On our regular morning visits to the mini zoo in our campus, Jaysha and I often sit for hours staring at the birds and their habits. Today, however, the first thing that caught my amusement was a fancy bi-cycle. It was one of those typical Hero cycles, gaunt, ugly and bottle green. But what was peculiar was the wry ornamentation with which it was adorned. It had side mirrors with a heavy handle, like the likes of a motor bike, a huge bell and a horn, a red rubber hose crumpled to look like a rubber hair trigger on the area between the handle and the wheels, a multicolored spoke cover, red plastic pansies stuck to the handle and a frilly red felt seat with frills. It had a huge head light which could be operated with the energy produced by the cycle in motion. And there was a red, flappy mud guard too!
I could have laughed at it and had almost pointed it out to my girl. But I was caught short. Near the cycle was the owner of this beautified piece of iron. He had dressed up in fresh and neatly ironed clothes and had a watch on his wrist. He wore micro -cellular rubber shoes with the front open and clean dark brown socks. He had a slightly flushed face with eyes quite prominent as if outlined by kohl. He sat awaiting in the shade.
I tried to hypothesize and used my womanly intuitions and tried to give the man an occupation and intention. He could be a gardener of the big houses of professors, who had dressed up on his Sunday best in order to meet someone. He could be a father waiting to pick up his child from the campus school. Or he could be an electrician called upon to discuss the status of the current generator. Something, somehow did not add up perfectly.
After a while, the man took out a strip of medicines and tried to open a plastic bottle of water. It is then that my eyes fell upon his hands. He was a man affected with leprosy and some of his fingers were deformed and stubbed. It then occurred to me that he was a patient who had come to the nearby community hospital and had simply ridden down to watch the birds. He had put on the socks, even in such a prickly weather, to prevent further injury to his feet and maybe had even tried to cover up his deformed feet lest he be noticed and marked out .
The cycle was in fact an extension of him. The dressing up was not for ornamental purpose. It was to enhance utility and durability of both .The mirrors were helpful as patients have eye sight problem …. the horn and the light could be simply to make his ride more stable and safer. The thick seat cover could be to lessen friction to avoid further bruise. As for the mud guard and the spoke cover, they could be purely for facility and purpose .The man’s wounded pride, the irreversible scars and his deformity was not for all to see. He had tried to glorify the being as best as he could, though slightly going overboard, to camouflage the idiosyncrasy. He was apprehensive of social disapproval of his state and oddity and had hence dressed up, to adhere to a standard, a normal. The same, he did for his cycle.
I was unable to forgive myself for sometime, for laughing at his possession. I had belittled his wish and freedom. What I had failed to recognize was the pride that the man took of his belonging, however small it was. For him it could mean his costliest piece of vehicle and a way to freedom of movement. Like himself, he had dressed it up with attentive care and time.
I returned home, humbled and a lesson heavy in my heart. Generally we tend to understand all, name all, analyze and have an explanation for everything. Things beyond our comprehensibility, experience and perception is clearly jeered at. However maturity of living lies in understanding that everything is in a way and they are so, due to specific reasons best known .Nothing is out of place and that everything- beautiful, odd or ugly fits into one whole, universal set. We need to look at everything as it is and enjoy its freedom rather than trying to set it up into a house of generality and neutrality
I could have laughed at it and had almost pointed it out to my girl. But I was caught short. Near the cycle was the owner of this beautified piece of iron. He had dressed up in fresh and neatly ironed clothes and had a watch on his wrist. He wore micro -cellular rubber shoes with the front open and clean dark brown socks. He had a slightly flushed face with eyes quite prominent as if outlined by kohl. He sat awaiting in the shade.
I tried to hypothesize and used my womanly intuitions and tried to give the man an occupation and intention. He could be a gardener of the big houses of professors, who had dressed up on his Sunday best in order to meet someone. He could be a father waiting to pick up his child from the campus school. Or he could be an electrician called upon to discuss the status of the current generator. Something, somehow did not add up perfectly.
After a while, the man took out a strip of medicines and tried to open a plastic bottle of water. It is then that my eyes fell upon his hands. He was a man affected with leprosy and some of his fingers were deformed and stubbed. It then occurred to me that he was a patient who had come to the nearby community hospital and had simply ridden down to watch the birds. He had put on the socks, even in such a prickly weather, to prevent further injury to his feet and maybe had even tried to cover up his deformed feet lest he be noticed and marked out .
The cycle was in fact an extension of him. The dressing up was not for ornamental purpose. It was to enhance utility and durability of both .The mirrors were helpful as patients have eye sight problem …. the horn and the light could be simply to make his ride more stable and safer. The thick seat cover could be to lessen friction to avoid further bruise. As for the mud guard and the spoke cover, they could be purely for facility and purpose .The man’s wounded pride, the irreversible scars and his deformity was not for all to see. He had tried to glorify the being as best as he could, though slightly going overboard, to camouflage the idiosyncrasy. He was apprehensive of social disapproval of his state and oddity and had hence dressed up, to adhere to a standard, a normal. The same, he did for his cycle.
I was unable to forgive myself for sometime, for laughing at his possession. I had belittled his wish and freedom. What I had failed to recognize was the pride that the man took of his belonging, however small it was. For him it could mean his costliest piece of vehicle and a way to freedom of movement. Like himself, he had dressed it up with attentive care and time.
I returned home, humbled and a lesson heavy in my heart. Generally we tend to understand all, name all, analyze and have an explanation for everything. Things beyond our comprehensibility, experience and perception is clearly jeered at. However maturity of living lies in understanding that everything is in a way and they are so, due to specific reasons best known .Nothing is out of place and that everything- beautiful, odd or ugly fits into one whole, universal set. We need to look at everything as it is and enjoy its freedom rather than trying to set it up into a house of generality and neutrality
