The root cause of shame is Iow self-esteem. The feeling is triggered by any experience which makes us believe that we, as people, are not measuring up to a good enough standard •in the eyes of the world outside us. People can feel shameful about their basic genetic inheritance such as their nose, feet, skin colour, height or even gender. We can only feel shame as a result of someone else's judgment. There are sets of grades against which we keep measuring ourselves. These are given to us, mostly in early childhood and often subtly by others. I feel shame is a social glue that helps societies gel together. By reinforcing certain shared values, certain people Who don't measure up to these values are quietly made to sit at the bottom of the social Pile. In our village, a high value was put on adventure and arrogance, making people Who prefer a calm, safe, uneventful life to feel ashamed of their cowardly existence. This feeling made them less likely to challenge their arrogant masters, however aggressively and unjustly these leaders wielded their personal power. Shame is, therefore, both an uncomfortable emotion and a very frightening one, because it is so bound up With social isolation. Not only are we inclined to hide when we feel it, others reject us and ignore us when they recognise that we are someone Who don't match u to the re uired standard. In Indian villa es this as ct Shame is, therefore, both an uncomfortable emotion and a very frightening one, because it is so bound up With social isolation. Not only are we inclined to hide when we feel it, others reject us and ignore us when they recognise that we are someone Who don't match up to the required standard. In Indian villages, this aspect of shame is consciously cultivated, by the people in power, as a way of ensuring obedience. Many labourers, including women in their tattered clothes and With crying infants clinging to their sagging bosoms, would squat outside our big house for hours waiting for my father to come out 2 A Doctor's Story of Life and Death and pay their wages. I used to feel very disturbed by their presence and many times dared to plead their case for payment. Every time my father would chuckle and drown himself in deep slumber. This apathy towards the poor and helpless used to fill me With an intense feeling of anger and helplessness. Apathy is an emotion that grows very slowly. It can be insidiously working away for years in our subconscious before we, or anyone else, even notice its presence. During its build-up its bad traits have much more chance of becoming deeply ingrained into our general personality than some of the more quick-firing emotions. My father Who felt that he could not be bothered at the moment became eventually an uncaring person. I used to care for the poor labourers waiting outside. The threat to their well-being posed by my father's indifference left me frustrated and irritated. As a Child I was strong-willed and positive in my tastes, but never made any big fuss in expressing them. I seldom threw a temper tantrum. Yet I always managed to communicate my negative reactions quite plainly. I used to sincerely believe in education imparted by Kosuri Ranga Rao in the form of archetypes and cliches like honesty, obedience, discipline and duty towards society and country. One day, a servant Child stole one mango from a room in the house where not less than a ton of them were stored. I caught him red-handed and reported the matter to my father With the pride of having performed a righteous and responsible act. My father disappointed me by brushing aside the whole incident as insignificant and preaching that small actions of small people should be overlooked. That all people were equal and any theft, small or big, was immoral was the general refrain. A feeling germinated in me that I must draw my own line between the realistically right and the practically wrong. I was growing in curiosity too. Every month Lalitha would be isolated in her room during her menstrual period. I never liked it. When I questioned my mother about the rationale, I was told that if she touched milk during those days it would turn into curd and, therefore, she had to be away from the kitchen. I remember dipping her finger forcefully in milk before drinking it and touching her to see if anything wrong could emanate from someone as nice and lovely as Lalitha. The innocent and passive ideation of life where Gods and Demons participate in your daily chores and eventually are responsible for What good and bad you receive has never appealed to me. There was an ancient temple of Lakshmipathy Swamy (Lord Vishnu, the sustainer God in Hindu mythology married to the Goddess of wealth Lakshmi) in front of our house. In fact our village is known across miles for the temple. I used to regularly visit the temple and felt comfortable inside. The chanting of prayers and the aroma of incense sticks created a pleasantly mystic environment. Whenever some marria@e was performed and the bride and the bridegroom were brought to the temple in a procession led by a group of village musicians playing Nadaswaram and some improvised percussion instrument, almost all children assemble there. Many such times Sarojini and I exchanged sly glances and experienced the thrill of stealing something precious away from the crowd. One Swamiji used to live on the outskirts of our village. This place was known as Krishnashram. He gave discourses to the villagers on religious matters and offered counselling when they came confused or troubled. Swamiji was good in Sanskrit and
One Swamiji used to live on the outskirts of our village. This place was known as Krishnashram. He gave discourses to the villagers on religious matters and offered counselling when they came confused or troubled. Swamiji was good in Sanskrit and Hindi. I started going there to learn Hindi from him. The thing that amazed me the most in Swamiji was his belief in himself. He was so sure about his powers that he would confidently touch the sick to ward away illness. He was said to have a divine vision and he could detect thieves and even locate hidden treasures. I personally never witnessed any such miracles nor believed in these claims beyond a point of general awe and surprise. One day while I was taking lessons in Hindi in Krishnashram, a big snake whizzed past me. I was gripped With fear. Our family took it as a most frightening incident and it took me more than a week to cajole my mother into allowing me to go to the Ashram again. After finishing seven years of education under the watchful eye of Kosuri Ranga Rao, the question arose if I had to be sent away for further education. There was no such dilemmafaced in case of my second brother Venkateswara Rao whom my father overheard saying to his friends that Why was he (my father) not overheard saying to his friends that Why was he (my father) not 4 A Doctor's Story of Life and Death buying a cow instead of wasting 50 rupees on sending him (Venkateswara Rao) to school. There were second thoughts on sending me away because of the possessiveness my mother and Lalitha developed about me. I, though totally drowned in the warmth of their love and care, wanted to go away and Study further. Does gender differentiation really exist in the form and substance of intangible feelings? One wants to hold and keep and the Other wants to go away. The nearest school was at Challapalli, eight miles south-west of Pedamuttevi towards River Krishna. I had to walk the entire distance. My father came about a mile to see me off. My third brother Bhasker Rao, himself a student of the same school at thebrother Bhasker Rao, himself a student of the same school at the SSLC level, accompanied me to Challapalli. My mother and I wept for quite sometime. Lalitha gave me a good quantity of Pakodi for eating on the way. I was put up in a hostel. As if to prove myself different from others, I began to organise my life into a routine rather early. The early years of protected care and tender love grew into focused efforts and compassion. Notable among Other students in the class was Visalakshi, Sister of the Chieftain of Challapalli, Srimanthu Raja Yarlagadda Siva Ram Prasad. She used to draw lot of attention from teachers and Other students. The whole set-up here was so different from that at Pedamuttevi. I knew quite early that I no more occupied the centre of attention and care. If anything What Visalakshi returned to me was a glance full of vanity and an invitation to compete. In school I was obedient, studious and reliable but was reluctant to participate in class discussions. I used to refuse directives for recitations and elocutions from teachers and elders and was even called as timid, lacking confidence and self-centred. I utilised every possible opportunity to go home. A new sense of enlightenment started growing in me. Whenever I came to Pedamuttevi, I found myself a visiting observer, a detached analyst. I started dislikin thin saboutm villa e, it's o le, it's wa sof
I started disliking things about my village, it's people, it's ways of organising and destabilising things. The endless talking among people started bothering me. Years of idle lifestyle whetted the appetite of my village folks, mostly relatives, to advise others pathologically. I saw so much of it that I had come to consider the A Doctor's Story of Life and Death whole process as turning private woe into public comedy. I am of the belief that advice is seldom welcome, and those Who need it most like it the least. Meanwhile, Bhasker Rao completed his SSLC and returned to Pedamuttevi to be the son of the soil. My best efforts to be the first in the class would get negated by the stature of Vlsalakshi's brother which fetch her almost always a couple of additional marks. It could also be the illusion of my egoist self which always believed itself to be the best. But then that was how I felt at that point ofIt could also be the illusion of my egoist self which always believed itself to be the best. But then that was how I felt at that point of time. There are profound moments, rare situations and times of extreme personal attachment in daily life when most people reflect automatically, immediately and intuitively. When we confront another's intense self-disclosures we are left speechless. We acknowledge that we have indeed registered the message. The visceral reaction of teachers always showed that they were on Visalakshi's Side. They would reflexively say good things to me to confirm that my discomfort towards their happiness in helping Visalakshi had been taken in and taken seriously. My performance level was so unknowingly becoming dependent on Visalakshi that my relationship With her was almost jeopardised. Jealousy is usually accompanied by anxiety, and often leads to anger, which is usually turned outwards rather than inwards. If the feelings are kept secret, shame usually grows and flourishes. It is frequently confused With envy, where you need something which you don't have. But although the two emotions have distinctly different triggers, they do ride in tandem because some of their root causes are common. Our urgent psychological hungers often cause us to swallow without tasting. The reveal-some of their root causes are common. Our urgent psychological hungers often cause us to swallow without tasting. The reveal- conceal ordeal is among the costliest conflicts of human relations. Most of the time, the solution simply lies in learning how and when to move towards the reveal Side. I found an inspiring guide in my Telugu teacher Suranna. He would read my unexpressed feelings and teach me to give words to them. I learned poetry from Suranna and wrote many verses, mostly addressed to Sarojini but never shared With her or With anybody else for that matter. I was the poet and I was the listener too. The writer and the reader both rolled into one. Later,
communistic ideas started substituting love and longing in my writings. I wrote a poem for the school magazine depicting a car throwing exhaust on a beggar's face, in contempt. One night in the hostel, while we were taking dinner, electricity failed. Amid confusion and chaos, everybody shouting at everybody else in pitched darkness, our cook-cum-server Lakshmaiah put his foot on my plantain leaf. This filled me With rage and I threw the leaf With the remains of food on Lakshmaiah's back. The whole place got frozen and was filled With tension. Immediately hostel warden Kasi Ramaiah appeared on the scene wielding his cane. He slapped me on my face. Blood gushed to my ears under the impact. For a moment, Lakshmaiah, Kasi Ramaiah and I were turned to a Bermuda Triangle ready to gobble up anything. Minutes got stretched into an eternity. Finally Kasi Ramaiah broke the silence and took me to his house putting his hand on my shoulder. His wife served me food and brought me back to ease. On return, I met Lakshmaiah and apologised. He himself had not eaten dinner and was waiting for me With the food. Anger is always taught to be dangerous, something that would just get you into trouble. We are told that if we give in to anger we'll go crazv I don't subscribe to these general attitudes aboutAnger is always taught to be dangerous, something that would just get you into trouble. We are told that if we give in to anger we'll go crazv I don't subscribe to these general attitudes about the feeling of anger. Though it is bad to burst into irritability or rage at the wrong time, in the wrong place and at wrong people or objects, suppressing tension and rendering ourselves speechless, motionless, depressed and sick is much worse. I hate crying victim's tears that always invite more abuse. I believe anger under control gives us more confidence to stand up for our own and other's rights. Chandra Rajeshwar Rao was a popular young communist leader in Challapalli. He would go around With tremendous energy and charisma. I was almost fascinated by his talks and the way he met and intermingled With people, giving big words to their small problems. I started knowing more of politics of poverty and property. Those Who had property exploited those Who did not have. It was called communism and considered anti-establishment. Rajeshwar Rao's friends would give younger students posters written With Long Live Revolution. These posters would be pastedin public Places at 3 in the morning to avoid police. I was so excited With the idea of doing something against the establishment that getting up so early filled me With a great sense of duty and satisfaction. Though Rajeshwar Rao talked about Marx and Lenin and never mentioned Gandhi and Nehru, I used to read about them With reverence. To me both Gandhi and Marx were equally appealing. The dignity of labour, equal right to existence, simplicity, sacrificial quality to help others and social justice were sacred to me. I read Kranti, a Hindi translation of some Russian publication, With interest and found it very Close to my own mind- set. The political environment was getting hotter. Gandhiji gave the Quit India call. It spread like a wildfire among students. I got myself so involved in all this that I fasted when Gandhiji fasted. I found fasting difficult but used to feel a vague sense of purification at the end of the fast. A strong feeling of nationalism gradually got seated in the depth of my mind and at times I felt almost compelled to quit studies and go to jail. Around the same time, my father made a bad land deal. He bought a big stretch of land at a good price, overlooking its Iow elevation. During rains, the entire land got flooded and crops wereAround the same time, my father made a bad land deal. He bought a big stretch of land at a good price, overlooking its Iow elevation. During rains, the entire land got flooded and crops were washed away. I visited my village during harvest time and found not even two bags full of paddy from the entire crop. The financial loss coupled With injury to his pride for making a wrong decision was too much to bear for my father. Behind his arrogant and authoritarian tough outer Shell I found him a simple and contended person. His personal possessions were limited to two pairs of cotton dress. While carrying two bags of paddy back home in our bullock cart, I heard a relative inquiring how many more ferries we planned to bring home for the bonanza. Rajeshwar Rao's talk of equal distribution of property and Gandhiji's on dignity of the fellow- being looked so misplaced against this uncoloured meanness and unsheathed jealousy. Eighty per cent of the population in Pedamuttevi belonged to the Kamma caste. Almost everybody was related to everybody else. This means, a few generations back they were from one family. Bemg the youngest Child I used to sleep in my parents' room andlisten to them talking about all that was not good among the villagers. If we were all linked to a common heritage and lineage of some superior blood What was then the rationale behind this almost sadistic response? We talk so much about social equity, justice, religious tolerance—all big words. Why nobody talks about our emotional barrenness and toxic jealousy that can kill any compassion and kindness in any relationship? I read a good poem that was perhaps written for the likes of my people: There are Six things, which the God hates, Seven which are an abomination to him: Haughty eyes, a Iying tongue, And hands that shed innocent blood, A heart that devises wicked Plans. Feet that make haste to run to evil, A false witness Who breathes out lies, And a man Who sows discord among brothers. When I was giving my eighth standard examination, I acted as conduit, transferring a chit carrying answers from one student to another, in the examination hall. I was caught by the invigilator in this act of Plain copying amounting to cheating. As I had no intention and even the necessity to derive any advantage out ofin this act of Plain copying amounting to cheating. As I had no intention and even the necessity to derive any advantage out of the act, I felt miserable having been into it. The Other two students were debarred from the examination but I was left With a stern warning in view of my brilliant academic record and evidence of innocence. However, this had left a scar on my psyche. Your surroundings, the people Who live with, can really make you sick. You have a good chance of ending up as a loser if you live in the company of failures. My friends in the examination halls were opportunistic users. Then there were control freaks, meddlers, narcissists, instigators, emotional refrigerators, liars. These people had to be stopped in their tracks. How? Suddenly, lessons in life started looking tougher than the school syllabus. By the time, I finished my high school at Challapalli, I was emotionally toughened. Out of all subjects, I excelled particularly in mathematics. This made my father proud, for a Change. Circumstance had attenuated his arrogance to a great extent. I was welcomed backas a hero. The decision to send me on higher studies was spontaneous and unanimous. The only hitch was between me and Sarojini. She was of marriageable age by the standards of those times and if I went for further education, either I had to marry and leave her alone, or she would be married to someone else and I would be left alone. I landed at Hindu College, Masulipatnam, which was considered the best. The port city of Masulipatnam, now called Machillipatnam, but always known as Bandar locally, was across the canal, bringing Krishna water to the fields. There were many big buildings in Masulipatnam built by Britishers as they arrived in this land from Madras by the sea route. The influence of British was evident. At the college, when they questioned me about how much I scored in English I reported them a grand 22% which was the highest at Challapalli that year. A frog leaped out of the well! The Quit India movement was at its peak. My feelings of nationalism, stifled to an extent for family considerations, were roused. This, compounded by the hurt caused by Sarojini marrying someone else, made me think once again of leaving college and joining Satyagraha. However, the still disarrayed financial fortunes of my father and brothers at home and my own basic equation With education held me back. I, however, attended politicalsomeone else, made me think once again of leaving college and joining Satyagraha. However, the still disarrayed financial fortunes of my father and brothers at home and my own basic equation With education held me back. I, however, attended political meetings and rallies and took active interest in happenings there. One day agitators decided on setting the Masulipatnam Railway Station on fire. A big crowd of students gathered at the station. There were policemen, on horses, fiercely wielding batons. The entry to the station was blocked. Frustrated and unable to give vent to their anger, the students started stoning the policemen. I also lifted a stone and was about to hit a policeman when I saw blood oozing out of a wound on his forehead. What am I doing? What for? Whom are we hurting? A silent communication took place between that man riding a horse on someone's orders and a boy planning to hurl stones in a frenzy. The enlightenment of each other's helplessness about What was happening froze me. I dropped the stone and walked out of the crowd. I heard about Sarojini's marriage, but had no guts to go and see her tying the nuptial knot to someone else. As someone haswritten, 'There is nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream." If What they say about eternal life cycles and soul taking different body forms were true, we had already met in the present forms and a union in the sense of husband and wife was to wait for some Other life. A part of me had died at that tender age itself. It was a deep emotional wound, that too a self-inflicted one. Can I afford to become soft and soppy about my emotional pain? Aren't most pleas of emotional distress just convenient excuses to evade responsibility? Why should I heal? Wouldn't a life of flat, colourless and stagnant happiness be worse—l may be hurting internally, but With my pain am I still alive? I used to sit on a see-saw of hope and despair, gloom and determination, vision and deception. I took sometime to realise that there are good reasons for healing emotional wounds promptly and efficiently. If emotional pain is not managed, whatever be the cause and however old the hurt, we have less resistance to Other hurts; we are likely to be more fearful of potentially good opportunities which could be emotionally strengthening; we can experience emotional confusion, caused by inappropriate feelings leaking into a current situation; we are in danger of Iosing control if a feeling from an unhealed wound is echoed and inappropriately amplified; we endanger our ability to feel and express positive emotions such as excitement and compassion. Though saddened and weary, I pulled myself together and went into my studies more as a solace than anything else in scholastic terms.anything else in scholastic terms. I passed my Intermediate examination With good marks. Although an uncle of mine wanted me to become a police officer and another one a village administrator, my zeal to become an engineer propelled me to go to Madras and explore the possibilities of getting admitted into an engineering college. I stayed there for a month pursuing the matter but some sort of quota by caste was introduced and that denied me an admission. Judging prospects of getting admission into engineering as bleak, as a backup strategy I obtained an application for a medical seat but never filled it up. I returned to Masulipatnam tojoin BA course in the same college. I was hean-broken as I would have to become some one in the crowd. One day I discovered the previous year's application form for the A Doctor's Story of Life and Death medical seat, carefully filled it and posted. I forgot about the whole thing as deep inside I was not keen on becoming a doctor. To my utter surprise, I received a postcard from an acquaintance, Nageswar Rao, in Madras. The postcard said that I had been allotted a Medical Seat at Msakhapatnam. The next thing I did was to take my friend Padmanabhiah With me and reach Nidumolu. From there we took a bus to Bezwada (now Vijayawada) to board a train to Vlsakhapatnam. Ihe postcard was factual: I was selected for admission in MBBS course in the Andhra Medical College, and all I had to do was to deposit Rs. 420 and confirm admission. It was big money and we could arrange the deposit by collecting small amounts from friends and acquaintances in Vlsakhapatnam. On way back, I went to Pedamuttevi and informed my family about my admission in the Medical College. The first reaction was one of dismay. There was a conference of all family members and relatives to discuss the acts of omission and commission of this belligerent youth. The fraternity finally endorsed What I had already done and I left the village the next day. As the great Chinese book I Ching says, "The superior man, when he stands alone, is unconcerned, and if he has to renounce the world, he is undaunted," I was indeed alone and in fact renounced my village.
One Swamiji used to live on the outskirts of our village. This place was known as Krishnashram. He gave discourses to the villagers on religious matters and offered counselling when they came confused or troubled. Swamiji was good in Sanskrit and Hindi. I started going there to learn Hindi from him. The thing that amazed me the most in Swamiji was his belief in himself. He was so sure about his powers that he would confidently touch the sick to ward away illness. He was said to have a divine vision and he could detect thieves and even locate hidden treasures. I personally never witnessed any such miracles nor believed in these claims beyond a point of general awe and surprise. One day while I was taking lessons in Hindi in Krishnashram, a big snake whizzed past me. I was gripped With fear. Our family took it as a most frightening incident and it took me more than a week to cajole my mother into allowing me to go to the Ashram again. After finishing seven years of education under the watchful eye of Kosuri Ranga Rao, the question arose if I had to be sent away for further education. There was no such dilemmafaced in case of my second brother Venkateswara Rao whom my father overheard saying to his friends that Why was he (my father) not overheard saying to his friends that Why was he (my father) not 4 A Doctor's Story of Life and Death buying a cow instead of wasting 50 rupees on sending him (Venkateswara Rao) to school. There were second thoughts on sending me away because of the possessiveness my mother and Lalitha developed about me. I, though totally drowned in the warmth of their love and care, wanted to go away and Study further. Does gender differentiation really exist in the form and substance of intangible feelings? One wants to hold and keep and the Other wants to go away. The nearest school was at Challapalli, eight miles south-west of Pedamuttevi towards River Krishna. I had to walk the entire distance. My father came about a mile to see me off. My third brother Bhasker Rao, himself a student of the same school at thebrother Bhasker Rao, himself a student of the same school at the SSLC level, accompanied me to Challapalli. My mother and I wept for quite sometime. Lalitha gave me a good quantity of Pakodi for eating on the way. I was put up in a hostel. As if to prove myself different from others, I began to organise my life into a routine rather early. The early years of protected care and tender love grew into focused efforts and compassion. Notable among Other students in the class was Visalakshi, Sister of the Chieftain of Challapalli, Srimanthu Raja Yarlagadda Siva Ram Prasad. She used to draw lot of attention from teachers and Other students. The whole set-up here was so different from that at Pedamuttevi. I knew quite early that I no more occupied the centre of attention and care. If anything What Visalakshi returned to me was a glance full of vanity and an invitation to compete. In school I was obedient, studious and reliable but was reluctant to participate in class discussions. I used to refuse directives for recitations and elocutions from teachers and elders and was even called as timid, lacking confidence and self-centred. I utilised every possible opportunity to go home. A new sense of enlightenment started growing in me. Whenever I came to Pedamuttevi, I found myself a visiting observer, a detached analyst. I started dislikin thin saboutm villa e, it's o le, it's wa sof
I started disliking things about my village, it's people, it's ways of organising and destabilising things. The endless talking among people started bothering me. Years of idle lifestyle whetted the appetite of my village folks, mostly relatives, to advise others pathologically. I saw so much of it that I had come to consider the A Doctor's Story of Life and Death whole process as turning private woe into public comedy. I am of the belief that advice is seldom welcome, and those Who need it most like it the least. Meanwhile, Bhasker Rao completed his SSLC and returned to Pedamuttevi to be the son of the soil. My best efforts to be the first in the class would get negated by the stature of Vlsalakshi's brother which fetch her almost always a couple of additional marks. It could also be the illusion of my egoist self which always believed itself to be the best. But then that was how I felt at that point ofIt could also be the illusion of my egoist self which always believed itself to be the best. But then that was how I felt at that point of time. There are profound moments, rare situations and times of extreme personal attachment in daily life when most people reflect automatically, immediately and intuitively. When we confront another's intense self-disclosures we are left speechless. We acknowledge that we have indeed registered the message. The visceral reaction of teachers always showed that they were on Visalakshi's Side. They would reflexively say good things to me to confirm that my discomfort towards their happiness in helping Visalakshi had been taken in and taken seriously. My performance level was so unknowingly becoming dependent on Visalakshi that my relationship With her was almost jeopardised. Jealousy is usually accompanied by anxiety, and often leads to anger, which is usually turned outwards rather than inwards. If the feelings are kept secret, shame usually grows and flourishes. It is frequently confused With envy, where you need something which you don't have. But although the two emotions have distinctly different triggers, they do ride in tandem because some of their root causes are common. Our urgent psychological hungers often cause us to swallow without tasting. The reveal-some of their root causes are common. Our urgent psychological hungers often cause us to swallow without tasting. The reveal- conceal ordeal is among the costliest conflicts of human relations. Most of the time, the solution simply lies in learning how and when to move towards the reveal Side. I found an inspiring guide in my Telugu teacher Suranna. He would read my unexpressed feelings and teach me to give words to them. I learned poetry from Suranna and wrote many verses, mostly addressed to Sarojini but never shared With her or With anybody else for that matter. I was the poet and I was the listener too. The writer and the reader both rolled into one. Later,
communistic ideas started substituting love and longing in my writings. I wrote a poem for the school magazine depicting a car throwing exhaust on a beggar's face, in contempt. One night in the hostel, while we were taking dinner, electricity failed. Amid confusion and chaos, everybody shouting at everybody else in pitched darkness, our cook-cum-server Lakshmaiah put his foot on my plantain leaf. This filled me With rage and I threw the leaf With the remains of food on Lakshmaiah's back. The whole place got frozen and was filled With tension. Immediately hostel warden Kasi Ramaiah appeared on the scene wielding his cane. He slapped me on my face. Blood gushed to my ears under the impact. For a moment, Lakshmaiah, Kasi Ramaiah and I were turned to a Bermuda Triangle ready to gobble up anything. Minutes got stretched into an eternity. Finally Kasi Ramaiah broke the silence and took me to his house putting his hand on my shoulder. His wife served me food and brought me back to ease. On return, I met Lakshmaiah and apologised. He himself had not eaten dinner and was waiting for me With the food. Anger is always taught to be dangerous, something that would just get you into trouble. We are told that if we give in to anger we'll go crazv I don't subscribe to these general attitudes aboutAnger is always taught to be dangerous, something that would just get you into trouble. We are told that if we give in to anger we'll go crazv I don't subscribe to these general attitudes about the feeling of anger. Though it is bad to burst into irritability or rage at the wrong time, in the wrong place and at wrong people or objects, suppressing tension and rendering ourselves speechless, motionless, depressed and sick is much worse. I hate crying victim's tears that always invite more abuse. I believe anger under control gives us more confidence to stand up for our own and other's rights. Chandra Rajeshwar Rao was a popular young communist leader in Challapalli. He would go around With tremendous energy and charisma. I was almost fascinated by his talks and the way he met and intermingled With people, giving big words to their small problems. I started knowing more of politics of poverty and property. Those Who had property exploited those Who did not have. It was called communism and considered anti-establishment. Rajeshwar Rao's friends would give younger students posters written With Long Live Revolution. These posters would be pastedin public Places at 3 in the morning to avoid police. I was so excited With the idea of doing something against the establishment that getting up so early filled me With a great sense of duty and satisfaction. Though Rajeshwar Rao talked about Marx and Lenin and never mentioned Gandhi and Nehru, I used to read about them With reverence. To me both Gandhi and Marx were equally appealing. The dignity of labour, equal right to existence, simplicity, sacrificial quality to help others and social justice were sacred to me. I read Kranti, a Hindi translation of some Russian publication, With interest and found it very Close to my own mind- set. The political environment was getting hotter. Gandhiji gave the Quit India call. It spread like a wildfire among students. I got myself so involved in all this that I fasted when Gandhiji fasted. I found fasting difficult but used to feel a vague sense of purification at the end of the fast. A strong feeling of nationalism gradually got seated in the depth of my mind and at times I felt almost compelled to quit studies and go to jail. Around the same time, my father made a bad land deal. He bought a big stretch of land at a good price, overlooking its Iow elevation. During rains, the entire land got flooded and crops wereAround the same time, my father made a bad land deal. He bought a big stretch of land at a good price, overlooking its Iow elevation. During rains, the entire land got flooded and crops were washed away. I visited my village during harvest time and found not even two bags full of paddy from the entire crop. The financial loss coupled With injury to his pride for making a wrong decision was too much to bear for my father. Behind his arrogant and authoritarian tough outer Shell I found him a simple and contended person. His personal possessions were limited to two pairs of cotton dress. While carrying two bags of paddy back home in our bullock cart, I heard a relative inquiring how many more ferries we planned to bring home for the bonanza. Rajeshwar Rao's talk of equal distribution of property and Gandhiji's on dignity of the fellow- being looked so misplaced against this uncoloured meanness and unsheathed jealousy. Eighty per cent of the population in Pedamuttevi belonged to the Kamma caste. Almost everybody was related to everybody else. This means, a few generations back they were from one family. Bemg the youngest Child I used to sleep in my parents' room andlisten to them talking about all that was not good among the villagers. If we were all linked to a common heritage and lineage of some superior blood What was then the rationale behind this almost sadistic response? We talk so much about social equity, justice, religious tolerance—all big words. Why nobody talks about our emotional barrenness and toxic jealousy that can kill any compassion and kindness in any relationship? I read a good poem that was perhaps written for the likes of my people: There are Six things, which the God hates, Seven which are an abomination to him: Haughty eyes, a Iying tongue, And hands that shed innocent blood, A heart that devises wicked Plans. Feet that make haste to run to evil, A false witness Who breathes out lies, And a man Who sows discord among brothers. When I was giving my eighth standard examination, I acted as conduit, transferring a chit carrying answers from one student to another, in the examination hall. I was caught by the invigilator in this act of Plain copying amounting to cheating. As I had no intention and even the necessity to derive any advantage out ofin this act of Plain copying amounting to cheating. As I had no intention and even the necessity to derive any advantage out of the act, I felt miserable having been into it. The Other two students were debarred from the examination but I was left With a stern warning in view of my brilliant academic record and evidence of innocence. However, this had left a scar on my psyche. Your surroundings, the people Who live with, can really make you sick. You have a good chance of ending up as a loser if you live in the company of failures. My friends in the examination halls were opportunistic users. Then there were control freaks, meddlers, narcissists, instigators, emotional refrigerators, liars. These people had to be stopped in their tracks. How? Suddenly, lessons in life started looking tougher than the school syllabus. By the time, I finished my high school at Challapalli, I was emotionally toughened. Out of all subjects, I excelled particularly in mathematics. This made my father proud, for a Change. Circumstance had attenuated his arrogance to a great extent. I was welcomed backas a hero. The decision to send me on higher studies was spontaneous and unanimous. The only hitch was between me and Sarojini. She was of marriageable age by the standards of those times and if I went for further education, either I had to marry and leave her alone, or she would be married to someone else and I would be left alone. I landed at Hindu College, Masulipatnam, which was considered the best. The port city of Masulipatnam, now called Machillipatnam, but always known as Bandar locally, was across the canal, bringing Krishna water to the fields. There were many big buildings in Masulipatnam built by Britishers as they arrived in this land from Madras by the sea route. The influence of British was evident. At the college, when they questioned me about how much I scored in English I reported them a grand 22% which was the highest at Challapalli that year. A frog leaped out of the well! The Quit India movement was at its peak. My feelings of nationalism, stifled to an extent for family considerations, were roused. This, compounded by the hurt caused by Sarojini marrying someone else, made me think once again of leaving college and joining Satyagraha. However, the still disarrayed financial fortunes of my father and brothers at home and my own basic equation With education held me back. I, however, attended politicalsomeone else, made me think once again of leaving college and joining Satyagraha. However, the still disarrayed financial fortunes of my father and brothers at home and my own basic equation With education held me back. I, however, attended political meetings and rallies and took active interest in happenings there. One day agitators decided on setting the Masulipatnam Railway Station on fire. A big crowd of students gathered at the station. There were policemen, on horses, fiercely wielding batons. The entry to the station was blocked. Frustrated and unable to give vent to their anger, the students started stoning the policemen. I also lifted a stone and was about to hit a policeman when I saw blood oozing out of a wound on his forehead. What am I doing? What for? Whom are we hurting? A silent communication took place between that man riding a horse on someone's orders and a boy planning to hurl stones in a frenzy. The enlightenment of each other's helplessness about What was happening froze me. I dropped the stone and walked out of the crowd. I heard about Sarojini's marriage, but had no guts to go and see her tying the nuptial knot to someone else. As someone haswritten, 'There is nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream." If What they say about eternal life cycles and soul taking different body forms were true, we had already met in the present forms and a union in the sense of husband and wife was to wait for some Other life. A part of me had died at that tender age itself. It was a deep emotional wound, that too a self-inflicted one. Can I afford to become soft and soppy about my emotional pain? Aren't most pleas of emotional distress just convenient excuses to evade responsibility? Why should I heal? Wouldn't a life of flat, colourless and stagnant happiness be worse—l may be hurting internally, but With my pain am I still alive? I used to sit on a see-saw of hope and despair, gloom and determination, vision and deception. I took sometime to realise that there are good reasons for healing emotional wounds promptly and efficiently. If emotional pain is not managed, whatever be the cause and however old the hurt, we have less resistance to Other hurts; we are likely to be more fearful of potentially good opportunities which could be emotionally strengthening; we can experience emotional confusion, caused by inappropriate feelings leaking into a current situation; we are in danger of Iosing control if a feeling from an unhealed wound is echoed and inappropriately amplified; we endanger our ability to feel and express positive emotions such as excitement and compassion. Though saddened and weary, I pulled myself together and went into my studies more as a solace than anything else in scholastic terms.anything else in scholastic terms. I passed my Intermediate examination With good marks. Although an uncle of mine wanted me to become a police officer and another one a village administrator, my zeal to become an engineer propelled me to go to Madras and explore the possibilities of getting admitted into an engineering college. I stayed there for a month pursuing the matter but some sort of quota by caste was introduced and that denied me an admission. Judging prospects of getting admission into engineering as bleak, as a backup strategy I obtained an application for a medical seat but never filled it up. I returned to Masulipatnam tojoin BA course in the same college. I was hean-broken as I would have to become some one in the crowd. One day I discovered the previous year's application form for the A Doctor's Story of Life and Death medical seat, carefully filled it and posted. I forgot about the whole thing as deep inside I was not keen on becoming a doctor. To my utter surprise, I received a postcard from an acquaintance, Nageswar Rao, in Madras. The postcard said that I had been allotted a Medical Seat at Msakhapatnam. The next thing I did was to take my friend Padmanabhiah With me and reach Nidumolu. From there we took a bus to Bezwada (now Vijayawada) to board a train to Vlsakhapatnam. Ihe postcard was factual: I was selected for admission in MBBS course in the Andhra Medical College, and all I had to do was to deposit Rs. 420 and confirm admission. It was big money and we could arrange the deposit by collecting small amounts from friends and acquaintances in Vlsakhapatnam. On way back, I went to Pedamuttevi and informed my family about my admission in the Medical College. The first reaction was one of dismay. There was a conference of all family members and relatives to discuss the acts of omission and commission of this belligerent youth. The fraternity finally endorsed What I had already done and I left the village the next day. As the great Chinese book I Ching says, "The superior man, when he stands alone, is unconcerned, and if he has to renounce the world, he is undaunted," I was indeed alone and in fact renounced my village.
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