This happened a few years back. I was staying in a hostel then. We had students from all parts of the country staying in the hostel.
My
roommate just walked in as I winked at him pointing to the guy leaving the room
and smirking.
“What?” He
asked.
“Such a
chutiya (slang for stupid) this guy is”, I said.
“Oh, so
that’s the term for them here, is it?” he asked. “Just because he asks strange
questions and smiles all the time? Only because he is a bit different? He
hasn’t harmed you in any way, has he?”
Before
I could think of an answer for my otherwise not so philosophical friend, he walked
out answering his phone. The room suddenly felt strange with his question suspended
like a released arrow, in mid air, ready to strike and pierce; but it had, it
already had!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael
K with a hare lip was externally scarred and he was a gardener.
“Who
are you Michael?” they asked and he replied “I’m a gardener.”
When
he was a child, Michael’s mother Anna tried and kept him away from people
because she thought he didn’t fit in; he was slow. Years later, fatigued from
working at people’s houses, when she fell sick and the hospital corridor wasn’t
of much help for her swollen body, Michael was called to take her home. He quit
his gardening job. But what is home? A small windowless room below the
staircase at her owners’ place?
Anna
K doesn’t want to die here; she wants to live where she once lived, as a kid.
As the civil war lurches everywhere, a license to travel is needed and Michael
knows somehow he shouldn’t wait for it because there might never be one. As he
builds a cart to carry his mother on the road, he knows now why he has been
brought into this world – to take care of his mother.
The mother dies on the way, in a hospital,
and she’s burnt and the ashes are handed over to Michael. What should he do
with them? He’s on his way where his mother wanted to be, carrying her ashes.
He is captured and lands up in rehabilitation camps. But he doesn’t belong
there! He can’t understand why he’s being kept there. He didn’t ask to be here.
He doesn’t want to work for them or to eat their food. Why should he listen to
them, he fails to understand. He doesn’t like being watched and guarded. They
will shoot him if he jumps the wires, they say.
He
escapes!
He
stays in the mountains, hides there; he makes a home and a garden. He nurtures
his plants, waters them, protects them. He stays awake at night, watching and
covers himself at day to not be found. The ground, the water, the sunlight
brings life, he believes. He eats when he feels it’s necessary, he sleeps at
will; there is no routine. He is content and happy. The water melons are
looking good now, the pumpkins are ready.
I
was sitting by a pond, reading a book. Except for the ripples caused by the
warm breeze, the water was still and serene. A couple came and sat on the other
side. Holding hands, they chatted. After some time, the guy got up and started
throwing pebbles in the pond; the girl followed. Why, I thought? I had done the
same on many occasions before but why, I thought. Why this sudden impulse to
disturb things, to not let things, people alone? Not for long can we let things
be as they are, can we; we feel the need to meddle in our own way. So used to
action and events happening around us all the time that the stillness disturbs
us.
So
they caught him. They found him lazing and they caught him, thin and frail. How
could he be nobody, he had to be somebody; it irritated them, this man living
by himself in the mountain. Was he feeding the terrorists, they poked and
slapped him. “Who are you?” they asked. “I’m a gardener”, he said and they
laughed. They destroyed his farm, planted mines and sent him to a hospital, another
rehabilitation centre
Michael
stops eating. The doctor at the rehabilitation centre tries in vain to
understand him. And the more he tries, the more he gets attracted to this
strange dying man who refuses to eat and carries pumpkin seeds in his pocket.
He cares for Michael but Michael doesn’t heed to his caring. As he delves deep, he sees Michael as a free
spirit, who refuses to be confined, to be institutionalized. He refuses to eat
and grow strong so that he can jump when the soldiers ask him to, can run and
sit and raise his hands and carry a weapon as they ask him to. They are not his
god. His god is the ground that gave him his pumpkins, the seeds he carries
carry life. He isn’t stupid, thinks the doctor; it’s us! War or no war, he
knows Michael isn’t meant for this world, he isn’t different, they are; we are.
“Michael, take me with you my friend”, he cries.
Michael
yet again escapes. A walking skeleton, he is puzzled – when he had food, they
took it away, when he didn’t have any, they wanted to feed him; they said he
was free within the barbed fences.
They
need me for their amusement, don’t they?
Another
brilliant piece of storytelling, J.M.Coetzee brings another incredible
character to life. Michael K is a gift. Coetzee’s pen is as sharp as a sword;
it cuts through our beliefs and draws blood that is pure and warm. The wound
hopefully will remind us, time and again to respect people for what they are
and not treat them as mirrors to see ourselves in them. Sometimes, just let be;
you are not needed, nobody is needed. Just let the flower bloom on its’ own!
 |
| J.M.Coetzee |
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