The phone buzzed, it was Mandar at the other end, and he said, “Sir, at our Sunday Club's meeting; we have to come up with a new-year resolution, it's mandatory for all.” In no time, my thoughts began to meander through all corners in search of a great resolution that would be a ‘Mission Possible' for me in the real sense. Neither in my dream could I step into the shoes of Tom Cruise to accomplish a Mission Impossible, nor in my reveries could I impersonate G One to tame the mighty Ra One.
So, waking up at five and exercising hard or doing all asanas of yoga sent shivers down my spine; really, it was not my cup of tea, acquiring or learning a skill will surely disturb my comfort zone, and being punctual will spoil my daily-dallying attitude. So at last, in order to pay my humble tribute to the Father of the Nation, I resolved to ‘speak the truth.' Well, literally, it doesn't cost anything, so it was an affordable resolution in the true sense.
The Sunday Club's meeting began, and in a roaring tone, I declared, “I will speak the truth and nothing else.” Some members thought that I was in court and speaking the lines with my right hand on the Bhagavad Gita . There was a thunder of applause and a few giggles that made me a bit grumpy. One by one, all the members shared their resolutions to do something innovative in the coming year. I felt, “These resolutions are feasible, but look at mine, isn't it great?”
Soon, we dispersed after swearing in the name of God not to revoke or breach the declared promises. At that moment, I had no idea that my resolution would land me in trouble and that I would soon find myself in deep waters. I still couldn't decode the giggles on the faces of my fellow members when I pronounced my plan; it made me smell a rat.
The snag started without more ado, when my wife served lunch with a couple of new dishes prepared after overhearing the recipes in one of the Haldi-Kumkum programmes. My wife lovingly asked me after I ate a couple of morsels, “How's the lunch, and the new dishes that I have specially prepared for you?”
I was about to flatter her with heaps of praise, but my resolution — to speak the truth — put me in a dilemma worse than Hamlet's. I made a desperate effort to keep my mouth shut, as I knew the famous saying — silence speaks louder than words. But she couldn't understand the language of silence and forced me to comment on the newly prepared dishes. At last, with a heavy heart, I somehow gathered confidence and spoke, “Your newly prepared dishes are horrible, and even a stray dog will opt to starve rather than eat the terrible food.” After this episode, for a week I had to dine in a nearby restaurant and my bank balance got reduced to the minimum.
The trouble didn't end here, but it started with a bang. The milkman asked me, “Saheb, how's the milk nowadays, I have bought a new buffalo?” I roared, “Milk! Do you mix water with milk or milk with water, Tell me?” I said, “I guess your buffaloes like to get milked while sitting in the bathing tank.” I couldn't comprehend the language in which he abused me, but I could clearly understand his exasperation from his gestures.
The next day, my boss who is pot-bellied and a bit plump summoned me; I hurriedly reached his cabin with the writing pad to take a dictation of an important official letter. Before starting the dictation, he asked me, “How do I look? How is my outfit?” After a big pause, I said, “You look like a baby elephant that is being dressed in a clown's attire.” He was awestruck by my unexpected answer and nearly kicked me out of the cabin. For the whole month, I couldn't count how many show-cause notices I received for my petty gaffes.
Yesterday, my uncle came to my house and as usual was boasting of his generous and philanthropist attitude. He started narrating his long and unending tales that actually never occurred in his life. He said: “Don't you like my tales?” I always pretended to be his ardent fan, but that day I couldn't control myself and curtly said: “Your tales are a great fib, and you are the most cunning and wicked person I have come across in my life.” Then there was a quarrel, agitation and a situation that was exactly conducive to a cold-blooded murder. He left the house not to see my face again in future, which decision I relished to a great extent.
The ever-sleeping Gurkha of our apartment, the ever-complaining housemaid, gossiping colleagues, whining neighbours and discouraging friends were eager to punch me down when I told the truth in their faces, but somehow I managed to escape from their clutches as I was declared a stubborn moron of our colony.
Now I am really afraid of facing any person, as I fear I would get a thrashing for revealing any of his or her drawbacks or shortcomings. My resolution has put in predicament and if it continues, I am sure, not a single bone of my body will remain safe and intact.
Nearly a month has elapsed and my troubles have started mounting with each passing day. If this situation continues for a week or more, I am sure my name will soon be published in the obituary column or my photograph will be hung on one of the four walls of my house.
I think, Hamlet might not have suffered the confusion and problems I am facing due to my weird resolution. If you have any solution, please, write a letter or send an SMS or e-mail to me, but if you try to call me or meet me in person, I guess, you too would get the same treatment the others have received due to my resolution!
(The writer's email ID is: ddamodare@yahoo.com)
