A new life

Do you still call yourself clever?” I asked Narendra, who seemed to be lost in another world.

“Yes,” he said after a short contemplation.

“But I don’t think you are clever. He who is clever can understand and help others in need. Someone who only thinks about himself and always seeks his own benefit is not clever. He is rather selfish. He will only love himself; no one will be there to love him. Cleverness should be for others not for the self,” I said; something that I always told him whenever we met with ease.

“You too aren’t clever then,” he said rather irritated by my statement.

“Why?” I asked, perplexed.

“Because you do not understand me either. I do not always think about myself, please try to understand me,” he said ruefully.

“Leave it. So what did she say? What was her response, I mean?” I changed the topic. He had proposed to a girl and had planned to meet her today.

“No, I didn’t go there. Perhaps, she waited for me all day. I had another, more important work to do.” He said calmly as if he didn’t care.

“Are you mad? Where had you been then?” I said, startled at his foolish serenity.

“To a charity program organised for some octogenarians from our village who had been left alone after the death of their children,” he said, and that made me calm.

“What?” I was startled. “Who told you about it? How did the feeling of helping others come to you at this moment?” I questioned.

 “So now I am clever, aren’t I?” he shot back with a wry smile.

“Yes, you are not only clever, but the cleverest. I’m very happy that you have finally understood me,” I said with a feeling of great triumph.

“No, I have now understood the truth. To understand you is to understand the truth. You were always right and you are. My father shouldn’t have done all those things. Yes, I became too selfish. I was too self-centred; like him,” he said with an expression on his face I had never seen before.

“Now I see my real friend before me. I always wanted to hear you say these words of understanding and realisation. I am happier than you… Oh! How blessed I am to be your friend,” I tried to encourage him.

“Today, I know how it feels to understand others and how it feels to be among those who need my help more than anything else. And I owe everything to you, my friend, just to you,” he said in a voice a little louder than a whisper, almost in tears.

“But what will she say? You hurt her. You didn’t even inform her about your absence; she might have had hard time waiting all the day for you in vain. Apologise to her!” I reminded him about the girl thinking it would calm him and bring some smile to his face.“Yes, I hurt her. But after my clarification, she should understand me,” he declared.

“She may not understand you. She may not be as clever as you,” I turned quite sceptical.

“Then it will not be my mistake. She will be liable for it then. Perhaps, she will need you. Perhaps you will have to tell her all the things you tell me whenever we meet,” he said after giving it a quick thought.

“Okay! But first apologise to her and tell her everything. Maybe she will become happier than me,” I tried to reason full of optimism.

“Okay,” he said bringing back the remaining half smile in his face. Now, he was brimming with satisfaction. He is now a changed man. He is on the threshold of a new life. Now, I have to change myself for him. I shouldn’t say all the things that I have been saying till now. I shouldn’t act as I have been acting until now. Now, he is clever. He can understand others. Now, I’m his friend—a friend of a clever friend.

Narendra... I don’t know how he became my friend. I never wanted to befriend him. A person like him could only be a problem for me is how I felt. He wasn’t of my type. I always tried to avoid him. Avoid from my seat, from my class, from my friend circle, from my house, and away from my mind, if possible. However, he never left me. I always became his target. I cannot say if he ever cheated or dominated me, but I always saw him both cheating and dominating everyone he knew. And he would come to me and say, “I’m clever.” But the meaning of clever for me was entirely different. He wasn’t clever. He was rather a bastard, who only thought about himself. We were in the same class. To tell you the truth, he never completed his homework, always made redundant excuses which every teacher believed to be true. After all he was always so convincing. And at the break time, he would come to me and ask, “Am I clever?” No, he wasn’t clever, but a liar.

One day, in English class, the teacher asked us to write a short and sweet essay on our ambition. I aspired to be a writer, whereas, Narendra had a different ambition; one we had never heard of before. And it was he who submitted the copy before everyone. As she read his paper our English teacher broke into peals of laughter. As she returned Narendra’s copy back to him, I read his essay out of curiosity.  There was nothing as such which called for such laughter. However, there was one mistake; it was circled in red. He had written: “I want to be an am bastard…” not knowing the real spelling of ‘ambassador.’ That night, I asked my father what an ambassador actually was. I got an inkling that perhaps, Narendra wanted to dominate and cheat all the people around the world and become the cleverest among all. Therefore, he wanted to become an ambassador, someone who gets chance to visit many countries.

 “I don’t know how I became so selfish,” he said after a long, deep thought.

“No. It was one of the many aspects of your nature that you inherited from your father along with his precious possessions,” I shared my psychological view.

“Perhaps... Yes, he never taught me to give. He never introduced me to beautiful emotions such as love, compassion and empathy. He always taught me to possess negative emotions. If he were alive today, I would kill him,” He seemed to be in fury as he talked about his cruel father.

“Hey, don’t talk like this. That’s the way a foolish person talks. He will neither listen nor realise; so, what is the point in cursing a dead person?” I tried to extinguish his fast-burning fire.

 His father was the chief of the oppressor class of our village. No one can forget the humiliation he bequeathed upon innocent villagers. How could have such a person lived for a long time? He was killed by a group of young rebel guerrillas halfway during the insurgency period. And his son, now, my friend had the same skin of his cruel father which he went around flaunting everywhere, even in the city, where we have come to study—doing what the oppressors do.

“Hey... thank you very much for showing me the right path. You know how I felt when an old grandma whom perhaps my father had dominated, cried and poured hot tears over my shoulders? Oh! I felt like crying. How endearing they are and how innocent! She accepted my apology for every damage my father had done her,” he confided.

“Oh! How strong a son you are and how clever a friend,” I said grinning.

The next day, I got a call from him. She had accepted his apology and accepted his proposal as well.

- Sangram Lama