Detestation for impoverishment, having just a bicycle, dal-roti with pickle, ploughing the ancestral land - all these factors propelled me to start a business. The first time I hit pay dirt, I shouted from outside our home: "Come on, a luxury car is waiting for you all". Mom effusively replied, "Wait a minute", while arranging her hair.
Wait? If it stopped, we all will have to push it hard to restart it, I quipped, while kissing the steering wheel of my first second-hand car. Not satiated with that achievement, I toiled even harder. When my business snowballed, my mother melted like snow and left for God's utopian world. A Rs 15-lakh SUV was unable to create the same kind of euphoria which the first car had done.
The march of time converted every little thing into a gigantic one from house to bungalow, SUV to Sedan, chairs to plush sofas. But there has always been a nagging question mark on their ability to evoke joy. The humble bicycle's mirror was sufficient for sprucing oneself up. Now, why would a person look in the mirror when there are furrows on the forehead and no hair on the head?
Father departed for a permanent "reunion" with mother a few days before my bungalow's entry ceremony (Pratishtha). More space, more room, for whom? Everybody knows the point of inception, but nobody knows where to stop.
Being a connoisseur of food, I used to relish palatable shakes, luscious desserts, delectable cuisines of almost every hotel. Now, in an effort to prolong my life, the doctor has recommended a simple meal including dal-roti, besides 15 minutes of cycling, deep breathing under a tree and avoiding the AC. According to the doctor, gardening and agricultural work would prove to be an icing on the cake for my recuperation.
When I told my bleary-eyed billionaire maternal uncle, "You are the luckiest and happiest among our relatives as you are the richest," he replied: "Money is not everything. The moment in which you live is everything." And he went away pedalling his brand-new BMW bicycle.