Tuesday, March 22, 2011

With mad Naranath and a mad writer

Till today I have never heard a word from his mouth than his silent surreal deeds through which meanings are moulded. Peeping into his world is assuring that words are meaningless and language is at a lower level. Isn’t language a nasty tool forcing someone into a specific path murdering his ability for wider interpretations and innovations that signs and actions could have encouraged in man? It is said about film editing too. His actions speak louder than words. That looks like his philosophy.

He is a short dark man with lean body and no muscles. I am not sure whether black brown is his actual colour or not. He sleeps peacefully on the burning sand and hard rock as if the hot summer sun is a shade. Only the monsoons can give him a bath in the entire year. Those days he stays wet even for a week or more until the sunrays eventually suck the water drops to its collection for next monsoon. He eats like a beast when he is truly hungry unlike other human who are open to grab a feast at any hour of the day and chew betel leaves in between those feasts. He seems to compare the process of chewing the cud among all the specious. I heard that he once did the same with his Brahmin brother Agnihothri and the cow at his cowshed. He fishes for his own reflection in the temple pond when nobody is around. As he finally stands exhausted, the ripples too seems to stop their naughtiness revealing his image. He then smiles at his mindless-lifeless-hopeless lifelong companion showing his dirty teeth in the belief that he is still growing with his growing beard. That looks like his philosophy.

He weeps in happiness and laughs at sorrows. Ironically neither the happiness nor the sorrows are of him but of others. For that matter he hardly has any emotion or preconceived notion about anything. He never meditates to know the reason about his existence to himself or questions about his birth to his mother Panchami or breaks his head blaming his father Vararuchi. He always hesitated to accept his relation to all of them, as he actually had no reason to understand its meaning. Yet all his ten brothers and one sister knew its meaning and they all keep smiling at him with immense love whenever he appears in front of them. The only brother he can relate in its true sense is his last brother who died by birth, Vayillaakkunnilappan. The mouthless dead boy Vayillakunnilappan is the only one who talks to him and he does reply back in silence to all his silly questions. He too smiles - or rudely laughs - back to all the others fancying their dress, teeth, eyes or even their mouths stuffed with betel leaves. He seems to enjoy the way the green betel leaves turning red with the mix of lime, tobacco, arecanut and saliva. That looks like his philosophy.

He is not a dumb man though he keeps his silence in agitation to the words. There are a lot of wise men who heard him speak to himself or to just nothing on unpredicted occasions. Why I need to say just others, I myself have seen him doing it at various moments in our journey together. To be honest we never travelled with each other with such an intension. It’s written on my forehead that he is meant to be my co traveller for no reason. Today it’s written in this story too by the writer without any academic proof or argument about him or me. The story itself is the result of his escapism from that spiral staircase of arguments and proofs he is dealing with these days in his thesis on films. That looks like his philosophy.

Once the wise men heard him talking to goddess Kali of cremation ground. For some reason Kali was so impressed by some of his action. As he was trying to sneak out without a word she forcefully stopped him and told him that she cannot leave him without giving a blessing. He stood scratching his head for nearly seven hours. The impatient Kali was forced to stand quietly until he opened his mouth and said, “I need one day less in my life.” She was surprised. Shaking her head in a big ‘No, no’ mode she replied, “Sorry it's not possible by me. Ask for something else.” He didn’t have to think much at that moment, “Ok then give me one day extra to my life.” Kali didn’t know what to say, but she had no choice but to say no again, “Sorry son, boon for birth or death is not in my hands. Please ask for something else.” By then he was so irritated. He gave a nasty look at her as if she is such a waste and that she was unnecessarily trying to waste his precious time. Kali was adamant that he must not leave without taking one blessing from her. He stood looking up for the next two hours and then looked down smiling at his feet. He asked, “Mother, there is a little ailment on my left feet, can you shift it to my right feet.” On that moment Kali became confused. But from that moment he didn’t leave Kali until she actually gave him that blessing. With an ailment on his right leg he struggled to walk out of the cremation ground with a happy face. That looked like his philosophy.

As I keep climbing every single hill or mountain he joins me from nowhere. He smiles at my trekking costume and shoes. As I struggle to climb he too does the same alongside me pushing a huge rock with bare foot and bare hands. Naturally the smart I always reach the top faster than him. By the time I finish and relax with the water from Aquafina bottle or a cigarette he touch the top point with the massive rock dragged from the bottom of hill. As I throw the cigarette bud or empty bottle down from the hilltop, he too drops the rock with a wild laughter. As it rolls down faster and faster at each stage making loud noises through the surface of hill mocking back at the pain he took while pushing it up, he gets high with claps and laughs. That looks like his philosophy.

As always I have to say, “Naranath, you are MAD.” He then smiles with his dirty teeth.

“Well, I don’t know whether you are mad, Naranath” I always have to contradict with words. That was always been my philosophy.

I guess the writer also has no argument or proof to define our madness and analyse it like in his film theory and definitions. Today in his heart he is busy hugging her tight and travelling with her to her baby's grave. He started loving both. That looks like his new philosophy.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

sporting naranath looks in profile picture!
stick insect

Cockroach said...

That is where insane met the natural :P

Cockroach