Tribute to a Cinematic and Literary Genius: Guest Post by Suryamouli Datta

Allow me to share with you how his creative genius has exercised his soft power on a lesser mortal like me.

My earliest interactions with the master of Indian Cinema

I shall not delve into an analysis of his writing or filmmaking style here. Instead, allow me to recount my enduring fascination with this individual, a fascination that has only grown over the years despite conceding to certain critics who possess a profound understanding of the art of cinema and literature. My initial encounter with this luminary was through his debut film, ‘Panther Panchali (Verses of the Road).’

Back then, in the third grade, I was enthralled by action-packed movies and witty dialogues, the kind that resonated with my young mind. To me, Spiderman, Superman, and He-Man held more allure than any film of that era. I would eagerly watch the screen, whether on television or at the cinema, during fight scenes, shootouts, or comedic moments. It was during this time that I first encountered ‘Verses of the Road.’ Watching it alongside my younger cousin, who was two years my junior, I experienced a newfound appreciation for storytelling. Unlike the captivating action sequences, my interest in this film stemmed not from its technical aspects, which was perhaps too much to expect from me at that time, but rather from its narrative, which evoked the storytelling style of my elders.

Then, a film called ‘Shakha Proshakha’ (‘The Branches of a Tree’) was aired on television. Despite being by the same director, it failed to captivate me, save for a few clever lines delivered by a young child actor who amusingly mimicked phrases like ‘Batman’ and ‘Superman’. His familiar gestures, like darting into a thicket with a toy gun, alone resonated with me deeply.

As I followed his journey, other films like ‘Apur Sansar’ (The World of Apu) and ‘Mohapurush’ (The God Man) caught my attention, yet failed to resonate, perhaps because I was too young to grasp their significance back then.

Back in my fifth-grade days, I harboured a fervent desire to emulate him – a film director, you see. It stemmed from my own struggles with academic achievements of any kind, a trait that he shares with me.  I recall stumbling upon his stories in books or magazines and catching a glimpse of him on TV. Looking back, I cannot help but chuckle at my youthful naivety. As I’ve matured, both physically and mentally, I’ve come to understand that he occupies a pedestal beyond my reach. Critics may nitpick, and there may have been filmmakers of greater acclaim before and after him, but none hold a candle to the place he holds in my heart. He serves as a guiding light, steering me towards a deep appreciation for the world of film and literature.

Immersed in the legend’s Literary Palette: An Anthology of Wonder

In the 5th grade, amidst one of my summer breaks, I stumbled upon a book from my mother’s collection titled ‘Ek Dojon Goppo’ (‘An Anthology of a Dozen Stories’). The initial tale, ‘Septopus-er Khide’ (‘The Hungry Septopus’), depicted a carnivorous plant resembling an octopus, bringing peril to its owner. At the time, while I found some scenes thrilling, overall, the story failed to captivate me.

Following this was ‘Bankubabu-r Bandhu’ (‘Banku’s Friend’), narrating the story of an innocent village schoolmaster teased by peers and students until encountering an alien named ‘Ang,’ subsequently altering his life. Interestingly, I had already watched a televised adaptation of this story, featuring Sadhu Meher as Banku. Having also seen ‘E.T.’ by then, the narrative felt somewhat familiar. Controversy arose when the author, also a filmmaker, envisioned earlier adapting the tale into a Hollywood collaboration film named ‘Alien,’ encountering similarities with ‘E.T.’ Yet, irrespective of the debate, the story failed to resonate with me at the time, likely due to my prior exposure to its audio-visual renditions.

First Realization: Indigo Terror

As I delved into the pages of the book ‘Ek Dojon Goppo,’ initially sceptical of its worth, one particular short story, ‘Neel Atanka’ (The Indigo Terror), captured my attention entirely. Aniruddha Bose, a 29-year-old employee of a prestigious multinational corporation, embarks on a journey to Dumka, near Bolpur, Shantiniketan, in his own car. Along the way, he encounters a series of mishaps—his car’s tires bursting at regular intervals, forcing him to rely on only one replacement. With no other recourse, he seeks refuge in a nearby house overseen by a caretaker, a narrative device that may have subsequently inspired the Ramsay Brothers, albeit uncredited (wink!). Exhausted, Aniruddha resigns himself to rest for the night. However, in the dead of night, he awakens to find himself transformed into the former owner of the house, a European indigo planter from long ago. The story unfolds with Aniruddha grappling with his new identity and the events that follow.

Long before the film ‘Bhool Bhulaiyaa,’ this narrative evoked the eerie atmosphere of a psychological horror tale. Moreover, being a short story, it left unresolved whether Aniruddha was possessed or was merely grappling with a psychological affliction that fateful night. Much like Tagore’s ‘The Hungry Stones,’ this tale masterfully navigated a complex plot with deceptive simplicity.

How The Indigo Terror Brought Out The Creator In Me

Let me share more reflections on this story, particularly the profound impact it had on me. Aniruddha, in my perception, embodied the essence of a western cowboy, albeit without the guns and horses. He exuded a down-to-earth demeanour, living life on his own terms. Even when faced with the peculiar experience in the former European indigo planter’s house, he approached it with remarkable nonchalance, almost as if it were just another day. This aspect deeply resonated with me. By no stretch of imagination can I be held to be an expert in the craft of dishing out screenplays. However, such was the grip of the narrative that I found myself compelled to draft my own screenplay.  Let me recount a few memorable elements from my envisioned screenplay:

FADE IN:

EXT. HIGHWAY – DAY

Aniruddha drives his Ambassador car at full speed on a highway, flanked by trucks and lorries. Tense and escalating background music sets the mood.

CUT TO:

INT. AMBASSADOR CAR – DAY

Close up on Aniruddha, his face filled with determination as he drives with full concentration. The camera shifts focus to three tyres – one on the driver’s side and two at the back.

CUT TO:

EXT. HIGHWAY – DAY

The right tyre at the back bursts suddenly, startling Aniruddha. He grips the steering wheel tightly, his irritation evident. The camera quickly moves outside to show the car stopped in a peculiar position on the side of the road.

CUT TO:

EXT. HIGHWAY – DAY

Aniruddha steps out of the car, frustration evident in his movements. He begins working on replacing the burst tyre, his hands moving swiftly. The camera blacks out from a top view, only the sharp sound of metal is heard.

CUT TO:

EXT. HIGHWAY – DAY

The camera lights up, revealing Aniruddha having completed his mission. His shirt clings to his body due to sweat, but his expression is one of determination and accomplishment.

—

End of Scene.

In the narrative, I recollect the scene vividly, perhaps the most haunting sequence I experienced at that time. Aniruddha gradually comes to the realization that he has transformed into someone else. His slumber is abruptly interrupted by the howling of a hound. Aniruddha casually attempts to check his watch, an automatic timepiece that was quite in vogue when the tale was penned, only to discover it missing. With a sense of dread creeping over him, he turns around to reach for his torch, only to find it absent as well! Gripped by fear, he wonders if he has been pilfered during the night in this unfamiliar locale. Springing out of bed, he rushes to inspect his luggage, only to find it gone too!

I recall envisioning myself directing this scene with a not-so-well-defined screenplay in my mind.

**FADE OUT.**

**INT. ANIRUDDHA’S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

Aniruddha’s POV: Darkness envelops the room. Moonlight spills in through the window, casting eerie shadows.

SOUND: Howling of the hound continues, distant yet haunting.

Camera captures Aniruddha’s left hand, indicating he was trying to look at his watch, finding it bare. Panic flickers in the darkness.

SOUND: A muffled gasp, barely audible.

Camera captures Aniruddha’s other hand that darts to the other side of the bed, finding emptiness where the torch should be.

SOUND: Howling of the hound intensifies, heightening the tension.

Aniruddha’s body lurches forward, the camera capturing the movement as he dives under the bed.

SOUND: Silence, broken only by the faint howling of the hound.

The camera captures the floor under the bed  which looks clean and empty.

SOUND: The rustle of fabric, as Aniruddha’s hand brushes against the floor.

**FADE OUT.**

**THE END.**

Discovering More of his Literature

The narrative left such an indelible mark upon me that I eagerly delved into the next tale, ‘Anathbabur Bhoy’ (The Fear of Anathbabu), with heightened anticipation. Even on a sweltering, sun-drenched afternoon, I recall vividly the lingering sense of unease that enveloped me after reading it. The enchantment, it seems, lies in the seamless integration of the supernatural, depicted with such casual and natural flair that its presence lingers long after the story concludes.

The next story I delved into was ‘Badur Bibhishika’ (The Terror of the Bat) – a tale infused with a werewolf or vampire undertone. The protagonist, also serving as the narrator, harbours a degree of chiroptophobia. Encountering a stranger named Jagdish Parcival Mukherjee in a local graveyard in Siuri, the situation takes a peculiar turn for the protagonist. He begins to suspect that Jagdish possesses the ability to transform into a bat! Undoubtedly, I found the story intriguing and maintained my curiosity into the following one – ‘Bipin Choudhury-r Smritibhram’ (Bipin Choudhury’s Amnesia). Here, Bipin Choudhury, the central character, encounters a stranger named Parimal Ghosh in a bookstore, who asserts a past connection with Bipin in Ranchi. Bipin is taken aback as he has never set foot in Ranchi before. As the narrative unfolds, Bipin confides in his close friends and realizes that indeed he visited Ranchi, yet cannot recollect the memories. The climax of the story hinges on what transpires with him. While this story adopts a thriller format, it inherently delves into the matter of values. It offers a unique fusion of values with the thriller genre. However, I must note that this narrative was adapted into a Netflix web series titled ‘Forget Me Not,’ which failed to captivate me. After revisiting ‘Bipin Choudhury-r Smritibhram,’ I revisited the stories that initially left me unimpressed, only to now find them intriguing. Thus, I found myself developing what one might dub ‘an acquired taste’ for the author’s oeuvre.

Exploring the World of a Master Storyteller: A Journey of Passion and Persistence

Following a series of articles in various newspapers and magazines, I found myself gradually developing a profound interest in the author behind these captivating stories. With each piece I read, my curiosity deepened.  I started grasping the remarkable genius underlying his diverse range of writings, films, and unique filmmaking approach, including his interactions with actors. Intrigued by his distinctive style, I embarked on a quest for more knowledge.

In those days, devoid of internet access, my pursuit led me to rely solely on the insights garnered from magazines and newspapers to uncover the next book to delve into. I vividly recall spending countless hours in local bookshops, yearning to simply touch and feel the pages of his works, knowing my limited financial resources barred me from purchasing them outright. Determined to acquire his books, I meticulously saved every penny, whether gifted to me on birthdays or in recognition of other achievements. My maternal aunt played a pivotal role in assisting me in obtaining these literary treasures.

Titles like ‘Aro Ek Dojon’ (One More Dozen), ‘Aro Baro’(Twelve More), ‘Ebaro Baro’ (Twelve Again This Time), and ‘Eker pithe dui’ (One Tenths and Two) proudly adorned my book rack, marking the beginning of a cherished collection. Moreover, delving into crime thrillers penned by this author became a thrilling adventure that I eagerly looked forward to with a keen sense of anticipation.

Simultaneously, my cinematic journey continued as I immersed myself in his films, gradually developing an acquired taste for his distinct storytelling prowess.

Tales of Crime and Detection

In the same book, ‘Ek Dojon Goppo,’ nestled at its conclusion were a couple of short stories: ‘Feludar Goendagiri’ (The Investigation by My Elder Brother Felu) and ‘Kailash Chowdhurir Pathor’ (The Gems of Kailash Choudhury), which whisked me away into a captivating universe of detective tales.

Enter ‘Felu,’ a detective extraordinaire, accompanied by his trusty cousin and sidekick, delving into a myriad of mysteries, each more intriguing than the last. These tales, so uniquely crafted, were bound to astonish any reader of my tender age. Thus began my enchantment with this universe, fuelling a relentless quest for Feluda books across bookshops, libraries, and even within the confines of relatives’ homes. And never once was I left disappointed, for ‘Feluda’ was a name omnipresent on the Bengali bookshelves, an iconic figure etched into the collective consciousness of every Bengali. Fortunately, a school friend, already steeped in the delights of this literature, graciously aided me in my quest, generously sharing volumes penned by this esteemed author. It’s worth noting that this friend of mine possessed a remarkable talent for storytelling, effortlessly weaving narratives that held us spellbound during our free periods. As the monitor of our class, I now realize, it served him twofold – honing his storytelling prowess while simultaneously diverting attention away from classroom duties. Soon, our circle of friends caught the fever, engaging in book swaps and animated discussions fuelled by the gripping adventures of Feluda.

Continuing with the same method outlined in the previous section, I embarked on my quest for the treasures of Feluda, the iconic fictional detective. Pouring over magazines and newspapers, I eagerly purchased and devoured books dedicated to him in rapid succession. Titles like ‘Feluda one, Feluda two’, ‘Feluda and Co.’, ‘Badshahi Angti’ (The Ring of the Emperor), ‘Baksho Rohossyo’ (The Mystery of the Suitcase), and many more swiftly found their place on my bookshelf, filling it with an ever-growing collection.

The dynamic chemistry between the trio who belong to different age groups – Feluda, his cousin Topse, and his humorous friend Lalmohanbabu – proved to be exceptional. It is this chemistry that makes revisiting these books a delight. Sometimes, I daresay, the camaraderie between them surpasses even that of Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

Much like the majority of the author’s other tales, Feluda narratives, frequently lacking in female presence, deftly entwine moral themes amidst their exhilarating plots. Isn’t it rather curious? The absence of women in Feluda tales – is simplicity the key to less complication? Though one might raise an eyebrow at the notion of a crime thriller sans complexity, I dare say this author was a virtuoso in such matters! His narratives, akin to a well-orchestrated symphony, subtly unveil moral motifs amidst the pulse-pounding intrigue. However, though told simply, some stories feature female characters and are given a noirish treatment, such as ‘Chinnamastar Abhishap’ (The Curse of Goddess Chinnamasta) and ‘Doctor Munshi-r Diary’ (The Diary of Doctor Munshi), reminiscent of Raymond Chandler, showcasing moral dilemmas and values subtly. In ‘Baksho Rahassya’ (The Mystery of the Suitcase), Feluda opts to let the antagonist go due to a lack of evidence for a courtroom conviction. However, when the same story is adapted into a screenplay by the author, Feluda harshly punishes the antagonist, labelling him a ‘thief’ in front of others. Perhaps the author aimed to underscore the importance of ‘values’ when presenting the story in a visual format.

One of my favourite Feluda tales, ‘Joto Kando Kathmandu Te’, was later remade as ‘Kissa Kathmandu Mein’ (The Trouble at Kathmandu) for television, targeting a national audience. Though I’m uncertain if any version of it exists online today, the adaptation featured Shashi Kapoor as Feluda, Alankar as Topshe, and Mohan Agashe as Lalmohan Babu.

Cinematic Revival: Rediscovering Masterpieces

A few days after enchanting me with his literary prowess, the author was bestowed with Oscars for his monumental contributions to world cinema before departing for his heavenly abode.

During that period, ‘Doordarshan’, the Indian Television Network, aired movies directed by him. I revisited ‘Panther Panchali’ with renewed reverence for the director, followed by the delightful ‘Goopy Gayen Bagha Bayen’ (Adventures of Goopy and Bagha), which I savoured thoroughly. Finally, a Feluda tale, ‘Sonar Kella’ (The Golden Fortress), captured my attention. I recall the television host summarizing the story before its airing, describing it as the tale of Mukul, who could recall his past life and claimed to have resided in a fort in Rajasthan. Pressured by the revelation of valuable stones in his past home, Mukul becomes the target of nefarious individuals. His father seeks the aid of a private investigator. As a kid, I distinctly recall a twinge of disappointment towards the television host as she casually mentioned Feluda (who, in my eyes as well as those of many Bengalis, had already attained an iconic status) as a ‘private detective.’

Deep Focus on the author as a filmmaker

After his Oscar-winning triumph and subsequent passing away, the media was flooded with articles delving into his life and work. Immersed in these pieces, I uncovered a deeper understanding of the man and his keen eye for detail, his cinematic philosophy, and his fusion of art and science. Concurrently, I delved into his literary repertoire. His eclectic interests permeated his writings, from the adventures of detective Feluda to his captivating science fantasy tales. Yes, I purposefully employ the term ‘fantasy’ because these narratives transcend the bounds of scientific certainty, inviting readers to imagine what science might one day substantiate.

The Professor Shonku stories, in particular, transported me to a realm where viruses inhabit spherical worlds, trees thrive on human cognition, and an enigmatic pistol has the power to make beings and objects vanish from existence.  In the past, depictions of robots, that are mentioned in such stories, mimicking human behaviour, seemed utterly fantastical. These days,  with the rise of artificial intelligence, one is left in awe of the prescient nature of the author’s works and wonders if such portrayals may eventually blur the lines of reality.

I embarked on my journey of maturation alongside this multi-talented artist, who excelled as a director, author, and illustrator, revelling in his imaginative works. Subsequently, post-college, I had the opportunity to revisit some of his cinematic masterpieces when they were reissued in theatres. Films like ‘Arannyer Din Ratri’ (Days and Nights of the Forest) and ‘Pratidwandi’ (The Adversary) captivated me anew, allowing me to rekindle my admiration for his boundless creativity.

The Author and Wodehouse: A Meeting of Literary Minds

My fascination with P.G. Wodehouse was initially nurtured within my family circle, but his novels and stories significantly bolstered my admiration for the beloved author. I stumbled upon an article mentioning his affinity for Wodehouse, and as I matured, I discerned a striking resemblance between his works and those of the maestro himself. Whether through the sharp repartee in his films or the witty banter within his stories, his writing exudes a similar charm. Just as Feluda and Shonku have their own series, he crafted a distinct collection centered around ‘Tarini Khuro’ (Uncle Tarini), reminiscent of Wodehouse’s ‘Mulliner’ tales. While Tarini’s narratives occasionally veer into the supernatural or delve into emotional depths, the essence remains consistent. Moreover, the ‘Tarini Khuro’ stories serve as a masterclass in the art of storytelling, showcasing the creator’s versatility and prowess. One can truly grasp the breadth of his talent by delving into his literary oeuvre alone.

Feluda, the ingenious detective crafted by the author, to me, bears a striking resemblance to Psmith in his poised demeanour amid crises. Much like Feluda, who confronts his nemesis Maganlal Meghraj with remarkable calmness, Psmith maintains his cool in challenging circumstances. In ‘Joy Baba Felunath’ (The Elephant God), Feluda faces off against the formidable Maganlal Meghraj, yet his serene and collected demeanour never falters. Similarly,  in P.G. Wodehouse’s tales, Psmith confronts adversaries with a suave approach and an unflappable attitude.

In the story ‘Bombaiyer Bombete’ (The Bandits of Mumbai), the author weaves a narrative where the Bengali iconic sleuth Feluda steps forward to assist his friend and companion, Lalmohanbabu. This action surely evokes memories of Wodehouse’s character Bertie Wooster, who, to aid his friends, frequently finds himself in perilous situations.  The only divergence here is that Feluda must don both the Berite and Jeeves hats simultaneously to unravel the mystery.

Another story that I can remember at the moment is ‘Ghurghutiar Ghotona’ (The Trouble at Ghurghutiya) wherein, like Wodehouse’s stories, problem-solving involved misunderstandings and witty dialogues.

In ‘Shonku-r Shonir Dosha’ (Prof. Shonku in Dread Problem) we find, much like Wodehouse, characters resorting to mistaken identities and getting entangled in difficult situations.

P. G. Wodehouse is best known as a humourist. However, he had also dabbled in crime fiction, perhaps a rub-off of his having been an admirer of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. Crime had found its way into some of his own writing, including into some of his Jeeves and Wooster and Blandings Castle stories. The range of misdemeanours depicted therein comprises thefts, bank heists, and airgun shootings, and even blackmail. In Wodehouse’s venture, ‘Death at the Excelsior’, he endeavours to concoct a crime thriller with a meticulously arranged sequence of events. Yet, at the close of the day, it leaves one with the impression of a light-hearted tale, with ‘murder’ serving as the solitary sombre element, a departure from his usual literary escapades.

While I’m fully aware that my stance might provoke the ire of passionate readers and discerning critics, let’s just say the comparison here is akin to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Allow me to elaborate. In the whimsical world of Wodehouse, these predicaments are served up with a generous dollop of humour and charm, akin to a delightful soufflé rising in the oven. On the other hand, our novel protagonists find themselves grappling with these challenges in the midst of murky criminal investigations, where the stakes are higher than a giraffe’s necktie. So, you see, it’s a bit like comparing apples to oranges – both fruit, but with vastly different flavours and textures!

Unveiling Wisdom: Exploring the Depths of Knowledge Through Timeless Tales

These stories are not only  exciting and mysterious but also teach us new things. For example, I learned what galoshes are from reading the story ‘Neel Atanka’, even though the internet didn’t exist then! The description was so clear and vivid that I could picture them in my mind, even though I had never seen them before.

Since many of the stories about Feluda, Shonku, and Tarini Khuro are also about travel, they not only make us want to visit new placesbut also to learn more about them.

Also, I learned the meaning of the word incredible in a really easy way from the story ‘Feludar Goendagiri.’ In the story, Topse, Feluda’s cousin, helper  narrator of the story, is sitting in a  Darjeeling mall and overhears two old people talking about something, and the word incredible comes up. Topse knew the meaning of the word and since he’s telling the story, he explains it to the readers. Later, Feluda uses his amazing skills like Sherlock Holmes to figure out which side of the mall Topse was sitting on just by looking at his face! Topse is surprised and thinks of the word incredible in his mind. This is the easiest way to learn new words in school: first know the word, then know the meaning, and finally use it. But this story teaches us the same thing without making it feel like we’re being taught something! 

From ‘Bankubabur Bondhu,’ I got a glimpse into the fascinating world of piranhas, those creatures of the depths with their sharp teeth. I also learned about the curious penguins that live in faraway lands.

There are many other such tales that I could share, but I do not  wish to overwhelm you with my discoveries. Instead, I encourage you to read these wonderful writings for yourselves and embark on your own journey of knowledge. 

Although the author is renowned as a director, his writings first stirred my soul. This inspired me to seek out his films, which I found equally endearing.

I may not have delved deeply into his cinematic endeavours here, for I believe the same have already been meticulously analysed by countless critics with a keen understanding of the art far surpassing my own.

Homage to the Maestro: Celebrating the Legacy of Satyajit Ray

On the auspicious occasion of his 103rd birth anniversary, I humbly acknowledge his creative genius.  I offer my reverence to the individual who, alongside my parents, has steered me on my path of this lifetime, and undoubtedly will continue to do so in the days ahead.

Incidentally, throughout the entire article, I realize that I have not once mentioned his name. Yet, for the sake of thoroughness, it’s worth noting – his name, in case you are still twiddling your thumbs, is Satyajit Ray.

(All illustrations courtesy the world wide web)

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The Common Spiritual Code of Swami Vivekananda and P. G. Wodehouse

The teachings of Swami Vivekananda are highly motivational and convey some deep truths of life in a spiritual manner. Plum, as we know, also has an undercurrent of spiritual messages in his stories and books. Superficially speaking, both may sound as different as chalk and cheese. One, an expert in spirituality. Another, an expert in humour.

However, scratch below the surface and one is apt to find that there is much similarity in what Swami Vivekananda preaches and what quite a few of Plum’s characters practice. If Vivekananda’s words awaken us spiritually, Plum’s works, though insanely humorous on the surface, keep soothing our souls in many ways. Let us see if these two thought streams have a resonance that we might be blissfully unaware of.

Take the case of Lord Emsworth who discovers that Gladys has not had any nourishment on the day of the Parva School Treat. He sees to it that Beach feeds her well. Moreover, even a basket of goodies gets handed over for her brother Ern. And when she wants to have some ‘flarze’ from the garden and McAllister comes running at a speed of forty-five miles per hour or so, what does Lord Emsworth do? Well, he is firm in protecting his girlfriend. He stands up to him, living up to the lofty standards set up by his ancestors. His basic desire is to help someone who is good and is in distress. (Lord Emsworth and the Girl Friend)

Likewise, some of us may consider Bertie Wooster as being mentally negligible, but there is no denying that he has a heart of gold. To help a pal, he often goes to ridiculous lengths. He even takes a rap for something he has never been involved in anyway. When Stiffy holds him to be superior to Sidney Carton, she is not much off the mark. (The Code of the Woosters)

Also consider the case of Psmith, to whom ends are more important than the means. When Eve is in distress across the road, he merely pinches an umbrella from the cloak room of The Senior Conservative Club and offers it to her with a smooth dignity. (Leave it to Psmith)

All of them go out of their way to help a fellow being who faces a challenge of some kind. Now, this is a sentiment that Vivekananda would heartily approve of.

A Primer on Swami Vivekananda

For the uninitiated amongst us, Swami Vivekananda (1863 – 1902), was an Indian monk, philosopher, author, and religious teacher. He was a key figure in the introduction of Vedanta and Yoga to the Western world. His attempt was to raise interfaith awareness and bring Hinduism to the status of a major world religion.

Many of us already know that he became a popular figure after the 1893 Parliament of Religions in Chicago at which he delivered his famous speech beginning with the words: “Sisters and brothers of America…”. While doing so, I am certain that unlike Gussie Fink-Nottle, he was not intoxicated, oiled, boiled, fried, plastered, whiffled, sozzled, or blotto. Rather than pouring scorn on many others present on the occasion, as Gussie did during his speech, he went on to introduce Hinduism to Americans.

After remarkable success at the Parliament, in the subsequent years, Vivekananda delivered hundreds of lectures across the United States, England and Europe, disseminating the core tenets of Hindu philosophy. He founded the Vedanta Society of New York and the Vedanta Society of San Francisco (now Vedanta Society of Northern California) both of which became the foundations for Vedanta Societies in the West. In India, Vivekananda founded the Ramakrishna Math, which provides spiritual training for monastics and householder devotees, and the Ramakrishna Mission, which provides charity, social work, and education.

Vivekananda and Plum: A Timeline

Plum was born in 1881, so he was eighteen years junior to Vivekananda. Luckily, he lived to a ripe age of ninety- four, whereas Vivekananda kicked the bucket at thirty- nine itself, in 1902.

By 1902, Plum had already taken a leap of faith and decided to leave the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank and turned to writing full time. At around the same time his first novel was published—a school story called The Pothunters, serialized incomplete in Public School Magazine in early 1902, and issued in full in hardback in September. He resigned from the bank that month to devote himself to writing full-time.

To the best of my knowledge and belief, the two had never met. Even though Plum’s works do carry an undercurrent of the kind of spiritual propositions Vivekananda makes, the name of the fearless monk from India does not pop up in any of Plum’s narratives.

What Vivekananda Stood For

To sum up what the saint from India stood for:

1. He stressed the importance of individual development.
2. He believed that three things are necessary to make every man great, every nation great, namely conviction of the powers of goodness; absence of jealousy and suspicion; and helping all who are trying to be and do good.
3. Working unitedly for others.
4. Having courage, patience, and perseverance to overcome all obstacles.
5. Having a strong mind and a strong body.
6. Women’s empowerment.
7. Detachment.

Let us now consider these, one by one.

Individual Development

When it comes to pushing the envelope and learning new things, Plum’s characters are always game. Some of them teach us how to evolve into better human beings, office executives, and husbands.

When Bertie Wooster joins an institution designed to teach the aristocracy to fend for itself, the course he decides to take involves boot-cleaning, sock-darning, bed-making and primary grade cooking. His finances are quite sound, but he feels that it is wise to be prepared for a future when the social revolution sets in with even greater severity. (Ring for Jeeves)

Take the case of Psmith. When he joins the New Asiatic Bank, he does not lose much time as an intern to figure out how to develop into a popular person. He identifies a friendly native and makes enquiries about the likes and dislikes of his immediate boss. Armed with this intelligence, he endears himself to Rossiter, his immediate superior and the head of the Postal Department. His next mission is to cozy up to the top boss and tackle him suitably. By the end of Psmith in the City, when Mike’s career in the bank is at risk, we find Psmith resorting to extortion. He leverages the political ambitions of the top boss to pull Mike out of the soup. He digs up some old speeches made by Comrade Bickersdyke at the Tulse Hill Parliament. If published, these would adversely affect the boss’ chances of getting in as the Unionist candidate at Kenningford. Mike gets off the hook.

Yet another example of development is presented to us by Bingo Little. We are aware of his romantic nature. Like a butterfly, he keeps hopping from one object of his affection to the next. But after each failed affair, Bingo does not necessarily sulk. The scales fall from his eyes, and he suddenly realizes that the next girl alone is his true soul mate. After many failed affairs, Bingo ends up marrying the romance novelist Rosie M. Banks. In the post-matrimony phase, we find a Bingo Little who is completely transformed. He is singularly devoted to his wife. Maintaining matrimonial peace and harmony is the sole purpose of his life. When it comes to keeping his lady-love happy and contented, there is little that he leaves to chance, which includes ensuring that the lady of the house gets her afternoon cup of tea. His reverse transformation – from a butterfly to a caterpillar – is complete. One is certain that this fact never came to the notice of Charles Darwin, who handed in his dinner pail during 1882 itself. If so, we might have noticed him rushing to his publishers, a revised manuscript of the Theory of Evolution tucked under his arms.    

If Swami Vivekananda highlights the importance of individual development in his inimitable stiff-upper-lip manner, Plum deploys his wit and humour and gets some of his characters to set a high standard on the same count.

Conviction of the Powers of Goodness

Many of Plum’s characters have an abundant supply of the milk of human kindness coursing through their veins. Their belief in the power of goodness never wavers. When it comes to following a code, they never disappoint us. Bertie follows the family code of never letting a pal down. Captain Biggar sticks to a code that one should not propose to a female unless one’s own finances are in order. Chuffy refuses to propose to Pauline Stoker unless a deal to sell Chuffnell Hall materializes.

Chivalry is a sentiment which finds a place of prominence in Plum’s works. Bertie persuades Gussie Fink Nottle not to prod Stiffy between her legs to look for a missing diary. (The Code of the Woosters)

To save Uncle Tom from digestive troubles in the absence of Anatole, God’s gift to our gastric juices, he offers to undergo a sentence of thirty days. His only demand? A sumptuous fare dished out by Anatole at the end of his impending ordeal. (The Code of the Woosters)

Lord Emsworth, when caught picking up flowers from Kensington Gardens, seeks help from a recently sacked McAllister to identify himself to the police. His faith in the supremacy of goodness is touching, indeed. (The Custody of a Pumpkin)

While driving back from Brighton, Bertie and Jeeves offer Peggy Mainwaring a lift. Goodness prevails, though Bertie eventually realises the perils of delivering a talk to a bunch of girls who keep giggling and staring at him. (Bertie Changes His Mind)

Of Suspicion and Jealousy

Like all of us, Plum’s characters often suffer pangs of suspicion and jealousy. However, it does not take them much time to wriggle out of such negative emotions and live a happier life.

Think of Freddie who never suspects R Jones of any mischief. It takes a word of caution from someone like Ashe Marson for him to start seeing the truth for what it is. (Something Fresh)

Rupert Baxter earns his living by suspecting everything and everyone. If it means skipping a few nights’ sleep, so be it. (Something Fresh)

Roderick Spode suspects the intentions of anyone securing the affinity of Madeliene Bassett. (The Code of the Woosters)

Gussie Fink-Nottle experiences the perils of jealousy when he mistakenly thinks Bertie Wooster is competing for Madeline Bassett’s affection. (Right Ho, Jeeves). The same fate befalls Chuffy when he suspects Bertie of harbouring romantic thoughts about Pauline Stoker, whom he intends to marry. (Thank You, Jeeves). Madeleine suffers when she sees Gussie Fink-Nottle taking a fly out of Stiffy’s eye. (The Code of the Woosters).

Consider the emotions of Ronnie Fish when he finds Sue Brown dining with Percy Pilbeam.

The crust of calm detachment from all human emotion, built up by years of Eton and Cambridge, cracked abruptly, and there peeped forth a primitive Ronald Overbury Fish. […] His fists clenched. Eton was forgotten, Cambridge not even a memory. He inhaled so sharply that a man at the next table who was eating a mousse of chicken stabbed himself in the chin with his fork.

(Summer Lightning)

In most cases, explanations get called for and offered. Eventually, Reason returns to its throne. Sanity prevails. However, a spiritual purist like Swami Vivekananda would take a jaundiced view of such proceedings. 

Helping All Who Are Trying to Be and Do Good

When Bobbie Wickham ends up gifting Aunt Agatha’s pet McIntosh to Kid Blumenfeld, a sense of Noblesse oblige restrains Bertie from dashing off to the Savoy and demanding the pet back. As always, Jeeves comes up with a solution – a look-alike replacement is arranged for the kid, whereas Bertie rescues McIntosh after sprinkling his trousers with aniseed powder. Aniseed has an aroma which appears to speak straight to the deeps of the terrier’s soul. The scheme works. Harmony rules. (Episode of the Dog McIntosh)

Many of us would recall that Perfecto-Zizzbaum is the company which Wilmot works for. When the studio is said to be facing rough weather, Wilmot meets the top boss and readily accepts a salary reduction, down from fifteen hundred to three hundred dollars a week.

His parting dialogue to the boss goes thus:

What a perfectly lovely day it is, is it not? I was thinking as I came along here that I had never seen the sun shining more brightly. One just wanted to be out and about, doing lots of good on every side. Well, I’m delighted if I have been able to do anything in my humble way to make things easier for you, Chief. It has been a real pleasure.

Quite understandably, his engagement to Mabel Potter gets terminated soon after. (The Juice of an Orange)

Just like good people must be helped, those who are a menace to society in general also need to be restrained and neutralized. When Roderick Spode becomes a raging hippopotamus, Aunt Dahlia gets Jeeves to dig up some dirt on him. The secret of Eulalie gets discovered. Bertie uses it with much success.

Pure intentions underlying an act matter as much to Swami Vivekananda as they do to many of Plum’s characters.

Working Unitedly for Others

Many of Plum’s characters have a streak of selflessness about them. Despite their professional and personal concerns, they try to do something for others who happen to be in distress.

They might do it single-handedly, or, like Bertie and Jeeves, form a team to help others. In The Mating Season, the duo ends up uniting as many as six couples, providing priceless clues to our IT whizz kids who design dating apps these days!

Uncle Fred is quite focused on his mission of spreading sweetness and light everywhere he goes. Gally is another person whose conduct is quite selfless. Both help others in need, of course with hilarious consequences.

Sally is also selfless. One of her actions is to nurse an elderly resident of her boarding house through his case of the Spanish flu. (Adventures of Sally)

Take the case of Stilton Cheesewright whose head is said to be comparable to a pumpkin. Florence Craye talks socialism to him and persuades him to read Karl Marx. When at Oxford, someone had temporarily converted him to Buddhism which preaches compassion to all fellow beings. (Joy in the Morning)

All of them take the help of others, wherever needed, to support others.

That is precisely the kind of public-spirited attitude Vivekananda would like many of us to have.

Of Courage, Patience, and Perseverance

Elsewhere in the canon, we meet Ukridge, an opportunist who will do anything to increase his capital – except, of course, work. He believes in the adage that unless one speculates, one does not accumulate. He keeps coming up with get-rich-quick schemes and failing in his ventures with a remarkable degree of consistency. But his optimism never deserts him. He shows remarkable courage and keeps working on.

We find him setting up a Dog College where dogs can get trained to perform at a music hall. We then find him setting up an Accident Syndicate so insurance claims could be split up. He also supports sailors in the boxing ring. Elsewhere, we find that he is not averse to splitting a real estate commission earned during the sale of an English country house. In Love Among the Chickens, we find him setting up a chicken farm which also fails. But his buoyant optimism never deserts him. He starts visualizing starting up a duck farm!

Another good example is that of Joan Valentine’s, our feisty heroine from Something Fresh. After she falls on tough times, she does theatre, works in a shop, becomes a lady’s maid, and takes up many other odd jobs that can help her to keep the wolf away from the door. When she sees an opportunity, she just grabs it.

Don’t get into a groove. Be an adventurer. Snatch at the next chance, whatever it is.

She makes us appreciate that the ideal adventurer needs a certain lively inquisitiveness. She has a sense of enterprise which keeps her moving on in life.

Such characters truly practice what Swami Vivekananda preaches.

Mind, Body, and Well-being

Vivekananda emphasized the importance of a strong mind and body. He said:

Whatever you think, that you will be. If you think yourselves weak, weak you will be; if you think yourselves strong, strong you will be.

Plum highlights the importance of mental well-being through the actions of Sir Roderick Glossop, the loony doctor. We resent his not being able to fully enjoy his meal at Bertie’s flat where some cats also happened to be present. But we are secretly relieved when he decides to cancel Bertie’s fixture with Honoria Glossop, thereby saving our favourite hero from taking a saunter down the aisle with someone who reduces you to pulp with sixteen sets of tennis and a few rounds of golf and then comes down to dinner as fresh as a daisy, expecting you to take an intelligent interest in Freud. (Carry On, Jeeves)

In fact, if Vivekananda motivates us to develop nerves of chilled steel, Plum’s works enable us to go through life’s myriad challenges with a jauntiness which would put an elephant fed on Mulliner’s Buck-U-Uppo to shame. Both help us to have a strong mind.

When it comes to physical fitness, we look up to the prescription dished out by Ashe Marson – Larsen Exercises (all twenty-nine of these), scientific deep breathing, cold baths, brisk walks, and strict diet control. He also recommends plenty of fresh air and no cigars. (Something Fresh)

Coming to the subject of diet control, who could argue with Laura Pyke as to the importance of fat-soluble vitamins and the negation of all kinds of tissue restoratives? (Jeeves and the Old School Chum)

Women’s Empowerment

Vivekananda often spoke about educating women and empowering them to shape their own destinies.

The great Aryans, Buddha, among the rest, have always put women in an equal position with men.

Plum had his own way of putting across a similar message. This is what Joan Valentine says to Ashe Marson when he offers to steal the scarab in her place:

That’s simply your old-fashioned masculine attitude toward the female, Mr. Marson. You look on woman as a weak creature, to be shielded and petted. We aren’t anything of the sort. We’re terrors! We’re as hard as nails. We’re awful creatures. You mustn’t let my sex interfere with your trying to get this reward. Think of me as though I were another man. We’re up against each other in a fair fight, and I don’t want any special privileges. If you don’t do your best from now onward, I shall never forgive you.

(Something Fresh)

Vivekananda said:

Women will work out their destinies – much better, too, than men can ever do for them. All the mischief to women has come because men undertook to shape the destiny of women.

Plum has commented:

At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.

It is easy to see that both have remarkably similar views about emancipation of women.

The Perks of Detachment

How does one face the harsh slings and arrows of fate? Vivekananda recommended a spirit of detachment. He emphasized the need to remain unperturbed by the difficulties in life.

Quite a few of Plum’s characters practice this. When they fail, they do not sulk. They move on.

Consider the case of Freddie when he tries to sell Donaldson’s Dog-Joy biscuits to Aunt Georgina (The Go- Getter). He is clear about his goal and faces challenges with a spirit of detachment. First, he briefs her on the product’s wholesomeness, richness in essential vitamins, and its bone-forming properties. Then he showers her with product brochures. He shows samples. He even offers a fortnight’s free trial. When he fails to enthuse her, he attempts to give a live demonstration by chewing a dog biscuit himself.

When he chokes and business does not result, he uses Bottles to demonstrate the superiority of his product. He fails, yet again. But it is seldom that he is baffled for more than about a minute and a quarter. He then walks in with a sack full of rats. However, this proposal is vetoed by the audience.

Eventually, Bottles ends up proving his mettle in a fight with Aunt Georgina’s Airedale. A timely intervention by Bingham saves the day, prompting Gertrude, Aunt Georgina’s daughter, to fall back into his arms. This pleases Aunt Georgina. She places an initial trial order of two tons!

Vivekananda encouraged individuals to face challenges with resilience, courage, and a smile. In the unique world created by Plum, Bertie Wooster displays an unwavering cheerfulness even in the face of perplexing situations.

How does Bertie feel when, prodded by Jeeves and Stiffy, he agrees to go and tell Pop Bassett that he plans to marry Stiffy?

It has been well said of Bertram Wooster by those who know him best that there is a certain resilience in his nature that enables him as a general rule to rise on stepping-stones of his dead self in the most unfavourable circumstances. It isn’t often that I fail to keep the chin up and the eye sparkling.

The Common Spiritual Code of Vivekananda and Wodehouse

Both Vivekananda and Wodehouse believed in the power of humour as a remedy for life’s hardships. They acknowledged the innate absurdity of the human condition and advocated for finding humour even in the darkest moments. Vivekananda himself had a good sense of humour. His diary has several self-deprecatory references, which reveal the sunnier side of his personality. If he advocated some stark spiritual practices, many of Plum’s characters exemplify the same by the way they behave in the kind of situations they face.

The methods used by them to convey some spiritual messages are poles apart. Plum conveys it through the wit and comedy contained in his charming works. Swami Vivekananda does it through his sombre teachings. Both speak of the power of optimism and unwavering resolve in the face of life’s challenges. Plum conveys to us the bitter reality of life by first dunking them in a chocolate syrup of amusement, joy, and mirth. Vivekananda offers the same in a youthful and uplifting manner which makes us sit up and take notice of the importance of what he is saying.

By exploring their writings, we discover the parallel between these two extraordinary thinkers. Both exhort us to always have a positive frame of mind, as Jeeves says somewhere in the canon. Both put a premium on tenacity, resilience, perseverance, and a capacity to embrace change and use it as a stepping stone to higher things in life.

Conclusion

Plum is not necessarily about escapism in the guise of farcical butlers, spoiled nephews, and nosy and overbearing aunts. His works also contain philosophical insights and hidden truths of life. Subtly hidden in the works of Plum is the philosophy which is remarkably in tune with the teachings of Swami Vivekananda. His characters are blissfully unaware of the way they intrinsically follow what Vivekananda preaches – drinking deep from the cup of life, that too with a light- heartedness that mirrors Vivekananda’s call for joyous detachment.

We can consider taking a leaf out of Wodehouse’s comedy and Vivekananda’s spirituality. Embrace challenges with the infectious optimism of a Bertie Wooster and face the world with the dignified detachment of a Jeeves. In this curious amalgamation of humour and enlightenment, we might just discover that, much like in a Wodehouse novel, life is best approached with a twinkle in the eye and a chin up attitude.

(Inputs from Suryamouli Datta are gratefully acknowledged.)

Related Posts:

The Indian Curry Dished Out by P. G. Wodehouse

Swami Vivekananda: Uncovering the Humorous Side of the Fearless Monk: Guest Post by Suryamouli Datta

Of Chicago, Swami Vivekananda, Indian Scriptures and Management

Tryst with Fire: Welcome to the Storm; Guest Post by Prof Sanjoy Mukherjee

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How P. G. Wodehouse facilitated my walk down the aisle: Guest Post by Soumya Mukherjee

Having posted a few stories about being hit by lightning, getting hitched, and its repercussions, which seemed to meet with some degree of readers’ approval, I thought I will try to describe the actual drama that bound me in the bonds that are supposed to last our next seven lives. Unless, of course, this trip is already our seventh time around.

The Gussie Fink-Nottle Phase 

I first met her in a dirty dingy government office, surrounded by mountains of dusty files, peering out from behind huge ledgers, to the background music of clattering typewriters. This was the pre-computer Stone Age of snail mail, manual computing, adding machines, telex machines, and files bound in tape holding typed letters. Finding this difficult to believe? And no, there were no dinosaurs then, and the world wasn’t black and white.

Hearing rumours that the presence of a young lady is about to improve the tone of the accounts department infinitely, I had gone on to investigate. Unlike Gussie Fink-Nottle, I had never fancied newts. But I was as diffident and tongue-tied as he was, when in the company of one from the tribe of the delicately nurtured. 

Rather predictably, I returned crestfallen, as the petite lady had actually made an appearance, and was to head the department, but my breezy intrusion met with a dead pan visage, and my attempts at witticism with a freezing ‘oh really, how interesting.‘

I learnt later that I was just the kind of smooth talking long haired unreliable boys her mother had warned her about.

However, as we were the only two non geriatric beings in that vast dungeon, we sort of started to hang around together at lunch. It looked like other than being new recruits in this maze, we had nothing in common. Then one day, when I found her solving a crossword, I was elated. Pitching in, unasked, to help, we completed it to her mild irritation, but my skill with words must have impressed her a bit, as she seemed to thaw a few degrees.

The Rupert Psmith Phase

Finding at last that we had some common interest, I jumped in, and discovered that we shared a common passion for books, art house cinema and, although of drastically different genre, music. We began to relieve the tedium of work by exchanging books and cassettes, (remember those?) and news of exciting new writers, bargain prices for old books, or views on world cinema. Remember this was the pre-net, Google, Wikipedia and download world, when knowledge and information were at a premium and the exclusive purview of the ‘in’ set. I was introduced to the melodious world of Hindi music, and I in turn exposed her to the disruptive world of Rock, and the mystical realms of Rabindra Sangeet.

We progressed to visiting bookshops, Mandi House – the Mecca of theatre, and Shakuntalam – the auditorium for offbeat cinema. Next step, we became each other’s confidants. I shared the woes of my latest unsuccessful attempt at long time relationship, while she confided her problems in getting her dad to accept her unacceptable boyfriend.

Thus, I learnt that she was of that rare species that was thought to exist only in Bollywood or Hollywood, one who was willing to do the unheard-of naïve act of actually marrying for love, with no concern for Economics, History or Geography of the groom. Armed with this revelation, I took the only logical course, that of scheming to replace this undeservedly lucky guy.

At first, she thought it was a crude  attempt at comedy.  My absolute inability to be serious about anything obviously did not  help. However, I launched a marketing strategy of perseverance, irreverence, and proximity. Brand promotion by my friends, and scientific product promotion helped by market feedback from her friends, started wearing down her resistance, duly aided and abetted  by jealous tantrums of my predecessor. Finally, persuasion in the form of Psmith, who gets his Eve by telling her that the plus side of marrying an eccentric  man is that you never get bored, swung the scales, to my eternal gratitude to P G Wodehouse.

The Emerald Stoker and Gussie Fink-Nottle Phase

Now, in true filmy style, politics played spoilsport. Members of her community were being targeted in communal riots by people of my religion. Her NRI dad planned her wedding with some suitable boy of their clan on the next available date. Her protests that she had other plans were peremptorily dismissed, especially when she produced a new candidate; me, this time.

Next logical step was elopement. While her dad was busy making arrangements for her quick stock transfer to another family,  we decided to close the deal. The registrar requiring some notice period, the Arya Samaj Mandir agreed to play cupid. We were assured that it was quite legal. Having no time to inform anyone or make any arrangements, we planned to meet at the venue next day, get the certificate, and promptly leave for my hometown.

Now more hitches started developing. Those were the days of long-distance calls being made from post offices where you had to shout out your messages in front of a waiting crowd, that too after waiting for an hour for the expensive ‘lightning’ call to materialize. After going through this trauma, I learnt that my father was abroad on work, my mother having accompanied him, and my school going brother’s assurances that he was returning the next day, and that I am not to worry but catch the train, he will take care of all issues, did not boost my confidence.

By now, the jungle drums had spread the news, and there were a bunch of my friends waiting with me at the temple, doing their best to add to my nervousness. Her delay was explained as second thoughts on her part, late realization of her blunder, or her father having imprisoned her or worse.

My worry was that a Wodehousian story shouldn’t have a similar complication, where I wait by the Arya Mandir on Hanuman road, while she waits at the Hanuman Mandir on Arya Road.

Another helpful explanation offered was that she gave me a subliminal message in gifting a Talat Mahmood album, which speaks only of lost love.

When pals rally around

In between there is a subplot of a bunch of my other friends, a few girls from my college, having organized the wedding at another venue, which message did not reach me. As I had no telephone and was seldom home, this was not surprising. Remember, this was the pre-sms and email era.  Thinking that I had changed my mind without informing them, they refused to speak to me for years afterwards.

Finally, she arrived explaining that she had to balance the books or some such office exigency, ignoring the fact that I had aged a decade in the meanwhile.

Quick ceremony over, certificate in hand, we proceeded to my barsati, a rooftop shelter I shared with my friends, a typical bachelor pad of those days, familiar to all who have seen the movie Chashme Baddoor. The plan was that my bachelor days roommates would move out, and she would move in. As I was completely broke, and she was leaving home with only the clothes she was wearing, my friends contributed to get us the basic furnishings and kitchenware to start a home.

I had warned my friends that I had neither money nor time to organize a party, so they volunteered to bring provisions. When we took stock, we found that everyone had brought liquid refreshments of various degrees of potency, and many had brought other aids for expanding the consciousness, but none had thought of getting food. A helpful neighbour produced eggs, sausages and bread, and a riotous party ensued.

Leaving behind various comatose bodies, a few relatively sober friends managed to load us on to the train. En route, at every station I wanted to jump off and head back.

At the station my kid brother was there to receive us, but refused to disclose the situation at home beyond the enigmatic message that we would soon find out.

All is well that ends well

A complete nervous wreck by the time we reached home, there was a sight waiting for me that I will never forget. The house was decorated in the traditional way to welcome the new bride and relatives had gathered over for the ceremony.

My brother explained later, that after my father’s return and receipt of the news, he had initially broken the world record for a sitting high jump. But his next reaction was that the poor girl whom his idiot son had got into the mess had to be made to feel welcomed. A  traditional ceremony was organized overnight, with a diktat issued to all relatives that everyone was to be present to receive the new bride. The patriarch’s wishes were followed, and a warm welcome followed to the girl from an alien culture.

I wish I can be half the man my father was, in showing love and support to my children when they really need me.

The Bingo Little Phase of my matrimonial bliss continues to this day.

Thank you, Plum!

Related Posts:

Some Tips on the Art and Science of Courtship from Rupert Psmith

Attaining Matrimonial Bliss: Some Tips from Bingo Little (Part 1 of 4)

A Plummy wish for a bride-to-be

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Some juicy narratives dished out by Plum fans

Plum has trained his fans well. Life’s harsh slings and arrows do not leave them gasping for breath. If they get surprised like a nymph while bathing, they are quick to recover. They are seldom baffled, bewildered, confused, confounded, disconcerted, flummoxed, nonplussed, mystified, perplexed, or puzzled for more than a few seconds. Thinking on their feet comes easy to them. So does a chin up attitude. If fate offers them lemons, they are happy to make a lemonade out of it and even lace it with a suitable tissue restorative. They wear humorous glasses which enable them to view life’s adventures in a lighter vein.  

Here is an impromptu collection of some juicy narratives recently shared by some of his fans, ending with a few autobiographical kinds from yours truly.   

Sukanya Lakshmi Narayan

Some decades back, I happened to meet a couple at the Annual General Meeting of our community. One of those MNC types when the MNCs were of a British demeanour. But they were given plush quarters elsewhere. My better half (BH) was elsewhere in some part of world trying to make his employer richer.

When we discovered a common village ancestry, despite the stiff upper lip etc, the dialect came pouring out, and much bonhomie followed with an invitation to drop in anytime. After all, same village ancestry equals family, right? At least in India it does.

Soon after, one balmy Sunday afternoon, yours truly was taking a well-deserved siesta when the doorbell rang. The BH, who didn’t like the striped PJs men in North India sported, nor the bare-chested half folded veshti (lower wraparound) avatar that South Indian men could be seen in, got into action. Instead, clad in one of those giant stiffly starched shorts of the British Raj police fame, khaki colour besides, and a banyan(vest), BH opened the door. So what if the said shorts were straight from some fancy store off Oxford Street!

The aforementioned MNC couple stood there and gave him a dekko, much as Bingo Little and Rosie M Banks might have done, had they ever come across Roderick Spode, albeit a genteel one. The man sized him up and with a polite but authoritative tone and asked, “Memsaab hain?” (read as, “Is the white lady of the house in?”). As one would ask a servant in the heyday.

BH ushered them in, made them comfy and ran in to tell me to get up, since some people have come to see you. Hurriedly bemoaning the loss of a precious siesta, I walked into the drawing room and the flurry of our dialect began. Did I mention it’s a foreign tongue to the BH?

Well, BH showed up in two minutes, dressed in a branded Polo tee shirt and Saville Row trousers and sat himself right next to me on the sofa. No purple socks or cummerbund. Jeeves would have approved.

As Plum would say, a kaleidoscope of expressions flitted across their faces, from shock, followed by outrage, followed by realisation and embarrassment and finally a difficultly executed polite half-smile expression of hello.

Priceless.

What’s even more priceless is the legacy Plum has left us, to view life’s situations in a lighter vein. So, we don’t mind laughing at ourselves too!!

Lekshmy Sreekantan

Something of a gaffe happened to me too although I am not hoity toity. I was standing in the doorway awaiting the arrival of an unseen newly appointed cook when a yet unseen new neighbour of mine popped up. I invited her in took her straight to the kitchen and outlined her duties. She listened to me (a beautiful soul) patiently and then informed me that she is our new neighbour!

Frankly, I did not know where to look. A bright pink shade might have popped up on my visage. Had Lord Emsworth been around, he could have been forgiven for thinking I was one of the blooming Bignonia Radicans in the Blandings gardens. But the lady was grace personified. A radiant smile from her and we became good friends.

John Korulla

If you want my ha’ penny worth, I could not do better than to relate of the subsequent discomfiture of an erstwhile colleague of mine (a Palakkad Namboothiri) into whose bank branch a prosperous looking man walked in with a purposeful mien. He went up to the Deposits counter and had to wait to be served. He had to wait for about ten minutes, which he passed with becoming grace. When his time came, he moved to the Officer’s counter and informed him that he just came to check the place out and that he would be taking charge the next day as the next Chair. His conduct would surely have met with approval of someone like Rupert Psmith. My mate could not live down the story the Chair kept repeating to show how Managers were not proactive enough. You should have seen the poor fellow cringe whenever the Chair came to a Managers’ Meet.

Yours Truly

Here are a few links which capture some of my own experiences in life:

Of a Mom Bassett and the allure of policemen’s helmets

A girl friend in Norway!

A not-so-Plummy encounter with an arm of the law

Note:

1. Illustration courtesy Suvarna Sanyal.
2. Consent by respective fans to reproduce their narratives here is gratefully acknowledged.  

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A Chance Encounter with Ma and Pop Stoker in Allahabad, India

One of the perils of suffering from the third and final stage of Wodehousitis is that wherever you may be and whatever mischief you may be up to, allusions to Plum’s characters and situations lurk just around the corner.

Recently, I had the opportunity of visiting the historic city of Allahabad (or Prayagraj, as it is known these days) in the northern part of India. The couple who took the risk of hosting me were cast in the mould of Angela and Tuppy Glossop. Having sunk all their differences over sharks, they had long since settled down to a state of matrimonial bliss. They were the epitome of hospitality, fussing over me and pampering me no end. Three times a day, the lavish spreads on offer made Greed win over Prudence, as they say. Trips to exotic locales in the city were meticulously planned and executed. All the itineraries inevitably included stopovers at joints famous for their importance, whether in terms of geography, history, culture, or those offering a lip-smacking variety of street foods, sweets, and savouries.

Sangam, the renowned confluence of three rivers – the Ganges, the Yamuna, and the mythical Saraswati – made one wonder if students at Allahabad University ever organize boat-racing nights there, eventually depriving some of the rozzers on duty of their caps or helmets. Also, after every twelve/six years, when a religious congregation of millions of persons happens, whether someone like Ukridge runs a syndicate which encourages people to bet on the percentage of dysfunctional public toilets in the area.  

The city also boasts of haing been the capital of India for a single day.

A friend like Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, who happens to be a senior faculty member at Allahabad University, offered to drive me around the campus. He was accompanied by his illustrious elder brother who practices at the local High Court and is also a former student of the University. The latter proved to be a treasure trove of the institution’s glorious past. While passing by the English Department, which was once headed by such a literary stalwart as Harivansh Rai Bachchan, one’s head simply bowed in reverence.  

When passing by an iconic coffee house in the Civil Lines area, one is told of the small room in its corner which used to play the role of the Drones Club where famous literary figures of yore would meet up and exchange ideas of books and poems to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting public.    

While driving past the majestic High Court building, one wonders if a beak as prominent as Sir Watkyn Bassett would be dishing out harsh sentences to some criminals inside its hallowed precincts. If so, one pities the latter who, despite having mentioned false identities, might still be meekly shuffling their feet.

While watching a sound and light show which highlighted, inter alia, the supreme sacrifice made by one of India’s freedom fighters, one wonders if either Roderick Spode or Stilton Cheesewright had ever heard of him.         

When visiting Anand Bhavan, the ancestral residence of the Nehru family and the place which played a crucial role in India’s fight for independence from British rule, one comes across a room where Mahatma Gandhi used to stay when visiting the place. One shudders to think of the outcome for India if the British had ever conspired to entice him there with a good juicy steak, followed by roly-poly pudding and a spot of Stilton, possibly nipping his movement of civil disobedience in bud.  

Of course, the icing on the cake was a meeting with Ma and Pop Stoker who happen to live in the city. Just like yours truly, the latter happens to be not only a Plum fan but also a movie enthusiast. Both were gracious enough to call on me and discuss matters of mutual interest.

Pop Stoker is done with the Telecommunications stream of the Indian Air Force. He has had a jolly good time there, especially because, unlike the other ‘arms’ of Indian army, which happen to have more of a stiff-upper-lip temperament, the air force believes in keeping its tribe happier. It does so by according ‘Humour’ a remarkably high priority. This would perhaps explain his fascination with the antics of Jeeves, Bertie, Ukridge, Lord Emsworth, and the rest of them. As and when he can tear himself away from Plum’s oeuvre, he loves spending his time goggling at divas like Sophia Lauren, Julie Andrews, Audrey Hepburn, Julia Roberts, Drew Barrymore, and Meryl Streep on the screen. Having settled down in the sylvan surroundings of Chuffnell Hall, he and his wife have a large heart, generously offering to host even lesser mortals like yours truly at their place.  

Ma Stoker has not really been an avid Wodehouse reader herself. But matrimony comes with associated perils. She is not immune to the moments when her husband is spotted variously chuckling, guffawing and, to use a modern illusion, rolling on the floor with laughter. Investigations conducted at these junctures do keep popping up Wodehousean passages as chief suspects. And she excels at that profound quality found in the better or bitter halves of devoted readers, without which the very pursuit of reading would be rendered impossible – indulgence. She indulges Pop Stoker as he reads and tolerates him even as he sometimes reads aloud to her. It was this sterling indulgence, supplemented by a dash of feminine curiosity, which had brought her to size me up.

Both happen to be proud parents of Pauline and Emerald. Pauline assists a large conglomerate in her capacity as an Instruction Designer. Since she has landed a desk job, it is not clear if she still expects her loved ones to swim a mile before breakfast and then proceed to play five sets of tennis post-lunch. Perhaps her dynamism now manifests itself in the virtual world. It is also not known if she is fond of wearing heliotrope pyjamas, whether borrowed from a friend or bought online.

Emerald is training to be a lawyer with an institute of eminence. One is not aware if she ever lost a bet on the racing tracks and had to work as a cook to cover up the losses. She could be one of those soothing, sympathetic legal eagles a wannabe litigant could take her troubles to, confident of having her hand held and her head patted, restoring her faith in our judicial system.   

When persons known to one from social media pop up thus in flesh and blood, it is a refreshing experience to talk to them over a piping hot cup of tea and a couple of fresh samosas, duly organised by my genial hosts.

It defies one’s imagination to believe that a city like Allahabad which boasts of a rich literary heritage hosts only a single fan of Wodehouse. I am reasonably certain that there are quite a few others. However, they hide themselves well.

Plum was not much off the mark when he said that “There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.” With due apologies to him, one gets tempted to add fine arts and movies as well to his assertion. 

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A Meeting of Plum Fans in New Delhi, India

There is no doubt that there is in Delhi all that life can afford. Someone who is tired of Delhi is tired of life itself. The city and its surroundings are littered with relatives and friends of all hues, sizes, and shapes. There are localities which are replete with old memories. Besides glitzy malls, shopping areas and historic monuments, the city still retains many of its green areas. Street foods which suit all palettes and pockets and are from various parts of the country are readily available.

All this is not to say that there are no aspects of the metropolis which one does not hate. One loathes its teeming millions, its smells, its noises, its buses, its taxis, the mind-boggling variety of vehicles on its roads, its endless traffic snarls, its highly polluted air, its beggars trying to persuade perfect strangers to bear the burden of their maintenance with an optimistic vim, and its crowded pavements with aggressive sellers pouncing upon one to peddle their stuff. Commuting is a hassle, though the metro is a great boon to the citizenry.

During the peak of winter, when a smog envelops the city and its surroundings, and the sun goes AWOL, the pleasure of munching on roasted peanuts and gorging on either baked and spiced chunks of sweet potatoes or delectable carrot pudding is also snatched away from its hapless denizens.

But help is not far away. The prospect of meeting a bunch of fans of P. G. Wodehouse invariably drives the blues away. It makes one develop nerves of chilled steel and venture to crawl out of one’s multi-layered quilt. It infuses the inner being with a mirthful warmth, spreading light and sweetness all around.

And if the meeting gets held at a place with a unique ambience where one could even tuck into an Anatole-ish spread, the grass outside looks greener and the flowers swaying in a gentle wind blowing mentally transport one to the gardens of the Blandings Castle. One realizes that God is in heaven, and all is well with the world. More so, since there happens to be a gallery of modern art just next door, and there is no Honoria Glossop around to exhort one to not only look at the ghastly objects on display but also pass some intelligent-sounding comments about the same.

Rupert Psmith, who had coordinated the event, was already present, along with Eve Halliday, the affable lawyer. Having given up on fish business, being a fake poet, and then providing secretarial support services to Lord Emsworth, he had developed a passion for photography. His lens captures the eternal beauty of flora and fauna. While others got busy with much back slapping and what-ho-ing, he quietly went about using his lens to create a visual record of the boisterous proceedings.

Eve continues to be as strong and compassionate as she was when we met her last at Blandings Castle. Having had quite a few adventures in her life, she had decided to lead a relatively quieter life in the company of Psmith.  While maintaining her dash and vigour, she decided to become a lawyer, to gainfully deploy her honesty, sympathy, and intelligence to assist her clients in seeking justice. Setting the tone of the party was the work of a moment for her.       

Mrs. Spottsworth was amongst the first ones to show up, to check out the kind of mischief we were up to. This was her maiden attempt at joining in, and a fulfilment of one of her long-held pious intentions. One is not too sure if she is still interested in psychical research or if she uses a Ouija board to communicate with departed souls. One does know that she had been a lion-tamer of very young kids at a prestigious school in the city. However, she was humility personified when she pointed out that it was she who had got tamed instead, having had the opportunity of learning quite a lot from her wards.

Yours truly was the next one to troop in, looking like a stuffed frog. As is my wont when unduly elated in the exalted company of Plum fans, I guess I enlivened the proceedings somewhat by croaking intermittently.   

Willoughby Scrope (Willy, in short), yet another legal eagle to grace the occasion, was the next one to pop up. The group was pleasantly surprised to find that besides looking some prominent beaks in the eye while advancing his cogent arguments in favour of his clients, he also happens to be an author. He gifted a copy of his recently published book The Sterling Bull and Other Stories to all of us. It turned out to be a nice collection of some juicy stories from his earlier days, written in a lucid manner, with a dash of Wodehousean humour.

When food was being ordered, Willy solemnly declared that he had recently turned a pure vegetarian. The group was left wondering if his predicament was similar to the one faced by Gussie Fink-Nottle who was once barred from making his stomach a graveyard by Madeliene Bassett.

The conversation that followed covered a broad sweep of Plum’s works. Empress of Blandings. Lawyers. Heliotrope pyjamas. Kids who demand protection money from their would-be stepfathers. Butter slides. Blackened faces. The precise number of cats in Bertie’s room when Sir Roderick Glossop came for a spot of lunch. The head of a fish, staring up at Bertie in a rather austere sort of way, as if it wanted a written explanation and apology. Shoplifting leading to a shift from Madison Avenue, NY, USA, to a dilapidated country house in the UK. The propensity of millionaires from across the pond to scout around for stately mansions in Queen’s land. The castles where in the summer the river is at the bottom of the garden, and in the winter the garden is at the bottom of the river.

While delectable food was being put down the hatch, all advice rendered by Laura Pyke about fat-soluble vitamins was forgotten. Luckily, Doctor Murgatroyd, who might have cautioned the group about the perils of greed winning over prudence on the dining table, including but not limited to spots appearing on our chests, was singularly absent. Doctor Hailsham, had he been present, would have taken a jaundiced view of the gourmet food being gobbled up. He would have instead recommended either parsnip or seaweed juice, followed by stewed lettuce. Perhaps, even some potassium broth and grated carrots, followed by a refreshing cup of dandelion coffee.  

On quite a few occasions, when the ripples of laughter emanating from the table crossed a certain decibel level, one could notice other customers seated nearby raising their eyebrows a quarter of an inch, an art which they might have learnt from Jeeves. The hassled waiters heaved a sigh of relief when the group ventured out. Goodbyes were said and phone numbers exchanged, followed by another photo shoot.  

(From left to right: Willoughby Scrope, Yours truly, Mrs Spottsworth, Eve Halliday, Rupert Psmith)

Those who are turning green with envy upon reading this account need not fret. They would do well to brace up for the next gig, which may get planned around February 14, 2024.

(Note: All allusions to characters of P G Wodehouse here are purely arbitrary and subjective and are not intended to offend any of those who spared the time to join in and make this gig a memory to cherish for a long time. Permission to use photographs is gratefully acknowledged.)

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Swami Vivekananda: Uncovering the Humorous Side of the Fearless Monk: Guest Post by Suryamouli Datta

Introduction

“In shattered gates, your radiant stride, proclaiming triumph’s song,

In the vast ascension from shadows, yours, the victory throng.

O triumphant soul, at life’s dawn anew,

In your grasp, the hopeful scythe, cutting bonds askew.

Through ancient woes, in desolation’s field, let freedom ring,

Come, O melancholy, come, O tranquil, yours, the victory spring.

Come, O unstained essence, come, O fearless breath,

In the morning sun’s arrival, midst storms, vanquish death.

The chariot of sorrow, in your path, resounds loud,

Awaken the dormant minds, in the heavens, be proud.

In the tapestry of life, weave melodies of joy,

Yours, the call of victory, that nothing can destroy.”

The translated lines above are from a song by Rabindranath Tagore. To me, they provide a clear description of the ‘Fearless Monk’ from India, which resonates with me and many others.

On His Birth Anniversary

As we commemorate Swami Vivekananda’s birth anniversary, it’s customary to applaud his spiritual wisdom and profound contributions. However, let us embark on a unique journey into an often-overlooked facet of his personality – his impeccable sense of humour, beautifully encapsulated in many of his writings, however, I want to highlight particularly the piece titled ‘Paribrajak’ or ‘Traveller’. Here, we get a glimpse into the witty and comical storytelling prowess of Swamiji, accompanied by his closest disciples, Brother Tu (Swami Turiyananda) and Sister Nivedita.

Lethargy and the Diary Debacle

Swamiji, in his typical playful style, initiates the narrative with a candid confession about his inability to maintain a daily journal of his travel experiences. Blaming it on his inherited Bengali lethargy (and of course, his ‘inability’ to remember dates), he humorously claims his intention to write daily but continuously postpones it to eternity due to various engagements. The struggles of a Bengali writer unfold comically, resonating with the perpetual promises to put pen to paper but succumbing to the irresistible allure of life’s myriad distractions.  Call it a shade of procrastination if you will.

Sea Sickness and Lord Hanuman

The adventure at sea brings its fair share of amusement as Swamiji ponders whether Hanuman, Lord Rama’s devoted monkey disciple, also experienced sea sickness during his legendary leap to Lanka. Tongue-in-cheek, Swamiji suggests that Hanuman might have encountered some sickness when he accidentally stumbled upon a demon’s mouth. Comparing their voyage on a ship to Hanuman’s ‘heroic leap’, (apart from the ‘small detail’ that Lord Hanuman managed to accomplish through a mere leap, here we have Swamiji, an ‘ordinary person’ (?!), attempting to achieve the same feat by riding in a ship that sways with the whims of the waves!), Swamiji further jokes that their fellow travellers are no less than mischievous imps (who Lord Hanuman encountered upon arriving in Sri Lanka), but unfortunately, as Swamiji describes, he himself is stuck traveling with these imps who, according to Swamiji, are heavy meat eaters, solely fixated on using forks and knives for their meals. With a playful tone, Swamiji teases his beloved disciple, Brother Tu, for being afraid of being assaulted by these harmless items of cutlery.  For, according to Swamiji, his disciple is quite traumatized about the fact that those imps who have taken the shape of travellers will be quite eager to have him (Brother Tu) as a snack!

Comic Description of the Sea and Rivers

In the realm of Kalidasa’s poetic tapestry, the sea unfurls its boundless expanse, merging seamlessly with the distant orbits of the wheel. Along the shores, dark blue illusions dance amidst rows of swaying palms, their rhythm mirroring the heartbeat of the forest. On the maritime horizon, where the earth meets the sky, a black line dissolves into the saline stream of the ocean, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.

Swamiji takes a jocular dig at the famed poet Kalidasa’s romanticized depiction of the sea in his work “Raghuvamsa”. He asserts that reality differs greatly from poetic imagination. From the ship’s wild swings to Britannias shouting slogans, Swamiji amusingly reveals how his disciple, Brother Tu, succumbs to seasickness, likening his troubled state to a desperate search for the first grain of rice consumed during a rice eating ceremony. He then dives into humorous descriptions of India’s rivers, adding a splash of laughter to the narrative.

A Satire on Caste and British Rule

Swamiji uses his unique sense of humour to shed light on the caste system prevalent in India during the British Raj. With a sarcastic tone, he applauds the British government for considering all Indians as mere “natives,” thereby eradicating the evil of caste discrimination.

Moving on, he mocks the Indians who attempted to disown undesirable aspects of Hinduism by claiming to be of Aryan descent and enlightened by British blood, only to find that the British government disagreed. Swamiji emphasizes the need to cherish and learn from the West rather than blindly imitate it.

Racism and the Loss of Homesickness

Condemning racism, Swamiji humorously compares the Western concept of maintaining a distance from natives to India’s caste system. He expresses how this realization, though bitter, temporarily erased his homesickness, as it mirrored the Indian belief of a caste getting corrupted when mingling with people of lower social standing.

Entertaining Tales of Forts, Businessmen, and Seasickness

Swamiji entertains readers with amusing stories of forts, businessmen, and the challenges faced by fellow travellers on their voyage to the west. The witty anecdotes and lively descriptions bring history and places to life, providing delightful storytelling and a fresh perspective.

A Humorous Take on Cultures and History

Swamiji, the master of wit, unveils a delightful indifference as he takes us on a journey through cultures and the histories of nations. With his clever and comical lines, he effortlessly breathes life into his writing, leaving us in stitches. Let me share with you one such gem that may leave you chuckling uncontrollably.

“The Europeans,” quips Swamiji, “believe it is scandalous to have bare feet, so they go to great lengths to cover them up, completely disregarding the exposure of any other body parts! And in this incredible land of India, women are expected to cover their heads with veils, seemingly unconcerned about which other body part is on display in the process.”

Swamiji’s light-hearted tone adds an extra layer of amusement and intrigue to his narrative, making it an enjoyable ride. 

How Swamiji Channels His Inner Western Art: A Delightful Analysis

Being an ardent admirer of the great humourist P.G. Wodehouse (whom, I think, Swamiji had never met), I can’t help but spot the same brilliant wit in Swamiji’s works! Believe it or not, his clever observations about society, the history of any nation documented, his fellow companions, and even himself, bring back fond memories of Plum’s delightful creations. You simply must delve into this masterpiece (Traveller) to grasp the essence of my claim. But alas, I must offer my sincerest apologies to my dear readers, as my feeble attempts at capturing the same mirth in my humble language may do grave injustice to the brilliance of his original writings.  But fear not, for Swamiji’s words are an absolute riot,   

For example, in the realm of architectural contemplation, Swamiji’s astute reflections on the nuances of German and French architecture elicit a hearty guffaw. With a dash of wit as effervescent as a perfectly shaken cocktail, he wittily opines:

“Behold the robust and masculine visage of German Architecture, akin to a residence crafted for grand elephants or noble horses. Contrastingly, the French architectural symphony, tailored for our cherished animal companions, paints a tableau of celestial beings frolicking in ethereal realms!”

Surely, such ingenious observations offer a sneak peek into the kind of humour-laced glasses which Swamiji used to differentiate between two starkly different architectural styles.

In a similar vein, Wodehouse describes a street in London in his inimitable tongue-in-cheek manner as follows:

“In shape Arundell Street is exactly like one of those flat stone jars in which Italian wine of the cheaper sort is stored. The narrow neck that leads off Leicester Square opens abruptly into a small court. Hotels occupy two sides of this; the third is at present given up to rooming houses for the impecunious. These are always just going to be pulled down in the name of progress to make room for another hotel, but they never do meet with that fate; and as they stand now so will they in all probability stand for generations to come.“

(Something Fresh)

In Conclusion

This exploration of Swami Vivekananda’s humour unveils a side of him rarely discussed – his comic genius. By delving into his humorous travel writings, readers gain insight into the wit possessed by this esteemed Indian monk. Beyond being a spiritual leader, Swamiji emerges as a storyteller with a keen sense of humour, inviting everyone to dive into the hilarity and discover the “Indian Monk with a sense of humour” for themselves.

Cheers to the fearless monk who not only enlightened our minds and exhorted us to lead purposeful lives, but also tickled our funny bones!

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