I hadn’t taken a single day off in the past four months, so an odd kind of fatigue had settled into my body. Just like when you sit on a bus for a long time, and after you get off, your still body continues to sway as if the bus is still moving.
So, when the calendar informed me that there were two consecutive holidays coming up in a couple of days, my heart began to spark like a firecracker. A single holiday usually means nothing. It’s spent running errands, fulfilling social obligations, and patching up the holes in daily life. But when a second holiday follows, one begins to dream of snatching some time for oneself. I was planting a few such imaginary crops in the fertile field of my upcoming holiday when suddenly, a frost hit.
My friend Shobhalal called, informing me that the ban on transfers had been lifted, so we had to meet the minister the day after tomorrow to express a “desire” for a transfer. He insisted I had to go with him. Shobhalal’s wife was a teacher in a government school, and her posting had been in a distant district for the past year. Shobhalal was referring to getting the minister to express a desire to transfer her. There was no value greater than the “desire” to bring his wife closer, but the minister’s desire was more crucial.
“But how is this fair? Why should I go with you? Your wife’s posting is in a distant district; granted. But in a government job, a posting will be wherever the government has jurisdiction. You want to enjoy the benefits of a government job, but you don’t want to adhere to government rules. If it’s a state-level service, then there will be state-level transfers. You boast that both you and your wife are in state service, earning double salaries, but you want both of you to be posted in the same neighborhood for life? So you want the label of a state-level position, but with the inconveniences of a local level? Wow! How can that be? You want to bring your wife closer, which will make your heart flutter with joy, give you direct control over her salary, tighten your grip on her expenses, and ensure you have freshly cooked meals. But why should I go with you? How is that just?”
Going to the minister’s residence meant burning at least eight hours in the furnace of the day, which was entirely futile. Even if something were achieved by this, Shobhalal would be the one to reap the benefits... And then, the day before visiting the minister’s bungalow, my body would start itching, and for a day after, I’d be restless, regretting that I had gone to so-and-so minister’s bungalow.
In an attempt to avoid it, I said, “Brother, forgive me, but I’m a bit busy; I won’t be able to go with you.” Shobhalal replied, “Your presence will give me courage. I don’t even know the proper etiquette for visiting bungalows—how to go, what to do... you have to come. Besides, our ‘Madam’ considers you more than a brother, so you have to come for her sake. Tell me, what time should I come?”
Now, the option wasn’t “yes or no,” only “what time.” So I had to agree to sacrifice my holiday. We had to go on Monday. From Sunday night itself, a sense of renunciation started to awaken within me—what kind of holiday is it if you have to wake up early, bathe on time, have breakfast on time, and wear clean clothes on time the next day?
Early in the morning, Shobhalal arrived. He was so excited that he even had breakfast with me at my place. Since his wife considered me more than a brother, it was necessary for me to insist that he join me for breakfast. Informality was his natural trait.
In no time, we were on the grand, wide roads of the city in his car. The roads were empty and breathing, thanks to the holiday. Shobhalal was happily driving because he was going to express the “desire” to bring his wife closer, just like he might have been when he took a wedding procession to bring her home.
But why and for what reason should I be happy? So, I sat silently with him as we made our way there.
After parking the car outside the minister’s bungalow, when we reached the gate, the uniformed guard looked at us with a mixture of suspicion, welcome, and boredom. However, since it was the minister’s public hearing day, he couldn’t stop us. We went inside.
There was a huge crowd. The people who weren’t visible on the roads due to the holiday seemed to have gathered here. The waiting hall, veranda, and corridor were almost packed, and more people were coming in. Those who had already arrived were seen calling others on their phones, urging them to come. There, the minister’s private public secretaries and the assistants of those assistants were bustling around. They were engaged in the task of picking people from the constantly forming and breaking lines and placing them wherever possible. The crowd that had gathered since eight in the morning hadn’t dispersed even by 11:45, because it was filled with disciplined people like Shobhalal, who had come to add their fuel to the holy fire of getting a desire fulfilled for a wife, brother, father, daughter, son, friend, or relative. Some were relying on their department’s cap, some on caste, some on identity, some on phone recommendations, and a few on God.
The minister hadn’t arrived yet. But even if the curtain in his room moved due to a fly landing on it, hundreds of eyes would fixate on it. The minds of the people would light up with hundreds of imaginary lamps, flickering on and off. They felt that if the fly sitting on the minister’s curtain were to land on their paper, their relative would cross the distant settlement, mountains, fields, and forests to come to them.
I had nothing to think about. It was a holiday. I thought, why not enjoy the day as a tourist, spending it in this atmosphere?
In a moment, I felt like I had come to the beach on a holiday. At the beach, people get on fast boats with binoculars and cameras to see the underwater sights. I became a similar tourist. I imagined that just as an octopus has eight limbs, the minister had dozens of assistants. The people there were waiting for the minister in the same way that tourists on the ocean wait for a whale to appear.
When a giant whale leaps out of the water, splashing like an aircraft, dozens of herons flutter around, trying to catch the small fish that jump into the air due to the water splashed by the whale. It’s an incredible sight. Nature feeds these herons by having the whale’s stretch do the work of hundreds of fishermen. For the herons, this is nature’s grand feast.
The herons at the bungalow were ready to quickly deliver salvation to the city’s fish. The whale hadn’t appeared yet, but the water had started to stir.
People began clutching their desire papers. I was just a tourist on a holiday, so I readied my eyes like a camera for whale-watching.
Soon, the minister appeared from the corridor, accompanied by eight or ten people walking ahead and behind him, as if without them, the minister wouldn’t know where to go, where to sit, or what to do...
At his own home, the person who couldn’t find his way without help had to decide where thousands of people, from remote villages across the state, would go and why.
Just as a single pebble disrupts the entire pond and makes the whole water body ripple, the minister had to shake up the entire state with a wave of his hand. The fly that flew off his curtain and landed on a paper would ensure that paper’s boat crossed roads, tracks, rivers, forests, mountains, fields, and markets.
People were chanting his name in anticipation of this wave. But it was my holiday, and I was just a tourist enjoying a whale-watching experience!
