CONFESSIONS OF A COMMON MAN--A BASKET FULL OF BALANCE

CONFESSIONS  OF  A  COMMON  MAN

By A.V. Dhanushkodi

Two--A Basket Full of Balance

I have often wondered why we, the common people, condone corruption.  We read, almost every day, of corruption at every level of functioning of our nation, right from the central ministers down to the sweeper on the street, not impersonal events far removed from our lives, but events which happen every day in our own lives, affecting us in so many ways.  Yet, we do not take them seriously.   Possibly, either because we do not recognize them as corrupt practices or, even if we do identify them as corruption, we brush them aside with a casual gesture, as common occurrences.  One may call it resignation, resulting from a sense of helplessness.  There may be some truth in that interpretation but, going a step further, I would ascribe that attitude to be rooted in an awareness, conscious or subconscious, of our own behaviour, corrupt to a greater or lesser degree.  I do not mean monetary corruption only, I mean by the word  ‘corruption’, a broad spectrum of behaviour in every one of us---business and non-business in nature---crossing the boundaries of legality, morality, and all norms of social behaviour, which have evolved over centuries,  meant to benefit the largest number of people.

Being a common man, I have easy access to a wide range of services, quite a few of which I use every day.    About a week ago, on one of my outings to buy a few assorted articles of daily use, I entered a kind of  mini-department store, which was nothing more than a store, except that one could enter the store and select the articles one wanted to buy, instead of standing on the street, waiting for the shop assistant to pick out the things one wanted.  The shop occupied a fairly small area, compelling the customers to squeeze themselves in between the shelves displaying the wares, and the other customers.  Having practised calisthenics and boxing for about a year in college, I was good at weaving and bobbing my way through any crowded place or street, the classic example being Ranaganathan Street, off Usman Road in T’Nagar, when I was living in that locality for many years.  Now, in the mini-department store, I performed my dodging and weaving act, with the added advantage of my stature, to collect all the items I wanted, much faster than the other customers, who were still struggling, stumbling, and mumbling, bumping into each other.

Having completed my collection in a record time, I was at the counter.  There was already one customer there, waiting for the bill to be made up, I was the next and the last in the queue, if I may call it that.  When the bill was made, the customer paid the amount, took the change, and walked out.

I bent down to pick up the plastic basket  containing the articles I had selected and straightened to put the basket on the counter when, to my great surprise, I found a woman  standing next to me, having placed her basket full of things already on the counter.  For a moment, I was speechless.  The man at the counter had already begun to list the articles in her basket.

“Stop it!” I commanded him in a sharp tone.

He looked up.  He had not expected my protest.

“You know I was next, why then are you listing her purchase?” I demanded in an irate tone.  He had no reply.  He merely stared at me, piqued that I had pulled him up. 

Then, I turned to the woman next to me and requested her, in the most polite tone I could muster under the circumstance, to remove her basket, so I could place mine on the counter.  I was in for a second surprise, when she did nothing of the sort, but stared at me in indignation.  I waited a few moments for her to remove her basket of articles, but she did not; she merely continued to stare at me, now not with indignation, but with a strange quizzical expression, as if she was trying to place me.  I had no choice but to pick up her basket myself and put it down, at the same time placing mine on the counter.  That woke her up from her trance.

“How dare you touch my basket?” she barked at me.

“How dare you jump the queue?” I barked back.

“There was no queue, when I came here,” she argued.

“You saw me standing here, didn’t you?” I cornered her.

“You were not standing, you were bending down,” she corrected me, with a triumphant note in her voice.  I was speechless for the third time.  What reasoning!

The counter-man gave me the bill.  I gave him one five-hundred rupee note and he gave me back a twenty rupee note and one five hundred rupee note.  My bill was for Rs.480.  I was confused: I checked the bill and the change.  Then I knew what had happened.  Amidst all the shouting and counter-shouting, the counter-man had lost his balance, mental as well as monetary.

Why should  I care, if he was careless?  I quietly pocketed the balance and was walking out with my articles, when I was stopped by the woman’s voice, “Sir, did you not act in Raajapaarvai?  Had I known you were an actor, I wouldn’t have quarrelled with you”.  I turned back and looked at her.  She was smiling broadly at me.  What logic !

  
Then I realized that, perhaps, I was a little more than  common!

***

A.V. DHANUSHKODI

November 2010