrained behaviour she had played the role of Goddess Saraswati twice … but not a third time, before they began writing Shakti Diaries. So, who was this Goddess Saraswati he was talking about, the third time he saw the apparition? Must have been the Goddess herself, Apra thought to herself as she folded her hands in a namaste to the Goddess. Back in Mumbai, Madhuri wore a wry smile on her face as she looked at the white silk saree which Goddess Saraswati apparently wore, wondering where she could keep it safely.