by Pawan Mishra
The knocking sound made by vigorously leaping hearts at once transmitted her to cloud nine, a feeling she had become addicted to at an early age and could no longer live without experiencing a few times a day.
The freshness that Tulsi’s brief walk brought to the place usually lasted much longer than the lovely sight of her. The impressed audience looked in the direction of her disappearance for minutes afterward, slowly turning back to reality with a heavy feeling hard to describe.
Every time she had her magical walk, she made every heart fonder. Everyone had a personal name to call her, but “our golden girl” was the most widely accepted one. As folks got home from work in the evenings, they rushed through their time at home, just as a reader skips through the uninteresting sections of a book, to be at the office again to provide contentment to their hungry spirits.
If by any chance Tulsi happened to be on vacation, or sick, or away for any other reasons, the office looked dull and heavy as a burial ground. To handle such situations individually, each of her fellow workers had installed a personal copy of her magical walks in his mind to take a look at when she was absent.
The deficiency of girls at the office wasn’t to be blamed for the romantic emotions that dwelt for Tulsi in each heart; Tulsi had an undeniable universal appeal. For instance, when she occupied a table in a restaurant, men sitting there slowly adjusted their seats to a good angle for an uninterrupted view of her beauty. Along the same lines, when she shopped in a street market, the shop she went in suddenly saw an incredible influx of customers. As she walked in the busy market, even the shopkeepers—who normally had ample opportunities to be face-to-face with beauty, and thus were more likely to grow somewhat indifferent to it—found it difficult to cling to a jaded attitude.
There was a recent rumor that Saarang, who did not have any advantage over others that called for a special mention, had lately been trying to establish a communion with Tulsi. That he’d recently started to cross Tulsi’s path deliberately, during her magical walks, to make her notice him. There was no accompanying rumor about a positive reaction from Tulsi. Thus, no one paid any attention to Saarang’s futile attempts; his persona was so minuscule compared to Tulsi’s that giving any importance to the rumor would have seemed an unjust promotion in Saarang’s social status.
As much as they were in the face of everyone else, Tulsi’s magical walks weren’t even noticed by Coinman. His lack of attention to her charisma irritated her. Only a fraction of her charm was enough to distract the soul of a spiritual counselor, so she was clueless about what it would take to impress Coinman. She started doing her own personal research on him; not because of her interest in him, but because of his lack of interest in her. She hadn’t ever seen a man like him.
Coinman was constantly in a rush, rummaging through papers at his desk. Panna claimed once to have observed him for long enough to deduce that he shuffled papers completely uselessly to kill time.
Despite the fact that people at the office talked so much about Coinman, they really knew very little about him. No one could surely say what Coinman worked on each day or how much he worked except for his supervisor—who never came down to the first floor.
“How much more time are you going to take to complete that tiny task?” his supervisor had once asked him at his desk, making all eyes turn at once toward them.
Coinman, aware of the curiosity of his colleagues, did not respond immediately. He merely lifted his right hand and waved to the supervisor to wait while he searched for something important—among the papers lying on the table, in the drawers, beneath the table, in all corners of his mind. Growing very displeased, looking at his supervisor with accusing eyes, as though the supervisor had caused irreparable harm by interrupting in the middle of critical work, Coinman asked, “If it is of no inconvenience to you, can I explain that in your office, sir?”
Thereafter they went to the supervisor’s office on the second floor. Coinman appeared again at his desk an hour later, smiling to himself. Thenceforth no one ever saw Coinman’s supervisor at his desk.
Rumors said that when Coinman joined the firm, he was made to roam, boss to boss, desk to desk, and morning to evening, asking for work, but no one came forward to define his job. It was too late when someone tried to define his responsibilities years later during a company reorganization; by that time Coinman had started assigning work to himself and monitoring it himself. It was found that he set his own goals at the start of the year and neutrally assessed himself against them at the end of the year. He then sent his performance report to his official supervisor for his signature.
6. The Goatee Axiom
Across the board at the office there was a belief, an unproved theorem, about Coinman’s blind faith in Ratiram: that if one thought Coinman would willingly sip a cup of botulinum if Ratiram wished it, one still underestimated the reverence that dwelt in Coinman’s heart for Ratiram.
Coinman relayed the information in his heart only to Ratiram, his best friend of the past few years and a guide in his own opinion, someone he shared everything with—his joys and anguishes, excitements and apprehensions, convictions and trepidations, triumphs and learning experiences. Such was the wavelength between them, Coinman fancied, that when Ratiram proposed to call him just “Coin,” Coinman dearly subscribed to it, feeling that it brought a sense of brotherly care, a pledge of the hand of a true well-wisher.
“The world definitely would be a much better place,” Coinman often cogitated, “if everyone had a friend like Ratiram.”
What Coinman didn’t know was that it was a one-sided brotherhood: Ratiram held a covert unfeeling intention in the companionship.
The gossipmongers not only anesthetized their minds to coin-trauma through stealthy gossiping about Coinman, but also took him for a ride, whenever they could afford to, through a flurry of unending hoaxes. Ratiram was considered a champion by all for employing the most outstanding hoaxes; he had over ten years of experience in successfully deluding Coinman without awakening his suspicion. In fact, he executed these hoaxes so well that Coinman rather thought of them as opportune ventures. Ratiram designed minor ploys, creating a wall of deceit around Coinman’s vision, to trap him in situations that became delightful spectacles for the gossipmongers. This way Ratiram remained dear to both—to Coinman and to those who enjoyed Coinman’s troubles.
As a teacher feeds the pupils on knowledge, Ratiram fed the whole office on Coinman’s secrets. He found it very recreational to first maneuver Coinman into sharing his secrets and then relay them to the gossipmongers, after adding his own aromatic spices. He achieved paramount cerebral pleasure on seeing his colleagues enjoy these accounts. He ardently observed Coinman’s activities from a distance to contrive ways around him, went extra miles to invent a fresh endeavor, and invested copious time pondering over its logistics. As his fellows devotedly looked up to him for these tidbits, Ratiram felt it little less than his duty to oblige them with the best fun he could bring.
As it happened, on this day Ratiram found Hukum’s promise to speak to Coinman a timely development, one that immediately opened his mind’s door to a new way to add another feather to his cap. On the following day he dropped by Coinman’s desk during lunchtime, when no one was around.
Finding that Coinman was lost in his files, Ratiram hissed into his ears, “Find a few minutes, quickly. I’ve got a stinky alert for you.”
Ratiram’s voice had brought about a wave in the deep personal world Coinman inhabited at that moment, plucking him instantly from it. He raced his mind to retrieve what Ratiram had just said—as though from some sort of large, invisible communal memory that stored everything that had ever been said.
Nervously sensing something adverse, Coinman had all he could do to keep his chin from vibrating.
Ratiram slanted his forehead toward the ceiling, as though complaining to God about the unnecessary nuisance that people had created to badger Coinman. Then, looking straight at Coinman’s face, he frowned as
he spoke. “Don’t panic as I say this. Someone is going to talk to you about your coins. Your colleagues aren’t great fans of your coins.”
The nervous malaise turned into anger. “Ratiram, I do not understand what damage I have done them,” Coinman seethed. “I have drained my brain completely for a decent explanation. I haven’t figured out what could cause such spite.”
“Coin,” said Ratiram affectionately, “don’t take it to heart. The problems are here to stay. We need to find a way to deal with them.”
“Ratiram, I always do my best to be nice. I know I am a person with habits—and quite honestly, I have tried hard in the past to part with my coin-habit but the results of my attempts were so unbearably painful. I would give anything to abandon this habit, if that could be achieved painlessly. Perhaps a topic for another time. The point is, what business is it of theirs to condemn my personal habits? Have I ever complained about Daya when he digs his nose for gold and did I mention the joint venture of his thumb and index finger in safely processing the gold?”
“Ick! That’s actually funny, Coin.” Ratiram laughed with his right hand on his stomach. “Coin—you are a genius.”
Coinman’s mood was relaxed, too. Smiling now, he said, “Ratiram—I know you are saying this to raise my spirits. I can’t help getting frustrated sometimes. The way I have been treated here has often affected my behavior. In the past few years, I’ve changed from the jovial person I was to a timid and naïve loser who is waiting to be exploited.”
Coinman looked away to let the emotional surge settle before he could speak again in a reflective tone, “The life has been perversely bad-tempered toward me. She comes to me, yells at me, spits right in my eyes, and disappears in annoyance without even saying good-bye. Sometimes, when she is in a kooky state of mind, she does not hesitate to remove my clothes just to make it a compelling sight for others.”
“Coin, your sense of humor has been legendary today! To your point about life, you are fortunate to see her, in whatever form she breezes in. It’s truly great that life is giving you at least something. For many, it doesn’t show up in the first place. I am sure, for the amicable person you are, life will not only eventually embrace you but also kiss you on your forehead with her very own tender lips.”
Coinman could not figure out an immediate response. He felt humbled by this. Anxious for a response, he hurried to speak the first thing that came to mind.
“Ratiram, as plain as I can be—I am not looked upon with much respect, and people haven’t been generous in praising my efforts. On the other hand, I have not let slip any opportunity to praise anyone. My most original ideas are not well received. Others’ mediocre ideas are published to the whole office with rewards! I have endured this silently for all these years. I don’t want to sound defensive; this will help you see the full range of my grief.”
“Coin, I understand, but you know, many times we fancy things are much more intense than they truly are.” Ratiram dragged one chair from the inner circle of desks.
“I have even tried to look at the situation from a distance, like watching my own soccer game from the stands, but I did not notice a difference.”
“Coin, I was just trying to alleviate your worries a bit. I do see your point.”
“Thanks,” Coinman said. “So now the next question is, how can I earn more respect without having to ask for it?”
Seeing that this launched Ratiram into deep brainwork, he added, “Of course, you don’t have to answer now, you can take your time. I can wait.”
Ratiram responded as if he hadn’t heard the last statement from Coinman. “Coin, with the wolves around, your humbleness is your worst adversary. You look like someone who can entertain the pack at your own expense.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand that point.”
“Let me elaborate.” Ratiram was ready to build a mountain of fancied philosophy on the spot. “The mix of key behaviors that a given person demonstrates to others is set at his birth.”
“Some examples will help.”
“Here, but this is by no means a complete list: compassion, rebelliousness, affection, ignorance, secretiveness; or being uncooperative, impolite, resentful, unfriendly, selfish, grateful, honest, humble, arrogant, jealous, reliable, respectful, stubborn, or flexible. And so on.”
“And maybe bullying, gossiping, too?”
“Yes, of course.” Ratiram smiled. “So everyone, almost unknowingly, is always on the lookout for people who are suitable to receive a certain part of that proportion. This is where people find you a permanent receiver of humiliation, impoliteness, and insolence. They understand you as someone who can publicly be laughed at.”
“So are you saying I look like someone they can empty their stomachs on every morning, irrespective of what they had at night for dinner?” Coinman was serious, but Ratiram couldn’t help but laugh.
“Figuratively, maybe, but I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”
“All right, never mind. Whatever. Let’s come to the point. What can be done to change this?”
“You need to find a way to look less gullible. In other words, you need to look more important and shrewd.”
Coinman had not expected Ratiram to be so direct. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke.
“I do have a doubt. You have stated that everyone has his share of these conducts toward others, which I can relate to many people I know. But I can think of some cases where people possess an extreme quantity of one or two of such behaviors. For example, I know people who are always angry and who do not talk to anyone with respect. Where do these people spend their favorable emotions? On the other hand, I know people who are always pleased with others and are most polite to everyone. Where do they spend their impoliteness?”
“That’s a very good question. It reaffirms your thorough understanding of the concept. To answer it, well, the people in your examples must have a secret channel, hidden from observers. Do not be surprised when some of them apply these on nonhuman beings. They might beat a dog, kill a pest, throw stones at a monkey, or give great affection to a squirrel. Some people have entirely different faces in their public and personal lives, which brings up the balance your question aims at. Some people are different in front of known people versus unknown ones; many of them even swear when they’re with strangers, but are well-spoken with acquaintances—or, of course, vice versa.”
“Well, I would try to notice these people more closely,” said Coinman, “to get a glimpse of their secret spending of these behaviors. Now, what do I do about the villain of humbleness, and the unfair behavior allocation I was born with?”
“There are ways to make ourselves look much more important. Unfortunately, even when there are no takers for inner substance today, guileless people like you still believe more in inner substance than outer appearance. Let’s talk in terms of our office perspective, for example, to make it easy to understand the concept. A person achieves a status here based on his outer manifestation. But when he is not able to perform to that status—maybe because of lacking inner substance—he is further promoted to the next level simply because of the combined effect of two reasons: one, since he cannot perform, someone is needed to be brought in who can do the job; and two, no one is ever demoted, as working at higher levels is always easier and hence demotion would mean a tougher job and lesser likelihood of succeeding. It’s no secret that there is almost no work at the higher levels. So the best that can be done with him, given he is not able to function at a certain level, is to promote him further.”
This shook the wisdom tree that Coinman had cultivated and nurtured, leaf by leaf and year after year. He looked at Ratiram, not quite willing to believe him. “But this is quite contrary to what I have learned during my life.”
Ratiram smiled. The smile was that of a sage when he encounters a primitive question suggesting the questioner’s lack of elementary knowledge on a subject. “It’s a mass conspiracy—a secret brotherhood that ensures that th
e divide between the management and the workers only grows bigger. Please also spend a minute to ponder the importance of unlearning things in life while we spend most of our energy on learning things.” He paused, picked up Coinman’s water bottle, and drained it. “Sometimes one is led to be stupid by things that happen in this world, as these things have masks that one needs to develop a capability to see through. The moment one has that capability, one can start to unlearn what is necessary—or unnecessary, depending on how you want to interpret it.”
There was another thing Coinman wanted to ask, and the time seemed right. Moreover, Ratiram seemed to be in a good frame of mind.
“Ratiram, please do not answer this if it feels distasteful. A question related to you has bothered me for a long time, and this conversation just refreshed it in my mind. I have always wondered why, despite being widely appreciated for the wisdom you have, you still have to move files. I am convinced, as would anybody else be in the office, that you can handle much bigger responsibilities.”
The sage’s smile repeated its stint on Ratiram’s face. “Like I said, when you move up, you are seen as someone who cannot perform in the present role. I do my work pretty well, so the situation does not arise. Hope that answers your question. I am sorry for unknowingly digressing. Coin, your companionship is so pleasing that I end up chatting for longer than I expect.”
“You need not feel apologetic, Ratiram. It is my good fortune that you digressed, if that’s how you want to speak of it. Now, going back to the original conversation—tell me now what should I do?”
“Coin, there are a lot of ways it can be done. Some require a lot of hard work, dedication, and patience, while others create almost the same effect with little work. Some are even impossible to do, even though human beings would sacrifice anything if only someone could make them possible. I am going to suggest to you something that is easily possible and is also most effective.”