PROSOPAGNOSIA

Stephan C. Hmar, 12.09.2014

Of the many gifts I haven’t had, recognizing peoplesʼ face is one. I guess I kind of have what people called prosopagnosia or face-blindness. Whenever I happen to be in the crowd, I simply get mixed up with faces, and I cannot recollect any of the faces I come across unless they are exceeding odd or interesting enough to install special interests in me to focus on them.

This has turned out to be a horrible disadvantage.  Just a few years back in Guwahati, one fine young man bumped into me with an indicative well-known-close-association-gestures. He smilingly said, Oh God! How are you? Itʼs been a long, long time now. I got a job and got married just two weeks back. Whatʼre you doing here?

I replied to this stranger, Iʼm on my way to Shillong. Iʼm here waiting for the next bus.

He continued, You ought to come and see my family; you ought to spend the night with us and continue your Shillong-business tomorrow. You deserve it.

I was rather deadened by his pushing into my numb territory. I asked, Whoʼre you?, in a blunt direct tone.

His face reddened, not believing my question. He screamed, What? You don’t know me? I was one of your students, and not only that, I was your tutee for two continuous years.

I could not recognize him. I said, I still don’t  recognize  you! He gnawed his teeth, looked at me in a very offended gesture and said, Good! Carry on!, and walked away.

The more I tried to improve my performance, I seemed to perform worse. Some months back, I went to one distant village to visit a friend. Because of the remoteness and scarcity of the inhabitants, vehicles plying between the nearest town and the  village are less. And so I went by bike. The only road available was perfectly empty. I drove on, trying to get absorbed by the calmness and the lushness of the village road under the broad daylight. Along the curve, I saw two men. The other guy talked to me, and I stared at them. And then on second thought, I accelerated my bike suddenly and drove away from them, terrifyingly frightened. I thought they were going to kill me. After 10 minutes, my phone buzzed, It was from my wife.

I asked, ʻYes? What is it?ʼ  

She said, What happened to you? Aakarʼs wife called,  asking me whether you had gone crazy! Sheʼs really worried about you and asked me to take you to a doctor as soon as possible.

I asked, Why?

You met her husband just a moment ago, on an empty road and you ran away startled.

I replied, in disbelief, Who? Mr. Aakar? It was Mr. Aakar? I…I… thought theyʼre bandits!ʼ

My wife screamed, Could you forget their faces? We met them just one week back and we had a nice mutual introduction with interchanged handshakes.

That incident was an eye-opener. Since then I always kept vigilant to act pretentious and talked like I knew them whenever ʻout-of-the-recognizableʼ people bumped into me without warning. Yeah! Why not? I know you….You have grown taller and fatter than the last time I saw you. I know you…yeah…yeah!

Oh! That’s good news! I have been expecting that out of you.   

It is a good practice. One could magically renew the sweetness of the unrecognizable past just by simple acts of acquaintanceship.

But, even that did not solve all the horrible encounter due to this face-blindness. One night, around 8 PM, I came back from work, walking towards home with my laptop bag. One man approached me with a polite behavior. He was tall, slim, and agreeably dressed up.

He asked, in an undeniable accuracy, So late? Howʼre you by the way? Itʼs been a long time I didn’t see you around.

I politely replied, even though I didn’t know him. Busy schedule! What more to say? And how are you?

He said, Iʼm fine. But I have a little problem here. I forget my purse at home, and itʼs already late to go back home and come back for market. So, to cut that short, will you just loan me 500 rupees, I will repay you tomorrow?

I said, Fine! Fine! And loaned him the money. I didn’t recognize the face, but I found, after those horrifying experience I better trust his recognition of me rather than my unfamiliarity of him, to avoid another bullshit happening.

Itʼs been two years now. I never see that face again, nor I get back my 500 rupees.

My wife and I made it a habit of gifting any immediate couples having a newborn child. Six months ago, one of our immediate couple had a new baby boy. We called the couple telling them that we were going to visit them. We set out to the shop, Mom and Me, and purchased a pair of shoes for the baby boy. We gift-wrapped it and very truly and certainly gifted the new boy. Two months later, we visited the couple again and oh, dear me! I could not be sure whether the baby was a boy or a girl. I just risked on the gender (as it was going to be very odd to inquire on the gender of the baby after such a true and certain gift) and asked the father, How is she? Can she sleep well? She is growing more prettier!

Both the couples were silent. My wife was pinching me secretly.

Along the journey back home, my wife scolded me, You always embarrassed me. How could you ever forget that the baby was a boy? Don’t you remember that you were asking the shopkeeper of ʻMom and Meʼ to give you the best shoes for a baby boy?

I told her, Maybe, my mind was drifting elsewhere that time!

She said, Try to remember people. Otherwise, people will think that they are insignificant, that  you are proud or indifferent or something.

I said, But you know me the best. All my life has been the opposite of pride or indifference. It is just about living insignificantly  with pains,  that are constantly eating me alive, and busy taming them all the time!!

She said, But no one knows that. They could wrongly take you to be that way if you always failed to recognize  them.

I thought without uttering more words, What the hell am I doing here on Earth?

***

I came across people whose ability to recognize faces is super-amazing; that they could recognize persons they happened to see in a mall even after three months. It’s a gift, scientists say so.  My wife can be registered in the group of mega-recognizers. It is very easy for her to have distinctive face perceptions and to keep track of information about people. Sometimes she is unclear a bit, but, on longer thinking she can always say something close about the personʼs  history, which could interest them and that’s the reason why I guess she is such a friendly person and can socialize normally with others.

THE END

puzzling life

Stephan C. Hmar, 09.09.2014

Meeting Mr. Chakorlal puzzles it all!

***

Let me tell how it happened.

After  moving into my new posting four years ago, I happened to  develop a taste for observing people, and within days, I found it a luxurious practice for passing the time and cope with incapacities. And also, I found it to be a great advantage not all people could possess, to observe the jigsaw, the varied patterns that shapes and separates and kills us as unified individuals and society, and then masterfully draw judgment on them.

It is quite addictive, in no time I turned out a veteran observer. I observed the different characters possessed by each individual---different opinions, worshipping habits, cooking recipes, eating habits, the different philosophies governing every religion.

Unknowingly, along the process, I overdo it: my observance was quickly governed by rigid and biased judgments. I did not find the cooking of other clans palatable and I quickly concluded that ʻThis' and ʻThat' clan didn’t know how to cook. I could not settle with the opinion of some fellow, and I would flatly tell them to keep it to themselves. I did not get along well with some fellow and I quickly concluded that ʻThis' and ʻThat' fellow is a bad fellow. Oh! He prayed to the same god as me, he is the good fellow! He is of a different religion, so don’t trust him!

This was how I defined others within the matrix of my 'Self.ʼ

I opened a folder in my Laptop under the name PEOPLE wherein I labeled people who talk too much as ʻtalking fellows'; who talks less as ʻZip fellows'; selfish people as ʻOrdinary guys'; giving people as ʻRespectable Allien guys.'  I had labeled  quite a good number of people that even the memory of my external hard drive storage got exhausted in no time. 

***

To be figurative, exactly after having chanced a sore, but beautiful discourse with Mr. Chakorlal, one month ago,  I learned that I am a ʻbiased-maniac' who define others with the limited knowledge about myself and life itself. I began to have a feeling that it is a strange, puzzling world where I cannot have any concrete definition about anything or anyone. I am confused about myself and I find it difficult to define or explain about people. Suddenly something is making me mild and unbiased.  No more do I take a fellow to be rubbish because I didn’t quite get along with him.  I observe at curries differently now---I do not like the cooking of some clans; So what! They do not find my cooking good either! Who am I to draw the line? He is my God, and that is their God! Why to be so obsessed with ʻMy God' and ʻTheir God'?

***

That day, after a long day's work, I wearily entered the Chinese Corners, as always. The stall was fully packed, which I had not experienced before as far as this Corners is concerned. Every table and chair were occupied by teenagers, trying to impress each other.

I saw a lone man sitting, and I approached him. I asked, Can I sit with you?

He stood up and looked at me and seriously said, Thank You! Thank You! And he strangely looked at me and continued, You shot the target right in my heart, I try to sit with people around here trying to narrate my beautiful story, but they thought I'm outdated and shoo me away!

And then he asked me, You have to be someone?

I replied poorly, Yes! I am someone you don’t know.

Before I could complete the sentence, he screamed, No!No! You have to be an angel made for listening and remembering!

And then he stood up, and shouted at the crowd, Hear me! And hear me correct! I get a pal.! I get a pal!

Everyone stared at us.

I was at a point of running away. I was already standing with my weak feet, but he said, Pal! I don’t know you, as much as you don’t know me. You are a godsend and just hear me…..okay? 

I was scared. I straightened  my back, chewed my dry tongue and  hesitatingly said, Okay! But no shouting like that…okay?

He said, Don’t be a chicken. No one will hear you until you shout! Be rebellious! Let them hear you! 

I said, I have some urgent thing coming into my knowledge. I need to leave….

He said,  Hey! I read the Bible, the Mahabarata, the Quran, you name it…..?

Had I been in my teenage years, I am sure I will drill this guy straight into the earth of the planet where he come from! Lucky for him,  he looked very macho for me now, and I had to listen. In my mind, I said, Shit!Shit! Another Shit!

He called the young waitress, then looked at me, Just order and eat anything you want in this joint, the bill is on me. Then, he told the waitress, Serve me and my friend here all the good stuffs your restaurant can offer.

He smiled towards me, My name is Chakorlal.

The waitress was confused, she said, But…but…, I don’t understand?

Chakorlal said, Dear lady, do as you are told! Bring all your best stuffs. And he quickly slipped towards me, Tell me! Were you ever obedient, in your life?

I straightened my back, maybe I was more afaid of him, or something erupted in my brain about father-son-relation and then I said, Well! Well! I am kind of, obedient. I even sing the song 'Obedience Is The Very Best Way To Show That You Believe.ʼ

He said, You sing? You really sing? The tone was higher.

I said, Yes! I did sing!

He smiled and said, My friend, I don’t sing or rhyme or talk but I read and practice obedience.

I said, Tell me how you are such a sufficiently obedient fellow!

The subject happened to attract me.

More people stared at us. I saw more customers coming in.

He, all the more continued on me, undeterred, My life was governed by obedience. I was the Al-Insan-al-Kamil, the perfect man of God, and from the Bible I read,  Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord., my parents recited to me every now and then the story about the obedience of Rama. I obeyed my parents….I followed them to the core! My parents are omnists, and believes in all religion. My father struggle to be an ideal father, he trained my mother to be an ideal mother, and he let me introduce to all the religions in our locality---Hindu,  Christianity, Muslim, Jainism and more, just to make me an ideal son. The walls of our house are covered with hanging posters of different gods and gurus. All my life, I never lie or cheat or liked money because my father always said that cheating, lying and bribing and loving money are all evil and will make me an unsuccessful man.

I said with absorption, You are a rare fellow.

He pulled his right palm up, actioning me to keep quiet and listen.

All my school day was all about---reaching the school the earliest, trying hard to be the most favourite student, and studying religions and school subjects in the evening, night (upto 10 PM), morning from 4:30 to 7:30 and walk out of the house for school exactly at 9:00 AM.

He suddenly stopped, That boy, Mr. Chamanlal! If it is now I will crush his skull or I will buy him and then sell him to the Indian ocean's pirates.

Why? Why do you hate him so much? I asked.

He was the biggest in the class, everyone called him Mr. Heavyweight Malinka. Every time, he terrorized me. He would pull my ears or pull my pair of trousers down or sometimes hit me with his neck-tie. He terrifying let me do his homework and if he got scolding from teachers, he would grab my throat after class and cried, 'It's all because of you.ʼ

I asked, You didn't report to teachers or your father?

I did tell my father about this Mr. Heavyweight, but my father told me that I must not fight evil with evil but forgive him.

I asked, So you forgive him? What happened next?

His terrorizing continued, but I always forgive him and my neck and ears and face became harder and harder with his grab and punches. My father kept all the first-aid box at home and he would apply on my terrorized wounded face. And we prayed all the more to the hanging gods. 

I said Shit!Shit! Shit!

He then showed me his front teeth, See, this is my false teeth. The original one was plucked down by Mr. Heavyweight.

I just smiled, and said, So your family accepted all those happenings with forgiveness?

We accepted it, more than just forgiveness. And that was just one example of how obedient I was, to my parents.

I said, Tell me more?

You want to hear more? During my class X, the pressure from my father was stronger. He said that I was about to be a man struggling for survival all alone and he let me read more about religions. It had a setback for my preparation for my school examination and I failed the final class X exam.

I said, You have made yourself an underdog!

He said, You are right. I was the loser. I could at least made through that exam had I been a little untruthful, and disobedient.

How?

All my friends tell each others the answers. Even the invigilator was tolerant enough, he did not say anything. He wanted everyone to pass the first hurdle of life by any means. But I didn't want to use any unfair means. All the class except me passed the exam.

I said, Such a bullshit story.

He pulled out his palm again, actioning me to stop and listen as usual. In my mind, I thought he seemed to be a great supporter of Congress.

He continued,  I passed class X two years ago after six attempts, and presently in my class XII. The story is still the same. During any long school holidays, I would visit shrines, churches, mosques around the locality. I even went to Mecca twice as mahram. My father sent me to have a practical taste of Islam.

I asked, What is a Mahram?

People who escort old people who took to Mecca pilgrimage. He smiled, You don’t have any clue about any religion?

I said, I know only about my religion!

He said, Then you are a lucky fellow!

He said, You want to know what happen next?

Yes! Carry on! I have nothing else to do at home, I said.

He continued, Then something entirely different cropped up just last week. I did something unacceptable to my religious and obedient practices, and then it turned out beautifully.

What thing? I interrupted.

Last week, around 10:30, we hear shouting from the locality, burglar!burglar! My father looked at me and tell me not to go out. I ran out of the house towards the sound. That was the first time I disobeyed my father. I chased the burglar towards the direction where they said running. Soon I spotted him and chased him for two kilometers where I caught him. The burglar said, 'Friend, please release me. I steal only for my daughter's marriage,ʼ and offered me twenty  thousand rupees, from the chunk of his loot  as a bribe. I thought for five second and found it amusing to experiment on disobedience. I took the money and released the burglar.

And then he stood from the chair and cried out loud,  And now what have I become? I skipped a bit from the advices of my father and I happened to be a crorepati.

Everyone looked at us, surprised.

Thut! Thut! This rotten fellow sitting adjacent to me happened to be a crorepati? I don’t believe you! Pal! Not in this world or the next world!

He said, laughing, My dear unknowing chap! Life is destiny-governed! In all my life I never have Rs. 20,000 in liquid. And then I was so happy, so happy, even the universe will sing with me, and yesterday I gamble all of it on the state lottery on the number 13, because they said it is an unlucky number. And flip-flop, tonight, I am a crorepati!

He unzipped his bag, and showed me 1000 rupee notes stuffed in different orientations.

I said, I want to be like that! Tell me how,?

He said, I don’t have any clue on how this thing happened. I disobeyed my father on three occasions an I become a crorepati. Maybe you should be disobedient, or obedient or both.

I was paralysed by his uncommon story!

He stood up smiling at me, walked to the stall keeper, handed him a bankerʼs bundle of one thousand rupee notes (The store-keeper just collapsed with happiness), walked away, pushed the swinging door, and he looked back. All the people looked at him with the greatest of admiration, this time round.

He picked my face, smiled at me profoundly again and shouted, Life is just about destiny. Hear it my friend!

I was taken back to sense by the waitress speaking to me, Look at your table. I have been delivering all the best stuffs I can offer for the past one hour, and you two guys ended up not eat anything. What a waste!

I looked around the table in front of me, piled with different plates of Chinese cuisines, only to see the puzzling ways of how destiny had shaped us. That will continue on shaping us.

                                                ***

Three days back, I met Mr. Chakorlal, quite enlightening, but dull in his dress. I grabbed him on his arm and said, jovially, If a crorepati dressed this bad, I think I am not following the natural rule on how to survive on this earth. 

He recognized me, more than anyone could recognize me. He said, There is a twist in the story with that 100 lakhs.

I asked, How?

He said, That night, after I left the Chinese Corners, I went straight to my home with the bag of money and tell all how it came about, to my father, he smiled and praised all the gods. He took the bag from me and said ʻWe will build an omnist-hall, and the world will know what we believe,' and locked away the bag of money in the safe. 

I said, with a handshake, Mr. Chakorlal, you are a puzzling fellow...Do you realize that?

He replied, It is a puzzling world altogether!

The END

THE GOOD, THE BAD and THE UGLY

Stephan C. Hmar, 06.09.2014

I  heard good things about him, repetitively.

They said he is the good guy who don’t drink, smoke, or chew paan. He offers regular prayers, read the Scriptures every morning and evening and groomed his hairs nicely, and always ironed his clothes. And above all, they said, he doesn’t know how to spend money and he doesn’t need money.

My mind asked me, A person who doesn’t know how to spend money and who doesn’t need money? I want to be like him…..

It had been my lifelong desire to be able to have such a faith in such a divine providence as his, and be comfortably provided for, free of cost. I would have been able to save more money, would have looked more dandy and respectable. 

Naturally, I simply go with the flow and do not have a high regard of myself. But the hovering good thing about this guy suddenly made me feel my rank in the line of survival all the more lower. To add to that, they said, he is coming for an official visit to your place of posting and will stay with you for 6 days as a guest if you wish so.

I felt it could be rather  the  oddest  situation, to have such a perfect guest. However, in the long run, I felt it could be a positive turn of events, to rediscover myself, to learn at least a few good manners from the guy.

Before coming down to me, he gave me miss calls, mostly at 4 AM, every day for one month and fifteen day, to be specific. I always called him back to hear his angelic, ethical voice as I used to feel more safe. He would tell me all his prayers are for me, that I am a pre-planned man of god to provide a free shelter in the remotest part of the world, and that I am for his blessings and him, for my blessings. The air of conversations used to be as rich, as promising, as prosperous as discovering a gold mine. 

But before I realized it, I grew grumpy and foggy and loss weight which then forcefully let me see a doctor. He asked me, Do you sleep well?

I said, Well! Not exactly,doc! I have to wake up at 4 AM. Call of duty…you know?

Doctor said, Try to sleep well.

I accepted the setbacks as I feel I was positive that he was going to bring a positive change in me. I can sleep when I am dead, I said and carry on with the ʻmiss-call, call-backʼ business at 4 A.M. for one month and 15 days, until one day the doctor, out of no choice, prescribed me 60 chewable tablets of JIVA SLEEP WELL.

At last, the man I was most anxious to see have arrived. I got a call at 3.15 PM. He said, Iʼm at the Airport checking out. And I am like a blind man now, not knowing directions of which way to go.

I left my office files and hastened towards the airport. He was there standing by the Airport, exactly in a way I had calculated---well ironed pair of black trousers, shining shoes and silky hairs parted in the middle, but a small handbag.

I said, It is a privilege to see you.

He said politely, The privilege is mine. He continued, I do not expect you to be thin and frail like this. Looks like you are not keeping with the name I know, and he laughed.

I replied, with a white lie, There have been a setback, routine change in my line of duty and I guess it is affecting my physique. But I took it to my advantage. After all, you know, duty is God and duty calls.

He said, Nay!Nay! Remember the proverb, if health is lost, something is lost. You should keep your health torched up.

I looked at him and just smiled.

I said, You know, I cook myself and I feel we can head to market first and then home. You must be hungry.

He yelled, Well, thatʼs very fine. I am a great admirer of cook, especially great cook. And I bet you will be a great cook.

We went to the market, and I tried to offer complete generosity to my guest. I asked him, What curry would you like to have? The choice is yours.

He yelled again, Yehuuu! Thatʼs what I like. He looked around and spotted a bale of turtles and yelled again, Turtles? My favourite! Let's go for it.

I know something about turtles. Adult sea turtles tastes good, but are costly. I knew it would cost more than 800 rupees a kilo. My economy never allows me to buy things that costly. And that’s his favourite? But I took his choice in my stride, not as a setback. I purchased the turtle with all the money in my purse.

Along the journey back home, he narrated, with utmost absorption, his first turtle curry, then how to cook turtle, then how endangered turtles are, then the medicinal value of turtle and then he suddenly asked, do you have unsalted butter and fresh tomatoes?

I replied, No! Why?

He said, They are compulsory items for turtle curry.

I said, That means, without butter and tomatoes, we will not have a good turtle curry?

He said, Exactly.

I knew that my purse was empty. But somehow I need to get these two valuable ingredients. I told him to wait for me by the road and I approached one of my familiar shops, and after a long argument and clarification with the shopkeeper, I could procure the ingredients on credit. 

We, then walked up towards my place with loads of polythene. All along that 5 minutes walk, he asked me which way this and that road leads to, the name of localities, the name of the clans in majority. I was like an atom, bombarded by gamma-rays from every direction. When we reached home, the Masseter muscle holding my jaws were all strained, and I just stopped answering pressing at my jaws. 

It was the first turtle curry I had after I could reason, but it was not that good, at least in my opinion. I was in the kitchen cooking and my guest instructed me on the amount of oil, the heat intensity of the gas stove, the perfect time on when to add the ingredients and I felt, just ʻToo manyʼ is very less to spoil the ʻBroth,ʼ with this kind of  guest around.

As he was going to be with me for six days and as I wanted the time to be fruitful to rediscover myself, I took official leave for six days. But soon, I wonder whether it was actually a leave?

I got a knock at my door at every 4 AM. I prepared breakfast, and he would ask me to switch on the TV and put on his favourite channel, STAR MOVIES. After breakfast, he organized a prayer time, in which he thanked god for I was there and praised me for being such a caring host. And then we set out for his personal work. On the first day, he had to pay an auto fare of 50 rupees in all, as I did not have the proper change of coins. Maybe because of that, on the second day, before leaving the house, he took out his purse from his trousers, count the amount of money, put it safely in the drawer and said, Letʼs go!

I asked, You are not taking your wallet?

He replied, Let me rely on the richness of god.

Night time, after dinner, we would watch Movies, and if the film happened to be familiar to him, he would explain till the end. And if the film was unfamiliar, he would ask me again and again how it will end, complaining the wicked act of the villain, how he liked the hero to smudge him. And after I was dead tired with the ʻthousand voices,' he would organize a prayer session, praising god on how lucky he was and how good a host I was.

On the fourth night of his stay, at 10.30 PM, after he finished watching one movie said to me, You are so thin and frail. Tonight, we should ask god to give you a healthy body. He switched off the TV, dragged me and pressed me against the wall and started praying for my thin and frail body. He prayed loud, and lucky for him, unlucky for me, the spirit in him was forceful. I felt I was pressed at least two inches deep into the cement wall. He prayed, close to my nose, and the peculiar smell was awful. He pressed me harder, I was choking. At last, I said, I'm healed now! I'm healed now!, with the last of my strengths.

He released his hands, opened his eyes and asked, Really? Really?

I said, So very really! So very really!, exhaustively pulling myself towards the chair to lie down with my tiredness. He too was exhausted, he just sat flat on the chair. I wearily took out Rajdarbhar gutkha from my pocket, chewed a bit, and offered him saying, Will you have this?

He replied, Hey! Don’t eat those! They are bad for health. I said in my thought, your bad breath is making my health not only bad, but awful.

On the sixth day, the night before he leave we were watching the old movies, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. It is still my favourite film and I wanted to watch keenly. But he kept talking, asking who was the good, the role of the bad and why they called the ugly, ugly. I secretly slipped into my bed room, took out my cotton rolls and pushed into both of my ears. He kept talking, and I watched the movie in peace.

Soon after the movie got over, I secretly removed the cotton rolls, and with a polite acts asked, How was the film? That’s my all time favourite!

He did not answer. He was busy counting his money. I stared at him for one minute, waiting for replies.

Then he said, Your  place is not that expensive as I had speculated. I came here with 1000 rupees, and I still have 950 rupees. It must be a good place for saving.

I walked slowly towards the open window. The full moon hovered above the green trees. I see the praised and the spoilt and the pretty and the ugly people walking across the street. I wonder why the moon is still shining above us all impartially.

And then I looked at my guest's moneyed-grieving-face and then I asked myself where he really fits in that bygone movie, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly---if life were movies, just for argument's sake! Satisfyingly, just for argument's sake, I assured myself that he fits in all the three characters. And then me? I satisfyingly assured myself that I did not fit in any of the extremities of the characters, nor any extremities of the characters in between.

I asked my guest, you seems to have something I seems to really understand!

He was one chap who could know he was captured with meanings behind questions. He  frankly said, I have mouths to feed. I have mouths to feed. 

I said, looking at the floor, I think, every one of us is fighting for the one prospect---something--always and always, in our own terms and definition.

I never look at his face again, even during the drop back at the Airport.