CONFESSIONS OF A COMMON MAN--A SMILE FOR MY JASMINE

CONFESSIONS  OF  A  COMMON  MAN

By A.V. DHANUSHKODI

ONE -- A  SMILE  FOR  MY  JASMINE

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.  One  evening, while walking back home after purchasing a few articles of daily use, I was passing by a pavement vendor of flowers (an elderly flower-woman in other words), whom I have seen every day, during the past twenty years, sitting at the same spot, knitting jasmine flowers into strings.  She has also seen me every time, as a passer-by but not as a buyer.  In the past twenty years, rarely she had called out to me, to buy flowers, perhaps when she had not done good business for the day. I had walked past her with a curt gesture for ‘no’, because I had no need to buy flowers, either to offer to God or to a woman.  However, I was often tempted to buy jasmine flowers from her, merely for the reason that I liked the fragrance of jasmine.  Who doesn’t?  But I did not buy, until recently.

Recently, I read an article on the fragrance of jasmine. It said that jasmine’s   fragrance was as effective as valium in calming the mind.  As I had a problem getting good sleep, I was overjoyed to read the article and decided to try it out   the very same night.  When I went out that evening, I stopped in front of the flower-woman.  She was surprised.  I asked her for the price of the flower and she replied,“Ten rupees for one and one-half mozham”. One mozham is approximately twenty inches, about the length of the forearm, with which flower vendors usually measure the length of the string of flowers.  I said, “OK,” and handed her a ten-rupee note.  Putting the note in her tin box, she measured so deftly and quickly that I could see that the string of flowers was less than one and one-half mozham.  I was about to question her method of measuring, but decided against it, as I had learned from experience that I would never win an argument with a vendor, especially a woman.  Therefore, I took the string of flowers and walked away, without a word.

Within about twenty paces from her, there was another vendor.  She was one of the two flower-girls, who had appeared in the street in the recent past; really a girl of about twenty, and pretty.    I stopped in front of her and gave her a ten-rupee note and asked her for a string of jasmine flowers, for that amount.  She measured with her forearm---which was significantly shorter than the other woman’s forearm---one mozham and handed it to me.  I was not surprised, because I expected something of that sort.  However, this time, I decided to enquire, without getting into an argument I knew I would definitely not win.  I pointed out to her that I bought a string of jasmine flowers from the other woman for ten rupees and that she gave me one and one-half mozham.  Why the difference, I asked.  Pat came her reply, “Mine are fresh flowers, Sir!” along with a winsome broad smile, flashing teeth as off-white as the jasmine flowers.  Not to be knocked out by her  seductive smile, I took out the other string and held it next to  her’s, to compare.   “Do you now see the difference, Sir?” she shot in a triumphant tone, self-vindicating her statement.  To my bespectacled eyes, there was absolutely no difference.  After a few moments of staring, to see the difference, I gave up saying, “I see!”, and walked away.  However, I consoled myself that the half a mozham she did not give me as jasmine, she gave me in her seductive smile. 

What follows is not the anti-climax, but the climax.  The next day, as I was passing by the elderly flower-woman, she stopped me and said, “Sir, I saw you buying from that girl yesterday.  We sell the same flowers, so why buy from her?”  “How’s that?” I asked her, not understanding.  “She is Jasmine, my daughter”,  she added, “and here is the counterfeit note you gave me yesterday.”   I apologized abundantly and gave her a new crisp note, taking back the note I had unsuccessfully tried to palm-off.

Now follows the anti-climax.  From then on, I do sleep well.

A.V. DHANUSHKODI