The incense-stick philosophy
Samodh THAVEESHA
The bus was crowded a lot. The traffic seemed to be endless; it was
snaked. You cannot have the slightest hope to get through it at least
for seven more minutes. To be in a crowded-to-nuts bus, perspiring like
a sizzling cauldron, is utterly exhausting. Comfortably seated by a
fully open window is the only solace under such circumstance even though
you get yourself much envied by the fellow passengers. And so was I in
that disgusting bus.
Memories of the comic drama I had been watching a few minutes ago in
the theatre flashed into my mind. A boisterous farce, you may call it.
Enjoying the Colombo breeze, I kept laughing to myself rejoicing over
its fanciful moments. The passengers must have thought I was crazy, but
since there was no beautiful girls close by, I didn't take any notice of
anybody.
I gradually became tired with laughter for further reminiscence.
There was nothing fearfully philosophical or intellectual about the
play. It was merely a play full of comic incidents portrayed on innocent
characters. I turned my mind towards some serious philosophical books
that I had bought recently and read the first few pages. My God, they
were so philosophical and philosophize everything; almost unreadable.
But I adored them a lot for their storming arguments. They were costly,
well-bound, and large; their pages were cream-white and altogether
possessed every possible quality a good book must have so that I could
lend them to some girls to hint my taste.
It is simple charms that sometimes bewitch girls; I've heard my
friends chanting this to their friends. This theory made me spray a few
drops of scents on the pages of the books that I lent to the girls to
attract them, but the fragrance was short lived. I have tried a large
variety of kinds, yet the fragrance was always subject to a lifespan of
six hours which frustrated me.
Quite suddenly everyone in the bus was distracted by the intrusion of
a vendor who boarded the bus. He had nothing more than a few matchboxes,
candles and incense sticks - a really odd collection. He called out
hoarsely and that the items were very cheap. But none believed him nor
bought a thing.
The unfortunate vendor, jostling through the passengers and pressing
them, made his way to the rear where I was seated, still croaking in his
special husky voice. He was pleading, in fact relating his miserable
condition as an incurable patient and as a helpless father of four. I
felt sorry for him and stretched out a ten rupee note to him although I
didn't bargain to buy any single item from him, not at all from his
filthy hands. But the poor wretch did not see me, quite surprisingly not
even the ten rupee note that I held out for him.
He alighted the bus, having missed a little sum of ten rupees, and
vanished into the crowd. I felt a faint but sweet scent of
jasmine-scented incense sticks as he got down. At the same time, my eyes
caught a glimpse of torn back of his ragged T-shirt that bared his
cracked bony skin underneath. Street vendors are stinking dirty
creatures, my parents say. But this man did not stink and instead his
body gave out a sweet jasmine smell. Was it due to the fragrance of his
incense sticks? I envied the man in rags for the sweet smell that he
possessed . If only I could place one or two those incense sticks inside
my books!
In seconds I was out of the bus chasing behind the vendor. I caught
him up in a short run and purchased five packets of incense sticks from
him. And was again back in the bus in a flash, standing, deprived of the
seat I have occupied thirty seconds ago. Perhaps it was the price I had
to pay for not returning the grateful smile of the vendor. I did care no
more for him since I got what I yearned for -my lifetime predicament,
the incense sticks, to make my philosophy books full of sweet smells so
they'll make my romantic presence to the girls even when I am away from
them.
I sensed someone was looking at me. It was a girl standing right
beside me. I have known her as she also gets off from the same bus halt
where I get off. She was just plain. I threw a direct look at her and
she smiled at me pleasingly. It was an approving smile; an appreciative
one. She must have witnessed my encounter with the incense stick vendor.
Yes, it must have been so; the place where I caught up with the vendor
could be clearly seen from the place she was standing. She is not
pretty, I uttered to myself. She smiled with me once again. She was
quietly appreciating of what I did.
I was very baffled, I felt all guilty all over. I was not generous in
my intent. I did 'the generous act' she was approving all for the sake
of me. Her appreciation of me is entirely undue. I felt myself going all
at once to break into a confession, but I restrained - good opinion you
achieve is good opinion whatever the means are.
It is not the theory that usually helps you when you are battling
things out with your conscience. But I was suddenly reminded of the
phrase my teacher often said to us (or to himself as the boys said),
"Only serious minds do perceive and appreciate another serious minds and
their acts." This girl must really be intelligent to implement and make
use of his theory. I felt a sudden fondness of her for her quiet and
distinctive manner of revealing her serious mind to me and thereby
letting me to perceive her serious mind if I had one. If I did not trace
her smile carefully I would have never perceived her mind. I knew a book
to say it is simple things that reveals the depth of a character. Her
smile was not bashful at all; a girl must have a lot of courage to
present such a smile to a boy in a crowded bus amidst of glaring elders
who think it is the dirtiest sin on earth. I felt triumphant.
I no more need huge philosophical explanations to life; my own simple
perceptions seem to be enough. The sweet jasmine scent entered my
nostrils. I took a deep breath and smiled at the girl, she smiled back
understandingly. I saw her for the first time then; well, she looked
neat and beautiful. I determined myself to have a few words with her
after getting off from the bus.
The traffic jam eased and the bus began to move swiftly, even without
a jerk. |
