Futile pastime

I often look back at the 98 years of my life and repent over the time I wasted in solving crossword puzzles. I subscribe to five dailies, all of which have these puzzles. After going through the news headlines, I get down to solving them. That wastes all my morning, till noontime, when I have my mid-day meal. I often begin with this pastime after my siesta. By now I must have wasted many years of my life by indulging in a pastime which has done me no good. I have no excuse to offer. I am a silly old man who does not understand the real purpose of life. All I can do now is to warn my readers not to follow my example. Life must not be thrown away in a futile pastime.

Seeking balance

I joined Santiniketan for a short, three-month tenure. I got enamoured of a Parsi girl named Mehera. The principal reason for my attachment to her was that neither of us could speak Bengali. I returned to my college in Lahore. We started corresponding with each other. It lasted till she got married and became Mehera Jussawalla. During my long tenure of nine years as editor of The Illustrated Weekly of India, I published many poems composed by her son, Adil. After studying in Cathedral School, Bombay, he migrated to London and then to University College, Oxford, and taught English at the International University in London. He returned to Bombay in 1970. He started composing poetry. He has eight collections published so far. When it came to selecting some of his poems for my articles, I took the simple method of publishing the first and the last — for the simple reason that the first represented the best, when the muse of poetry enamoured him, and the last represented the time when he felt he had achieved his best. That is what I have done while reviewing his latest offer, Trying to Say Goodbye. Here they are:

I was raised to think I’m

no pushover,

But you see, I am.

All houses are fall guys.

The plans you lay to set us up

Touch our very foundations.

Stranger, still looking for home.

Who watched me for months,

Pay attention:

I am setting you free.

Your future’s got nothing to

do with

What’s happening to me.

Your universe was built to

dance on a pin,

Mine to stay still. Tell

your guru

Stillness did a house in.

Learn balance with nothing

to stand on.

Though you’ve lost heart,

lost ground,

Go rootless, homeless, but balance.

Another: “Snakeskin”

In a forest I saw

A stocking hung on a thorn.

Sometimes it looked like a sleeve With its arm gone.

I saw neither snakeskin nor snake.

I lived in the forest for years.

Forty years on,

With the forest gone.

My sight’s improved.

There’s little to do but try

With the little I see

To make something new.

May be another’s skin,

Remembered and shed,

Finally makes the note come right,

A sound as uncannily light

As a lady’s shoe.

Fiscal measure

Santa found a 100-rupee note on the street. He wanted to enjoy as much as possible with the money. For this he selected a five-star hotel for a nice dinner and drink. He received a bill of Rs 4,579.

Without looking at the bill, he gave the 100-rupee note to the waiter and said, “Ja kaka! Aish kar”. The waiter returned with four guards and threw the note on Santa’s face. Santa caught hold of the note swiftly. By that time he was so drunk that he could not stand up. He could not be made to wash utensils in lieu of the bill. The management called the police and sent him to the nearby police station. He paid that note to the policemen. Within an hour, Santa was dropped at his house. He boasted before Banta, “Vekhi saadi financial management!”

*************

Which is the oldest password of the world?

Khul ja sim-sim.

(Contributed by Madan Gupta Spatu, Chandigarh)