Missing the bus is an expression commonly used to indicate a failure to capitalise on an opportunity that was available in clear sight. However I believe it more pejoratively seems to blame the person for either being slow or even stupid; it blames the person for not seeing an obvious wave that sweeps everyone who is in its vicinity regardless of their station or competence.
Being a fresh engineer at a business school the world looks humane and years of wrangling with the mechanical at workshops, labs, books filled with equations than English, it is an overpowering humanising experience. Unless of course you gallivanted through college barely attending or studying; and it does seem so to be true for quite a few of my peers (and several students) that i have known. Suddenly your books are written in lucid prose and you don’t knit your brows page after page chasing the tail of some derivation almost entirely written in Greek that even Greeks would fail to fathom (remember heat transfer equations for a thick cylinder or Nyquist diagrams and Fourier transformations). Here the teachers seem to speak the Queen’s tongue with a lyrical lilt, making us feel like urchins at a dinner banquet at Balmoral Hall. We had in our first term an earnest professor S R Ganesh who spoke softly with a string of venerable degrees from MIT and other august portals; who made me awe struck; who taught us an indecipherable subject (which i still wonder what it was meant to convey) called Perspective Management (never mind the obvious oxymoron there). He was a gentleman and was very imaginative and wanted us to read a book a week (which to us engineering students was a quota for a year or even four) and submit an executive summary. Many of my peers just read the introduction and the blurbs and imaginatively reconstructed the summaries and he scarcely noticed the difference, even sagely nodding to some bogus analogies. He then gave us one day an assignment to write our life story. Yes he meant a short story of our yet chrysalis like life. The engineers were convinced that it was an exercise in futility and scratched their heads in bewilderment, lamenting that this was what was precisely wrong with business education. The closet liberal minded ones like me were deeply impressed at what seemed like a profound experiment to build an imaginary narrative that would capture our deepest yearning. I reconstruct from memory those stories from what transpired more than 25 years ago. I am surprised at what seemed prescient and also remember being deeply hurt by that episode.
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The dusk had already settled down and the sacrificial fires were dying and we were closing the recitations of the Veda. The birds had returned to the trees though they still chirped loudly boasting their exploits through the day. We were reciting the sangathana suktam from the tenth mandala of the Rig Veda as a special selection for our Acharya. “Sangachhadhwam samvadaddhwam, sam vo manansi jaanatam....samano mantrah smitih samani, smanam manah shachittamesham....samani va akootih samana hridayani va” –May we march to a common goal, that we might have an open mind and work in harmony, share our thoughts and wisdom, that we have a common prayer, that we be inspired by a common ideal” we chanted imitating the sonorous strains of our Acharyadevaat this tiny gurukul on the outskirts of Varanasi (of course my colleagues from Vanga desa sing this so slowly we all fall asleep). He seemed to like it and possibly was also relieved that it was the last day of schooling and his flowing white beard perked up. In the twilight the sacrificial fires were shining upon the young glistening bodies of students and a few of them scratched their backs using their yagnyopavitam thread and some others shooed away the cows eating up the rice cake offerings. We finished quickly and stole away before another round of recitations would invoke the ravenous fires of Samana in our belly.
I crept away to the banks of the Asi where i sought out my friend Ananta whose haunt it was. He sat there vacantly looking at the waters. Ananta when and where will i see you again? He smiled and said well i am not going far; i am joining the shramanas near Saranath which had been my deepest desire. None of this ponderous ritualism for me neither do i wish to get entangled in worldly matters. I knew his reply and sat next to him quietly for there was no changing him. He tried running away from the Gurukul two years back when he wished to join the Buddha and hissangha; and the Buddha himself suggested that he complete his studies. We were suspicious of the Buddha and his monastic membership. For don’t the Vedas enjoin a full life to be lived? Tomorrow would we not chant the Taittiriya Shiksha Valli convocation chant “Never swerve from truth anddharma, never neglect your well being, health and prosperity, and never neglect study and exposition of the Vedas”. This renunciation is not enjoined in the Veda but only by heretics these new fangled breed of shramana hermits who wear their renunciation on their selves dirty, matted or unkempt. They seem to enjoy being radical and challenging the established order of society and the varnashrama dharma. The Buddha is reputed to have even denied the atman. Ananta knew that though we often studied and meditated together and though we both ran off together we would follow our destinies in different directions. He was less intelligent, even slow but he had a more solid character, was steadfast and wise and often unruffled. I would join my father at Kosala and seek employment with the king and probably begin work with his bureaucracy at Krishnadhwaja. Was i not qualified enough after being taught by teacher not just the Veda but also sub disciplines vedangas phonetics
Years rolled by and i had become what some might call successful. I was in the council of ministers of the king of Kosala Pasenadi at his capital Shravasti and had the king’s ear to the advice i gave. He sought my counsel in administrative matters, in matters of taxation and expenditure and the treasury. The King was married to the wise Queen Mallika and was the son in law of Bimbisara of Magadha and was regarded in his alliance and thus well defended. He was generous in his compensations to his ministers and the days went by in quiet and in luxury. I had all the trappings that wealth could buy; a large mansion, horses and chariots, and many servants. I had a good wife and dutiful children. But in all those things i wasn’t contented and peace eluded me in the frenetic activity that filled my hours. I missed the leisurely days and languorous afternoons spent on the banks of the Asi under shady trees, discussing ideas with Ananta or sitting quietly with him for hours.
It was a pleasant spring morning and most people were already busying themselves for the day and i had lingered longer than usual flitting in and off sleep. A small group of bhikhus walked in their solemn stride muttering benedictory verses “ avera hontu abhyapajjha hontu, anigha hontu, sukhi attanam paraiharantu” –may everyone be free from enmity and danger, physical and mental suffering and care for themselves happily” invoking blessings on the populace. There amidst them i noticed Ananta my dear friend. He looked at peace with himself and his face shone of an inner joy. I raced out to meet him tearing away from by bed heedless of my state of undress. Ananta my dear friend i shouted pushing my way through the cattle and people on the street. He turned around and smiled wrapping me up. I was embarrassed and did not know what formalities to observe with a bhikhu. Fortunately he did not stand ceremony and readily agreed when I requested him to bring his monastic brothers home for a meal. He was now Bhikhu Upali and was probably master of the Vinaya or the monastic code. I was amused that he too was probably ensnared in organisation of the sangha and its administration. When his brothers departed i pressed him to stay and as we reminisced our student days i confessed my state of unhappiness. He said that i must meet the Tathagata Buddha, that he was a great healer who discovered the root of suffering. I was sceptical and i was wary of new fangled ideas especially those against tradition, but the cause was probably my fear that i might be persuaded and i too join his ranks. I sent my friend away with a cart load of provisions for his sangha who were on the move to visit their master at the Vulture peak at Rajagriha. I remained even more troubled after seeing Ananta.
Years went by and i grew weary of the unyielding demands of work, family and the tedium of monotony. The nephew of Bimbisara of Magadha an upstart Ajatashatru tried to attack Kosala and we were successful in arresting him and seizing his cavalry and elephants. King Pasenadi however soon released Ajatashatru out of pity and gently reprimanded him despite my caution not to do so. I was happy though that the elephants and cavalry were not returned. I remained uneasy at the political developments though something deeper gnawed within. One morning as i was preparing to go to the palace i heard a voice from the street shouting “The Tathagata has come to your town; give him and his sangha your offerings. Give unto him what you wish to”. I felt all my barriers within crumble and hair standing on an end, tears rolling down i rushed out and seeing an elderly monk raise his hand in blessing I fell at his feet sobbing, with voice choked asked ‘Venerable sir will the Tathagata accept me?’ The monk lifted me up and gently said why don’t you come with us and meet him? Calmed and spent i asked the monks to go ahead and that i would join them later and gave away my purse.
Dressed simply like a commoner i went to the edge of the Shravasti to the mango grove which a crazy philanthropist merchant Anathapindika covered in gold coins as price to Jeta Kumara so that the Buddha could spend the rainy season there. There seated majestic and immovable like mount Meru and resplendent like the sun sat the Tathagata. There was a deep sense of quiet and silence that enveloped everyone and the peace it bestowed was a benediction of the highest. To speak was to disturb that still ocean. I placed my flower garlands at his feet and he smiled and beckoned me to sit. He laughed when i said i came to offer myself to him. He enquired about me and my family and instructed me not to abandon them as they still needed me. He spoke of the need for right understanding and perspective and spoke always from first principles than from any textual authority. He spoke of transience and suffering and its causes and its means for mitigation through a contemplative life. He viewed the universe as an ordered whole governed by causation; the contingent nature of reality and the World as an infinite process. He said that we were merely transient configurations devoid of any idiosyncratic permanent entity or soul separate from the whole. He instructed me to lead a life with wisdom with balance, avoiding extremes and have compassion for all life and circumstances which he said were not different from the whole-theDharma.
I returned home cleansed and at peace and a new sense of calm and a new beginning. King Pasenadi looked quizzically at me and smiled and Queen Mallika muttered “namo tasso bhagavato arahato samma sambuddhasya”. I did not tell the King that the Buddha thought it imprudent to have detained Ajatashatru's cavalry and elephants. I can see Ananta smiling to himself at the taming of myself. We were both at peace.
I think with the years and probably my own understanding the above story has been polished up, even embellished with historical fact though in its version as a submission to my professor before a deadline it was cruder. However i was pleased with my effort as i thought it captured the essence of my dilemma between my outer and inner worlds. What i had not noticed was that i had summed up my life with a dilemma at its heart which probably would not be resolved for long or never at all. I took up my story written in a neat hand on a foolscap paper and ran down to look for my new friend Naimish who was also an engineer and seemed to be quite at ease with himself. I think we liked each other though we knew that we were antipodes in disposition. He had just come from home to the shabby ramshackle hostel rooms at SPCE where he discovered to his horror that the submission was due the same evening and that he had not even started. I showed him my write up and he patiently laboured through it as my eyes searched for his reaction and probably approval. He said it was well written and that he needed to be left alone for a while as he conjured up his own tale. I went off awaiting him at the canteen wondering what he would come up with. I joined Hema and Nalini to discuss the several projects that were in different stages that were coming up for submission as we lamented the overused idea of teaching students through project work. I was impatient for Naimish's story.
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It was a late August afternoon at Bombay with the sky overcast making it ambiguous whether it was morning or evening and the people on the roads were rushing past each other, mechanically avoiding obstacles or making eye contact to fulfill their diurnal duties and livelihood. The overcrowded Bombay locals disgorged their contents at the Churchgate station like some dragon ejecting from itself all those multitudes that seemed to cause it dyspepsia. Like purposeful ants they scurried out the station onto the roads edged with brown puddles from the last downpour. Many carried umbrellas apart from their bags and those who were empty handed were probably meteorologists.
I was standing there on the pavement at a bus stop awaiting my friend who seemed to be late though it seemed unusual. We were to reach college in time as the first session was by a professor who took punctuality to be an end in itself and slammed the doors on latecomers. I think there might be actually an inverse relationship between arriving late and being successful for it is the busy that are likely to be delayed, i mused. Of course there might be an exception for my friend, he seems so strange. He is ungainly, gawky, with no sense of dress or propriety almost a boor and bumpkin, a loudmouth who chooses the worst timing for his criticism of things and people; a bit too much of a bookworm and with weird interests in all things past and obscure. I had already let go of two buses waiting for this bloke. Besides i have a submission for that crazy professor who wants me to write a story on a life that has yet to pass; a prospective retrospection in a narrative if you may. Well i have met my share of nuts at VJTI where i had organised their annual event Pratibimb. One must be able to manage all kinds of people to pursue ones own aims. I must also remember to talk to Sharanita about the consulting firm she worked for- was it Maser.
There he comes, his short frail stature unmistakable like an emaciated victim of Ethiopia that matched his colour. Hi there you had better hurry. There comes the bus and it is already overcrowded so just push and jostle and climb aboard and don’t tarry. I leaped on to the footboard as it entered the bus stop and clung to its railing for dear life. A sea of humanity rushed into its open doorway a huge constriction to the onrush. The conductor rang the bell and the driver without a pause drove away with several people hanging precariously perched by the rails and footboard. The bus swayed and heaved and in a while i managed my way onto the safety of the aisle. I turned around to look for my friend and found him missing. I looked out through the rear window to see him still standing at the bus stop. He had missed the bus!
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Naimish trooped into the canteen triumphant at having written his short story about the missedbus. I demanded reading it and thought it to be sketchy and unimaginative. He nodded for a chai as Hema and Nalini departed to get ready for class. I asked him about his story and he confessed that he felt like writing the missed bus with me as its foil. I protested that the story was supposed to be about oneself and not oneself relative to another. I did not betray how deeply it hurt me. As for the professor and his assessment we both got an A+ and with no feedback about it. Nature would unfold as it should.
After my graduation I had got into good companies at placements that i soon abandoned. My father was so deeply disappointed when i chose an academic career that he collapsed at what seemed to confirm his worst fears that i might have an alms bowl in hand. I had little patience for such dramatic ideas. More than a decade later when i left the college owing to some differences i had there, I resigned to fate to care for my needs and tended to my parents who were old and lived alone at Mumbai. They had neither friends nor relatives. Soon my father passed away and things turned irreversible as my mother aged perceptibly.
Ananta my friend at engineering college is now the Adhyaksha of the monastery at Rajkot at the Ramakrishna Math and Mission. I finally met him only last year after almost 30 years. He had grown portly and seemed at peace and contented. When we met at the Ramakrishna ashram at Mumbai I told him about myself. He said he thought I seemed to be at peace and was happy to know that i found time to be quiet, study and for meditation. He said that the organisational pressures of running the ashram were high and that he was constantly travelling and did not find much time to sit in peace. Naimish Dave my friend is the director/ CEO of a large consulting practice. I haven’t met him since we graduated in 1989. I still wonder if his story was prescient from his point of view. I know that some of my friends and students feel that probably I missednot just the bus but an entire epoch. Few would tell me that. I wonder if i have any regrets. Things simply are the way they are. There is neither free will nor predestination.
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