Killing the demon in me

I am generally very unpopular with street vendors, especially the ladies who sell vegetables, fruits, flowers and the like. I didn’t know about this lesser virtue of mine till I found one particular middle-aged vendor stopped coming to our house everytime my wife was away. “When is amma coming back?” she would ask, and would not come near our house till my wife was back home. I had no idea why.

Of course, my wife suspected I had unleashed my harsh temper on the poor woman, which according to her is my usual custom. Or much worse, I had made passes at this rather robust lady which was also not beyond me, according to my better half.

The truth finally came out. The vegetable vendor got bored because I neither bargained nor spent time gosspping as my wife normally did. As a rule, I do not bargain. I feel street vendors deserve that rupee or two more than me, pushing the heavy cart unmindful of the harsh weather, often with a baby on the top or toddling around the street. But the fact is, as I discovered with dismay, they care more for socialising than selling their goods. Any way, the stigma on me was cleared, but the worst
wasn’t over yet.

There was another vendor, an elderly woman who carried a very heavy basket of rangoli powder on her head, crying out ‘amma rangoli’. I knew what damage the weight of her basket would do to her neck, back and waist.

My wife and I also remembered that she used to walk by her son or daughter-in-law who rode a tricycle carrying several baskets of rangoli, and measuring out the stuff. When asked about her son, she told us her he and his wife had gone away to Ramnagara to take care of her parents, and she had to carry on for livelihood.

Heart torn, we unwittingly embarrassed her by quietly buying the unnecessary one measure of rangoli every day, but feeling just and charitable. Then, to our surprise, she stopped coming near our house. When I ran into her on another street, I asked her why she stopped coming to our house. With dignity, she replied, “Ayya, I don’t live on charity”.

Having been associated with an NGO for many years, it never occurred to me how much the receiver cringes when we dole out goodies. We also take pictures of our charitable act and publicise. We make an event of our charitable
acts.

My lessons in humility were far from over.I once spotted an elderly relative of mine, a rather rich woman, clad in simple rustic attire standing in que to receive food in an annadana we had
organised on the ocassion of our wedding anniversay. I shouted out to her over the din: “Akka, what are you doing here, when you can feed half the Bengaluru?”

She replied, “Thamma, I thought I had renounced all, but I am now trying to kill my pride, the real demon in me.”