Kawcaw
The Tall Man of Timarpur
Ever since I
crossed the Biblical age of three score and ten, I got the fancy notion in my head
that I was now old. So I started walking slow, talking slow, eating slow and in
short, doing everything slow.
My friend
Mukund Kaushal told me at the end of a meeting, “Maharaj, I will have to talk
to Bhabhijaan.I wish to tell her that you are playing a game. All you need is a
mental resolve to speed up and hey presto, you will revert back to status quo
ante.”
Mukund was
once a Commissioner of Police in Delhi and is a man of the world. He is trained
to distinguish the fake from the real. His pep talk helped and I improved my
speed whenever I became self-conscious.
A few months later, my brother Kakaji came on
a visit. We went for a morning walk together. He noticed my slow, measured
gait.
After a
while, he could not resist the temptation. He said, “Bhai Sahib! Have you not
heard the limerick which starts with the line There was a tall man of
Timarpur… I forget what the tall man did, but what I mean is that when you
walk why don’t you walk tall? Walk like the tall man of Timarpur.”
I am myself
very fond of limericks. I replied, “I have heard of the man from Nantucket and
the tall man from Cornwall. But this is the first time I am hearing about the
tall man from Timarpur.”
Kakaji said,
“Suppose you were asked to make a limerick on this first line, how would you go
about it?”
“Well”, I replied,
“I would change Timarpur to Timarpore. Easier to have words to rhyme with Timarpore.”
“Okay,” said
Kakaji, “Let us do that. What next?”
I was game. I responded warmly, “Well let us
try it out:
There was
a tall man of Timarpore
Who was
somewhat of a bore
When he
walked fast,
The pace
wouldn’t last
All he
ended up with was a foot-sore.”
“Bravo,”
exclaimed my younger brother. Kakaji’s advice helps. Whenever I remember, I try
to walk tall like the man from Timarpore.
I have a
memory of my own. Once I had to go to Jammu. The train was to depart from Old
Delhi Railway Station at 9-30 p.m. Unfortunately, we got held up by a massive traffic
jam and reached the station at 9-30 p.m. sharp. I got out of the car at the
outside gate and accosted a coolie.
“Jammu
Mail”, I said.
The coolie
grimaced. “Sorry Sir. I think the train has left.”
“Let us try.
Maybe it has not left yet.” I was hoping against hope.
“I think I
heard the announcement. It has probably gone.” The coolie was equally adamant.
“Here, take
this attaché and run. I shall follow you. You will get a hundred rupees in any
case,” I said.
I shall
never forget that scene. The coolie picked up the attaché and dashed. I ran after
him. When we reached Platform number one, he pointed towards the P.A. system
telling everyone that Jammu Mail had left from platform number twelve. The
coolie stopped with an air of finality.
“Bhaiya!” I
pleaded with him. “You have come this far. Why not take me to platform number
twelve?”
Reluctantly
he headed towards the said platform. Miracle of miracles! The train was still
there. We raced towards Coach A-2 where I had a reservation and I occupied my
seat. I gave a hundred rupee note to the coolie and thanked him besides.
When I slow
down during my morning walk, I pretend that I have nearly missed a train. The
fat lady racing about twenty yards ahead seems to be the coolie carrying my
bag. I have got to keep pace with her if I wish to catch the train.
Believe you
me, this simple strategy works. I hasten forward.
When
everything else fails, I go back mentally to 1967. I am again Sub Divisional
Magistrate, Sadar Bazar in Delhi. Gen. Bhagwati Sharan Singh has selected me to
lead the Civil Defence contingent in the Republic Day parade on 26th
January. I have been given the olive green uniform and a colonel’s pips. For
one long month a Junior Commissioned Officer trains me in marching.
The arm has
to be held straight, the fist clenched and the thumb tops the fist .In the
forward movement, the fist has to reach shoulder level. In the backward
movement, the arm has to go as far back as possible. The rule is: more you make
the backward movement, more the swing will be and greater the speed of
movement.
You have to look 200 metres ahead. The neck is
to be held straight. The chest is to be held stiff and forward.
The foot
must hit the ground with the heel, not the toe. Lengthen the step as much as
you can.
So if
everything else fails, I go back to 1967 and march as if I am twenty five years
old.
To sum up,
if it comes to the crunch, I adopt an omnibus approach. I am self-conscious, I
become as tall as the man from Timarpur, I pursue a coolie and I march smartly
on Raj Path.
One thing or
the other is bound to click!
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