My host informed me at the breakfast table, Prafulla! You remember about this evening’s dinner invitation! The Japanese Ambassador’s wife will felicitate you after your presentation. You know I am invited because of you, otherwise these culture buffs never bother about us, and we are bank note counting machines who cannot distinguish between Expressionism and Avantgardism. My host used these two terms to impress me and I acknowledged to please him, saying prudes and snobs are everywhere. If you give them importance their inflated egoes will ride roughshod on your emotions. Ignore them. You are what you are. By the by what should I speak on this evening can, you suggest....What can I suggest; best you speak on Indian culture or about your own language and related things.
As our car approached the gates
of the massive structure with wide lawns and a burst of exotic flowers all around,
I asked my host: what place is this? O’ did I not tell you, this is the mansion
of Archibald Leech, a world renowned heart surgeon and a very prominent
promoter of social work and international Cultural Synchronizer. Your name was
recommended by Prof John E. Altazen, Dean University of New Orleans. Yes, I
said, Altazen has invited me I thought that it would be held in the University.
Yes, but some public men wanted it here as many foreign dignitaries would come
and you know the hospitality costs- my host smiled. Come, you will meet many
people...
After long forty five years I do
not remember the details of my speech but I spoke on the principal tenets of
Indian renunciation and how it has given the value base to art and literature
in India. The time allotted to me was thirty minutes but I exceeded freely as
the receptive audience did not betray any symptom of boredom. The applause and
the ovation they gave still rings in my ears. But more than that I remember the
most embarrassing moments of my life that followed. After the meeting, the
party began. It was 8.15 pm but the light outside was like our 4 pm sunshine in
May. I was gheraoed by a few admirers and also a few journalists. After 15
minutes somebody I knew called me, rather rescued me from probing questions eating away
into the party time. He gave me a glass of whisky and we moved out into the
lawn. The party was around a swimming pool- not exactly around, on two sides of
the pool. The pool was comparatively large. The water was clear like crystal
and still as if a transparent pearly sheet was on the surface. It was
glistening in the early evening light. I don’t know why I doubted whether it
was water so still and clear or a glass cover over it reflecting the mellowing
sunlight. Unconsciously, the whisky definitely was not heady- may be the pleasant
events of the evening were an elixir- I wanted to tap the surface with my shoe
and I did. I fell down with a splash stabbing the ears of many despite the mood
created by the jazz over the wire recorder swaying the guests and they came
running to lift me up- my suit dripping the pearly liquid of the pool and my
eyes blinded by my mind’s agonising shame beating my heart to a cacophonous
asymmetry I came up and stood on my legs shaking in listless embarrassment.
Strange voices showered their concerns thinking I had a fit or something. What
happened, are you ill, head reeling or what? I had only a sheepish smile on my
face. Then they laughed, o’ the drink, may be you had one too many. I had no
explanation to offer. Kind hands held me and took me into a room. My shoes and
coat were removed. Someone dried me with a dryer, another brought a full sleeve
sweater. I felt warm and somewhat
comfortable. I put on my shoes again. But how to salvage my pride? The man who
was the darling of the hundred odd guests, felicitated and honoured, applauded
half an hour ago shall not leave this place as the butt end of laughter. I must
regain the attention of the party. I was
determined for I was not really drunk or had any ailment. It was curiosity and
may be an illusion I chased to my fall in the pool.
I went to the centre of the
party. Picked up the mike and said, Ladies Gentlemen and Friends: I will now
give you a few songs in Indian languages and show their parallels in English
and American literatures. I had full faith in my singing abilities although I
am not a great singer. I started with an odia song from Upendra Bhanja. My
second one was from Tagore and the third was form Hindi. I translated each song
into English after rendering it and pointed out the parallels in English. The
party became warm, cheers encouraged me; request for recitations from English
came from Madam Ambassador. I recited from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Othello and
Hamlet. My dramatic rendering and my
English floored them. I rose up tall to their unending applause. And then I
joined the party with my confidence restored, my pride salvaged.
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