Invoking Muses or one’s favourite deity before beginning creative writing is a worldwide tradition. Before making my debut as a satirist, I, too, invoked goddess Lakshmi*. My invocation bore fruits quickly. Without any computerized special effects and background music, immediately came a celestial being. Wait a minute, what was this? Here was an owl standing before me as if to bless me.
Surprised, I said to him, “Big brother, I had invoked mother Lakshmi. How is it that you are here alone? You should have brought mother too….”
He interrupted me, “Fool! One has to worship Gods and Goddesses for eons, only then does one get a boon. I came out of curiosity, to look at you– the foolish person who is worshipping mother Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and not Mother Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge before picking his pen?”
“Why? There is nothing surprising about my choice. I want fame as well as money. Now that is something only Mother Lakshmi can give. Sir, please bring Mother Lakshmi to me or take me to her.” I implored in dulcet tones dripping with butter and honey.
The owl objected, “This is just not possible. One cannot meet the Gods and Goddesses directly in this Age. One has to go through proper channels. For your information, at the moment I’m Mother Lakshmi’s private secretary.”
“When did you start acting as her private secretary instead of being her mode of transport?”
“Ever since God modernized the modes of transport of Gods and Goddesses, they all now have the facility of rocket travel.”
“Oh! Then you must have been rendered jobless.” I sympathized.
“As there was no work, we became redundant. There was retrenchment and gradually, we the vehicles, became jobless. Then we resorted to morchas, gheraos* and strikes. In the end God had to accede to our demands. As rockets had already been procured, we could not be given our old jobs back. Therefore, we were made private secretaries of our respective Gods and Goddesses.”
“Then surely you are the one who decides whom Goddess Lakshmi meets and when.”
“Of course!”
“Sir, if you permit me, I will ask one question.”
“You are welcome.”
“Sir, you are an owl – an owl – then, how is it that Mother Lakshmi agreed to appoint you as her private secretary.”
“Foolish human! No doubt you are impractical because you are a writer. Otherwise you wouldn’t have talked such rubbish. Of course I’m an owl but not a desi* one. The desi owl is the symbol of dumbness – is a dunce, a dud. I’m an imported owl. You are educated – you should know that the owl abroad is the symbol of intellect, status, wealth and foresight.”
By now I’d realized my crass stupidity and lack of worldly wisdom. I argued with myself, “How can I depend on Lakshmiji’s whims? Who knows when she may deign to give darshan? Why shouldn’t I further my interests by pleasing this owl? I’ll flatter him and get a boon from him first.”
I changed my tactics immediately. Trying to butter him up I said, “Sir, I declare you my Guru, my Teacher.”
He became expansive and encouraged me, “Okay, okay. Tell me what do you want?”
“I want to be a popular poet like Tulsidas,” I submitted humbly.
Magnanimously the owl said, “Daughter, your wish is granted though it’s a depressing time to be a writer. People have shorter attention spans – don’t blame the internet whipped by the browser. One more thing – you will have to regularly tweet as well. Don’t write deliberated sentences. People prefer abbreviated gibberish.”
“Does it mean that I can try to be another Tulsidas? Does it mean that I, too, will have to write seven sections of a book like Ramcharit Manas?” I said eagerly.
“Stupid woman, if you blindly copy saint Tulsidas and write seven sections like Balkaand, Sunderkaand etc., etc. – you’ll be a flop like some art film. No publisher will print your manuscript. It’ll grace your desk only. After some time white ants will oblige your manuscript and that’ll be its end.”
“Guruji, guruji – please guide me. Please give me some mantra for becoming a successful writer,” I requested.
The owl gave me this advice, “Keep in mind the contemporary public. Forget poetry. Following the popular genre, write small satires. Kaand means an incident – a scam, a scandal. Had Tulsidas been alive today he, too, would’ve written about Bofors scam, 2G scam, Coal allocation scam, Fodder scam, Food grain scam, Hawala scam, Common Wealth Games scam, Adarsh Society scam. India is a fertile land – crops of kaands will always flourish here.”
“Sir, your advice is my command. Before going away please give me one or two more blessings,” I said hopefully.
He immediately granted another blessing, “Whosoever will read your satirical essays, his journey through this world and the next world will be smooth. I’ll always be kindly inclined towards your readers. My boss, goddess Lakshmi, too will always remain happy with your readers.”
Saying so, with a flash of light, he disappeared.
My eyes remained dazzled for some time. When I felt normal I found I had gained the sight of an owl. Now I could see what the normal eyes cannot see. Now I could see how people clad in pure white, are doing the blackest deeds. Caste card is being used to garner votes. Whistle blowers are meeting ghastly ends. War widows are being cheated by politicians and bureaucrats. Land is being grabbed by those in power. Education has become an industry. Government sanctions meant for public upliftment is being siphoned to private coffers. Having disproportionate assets is the norm. We flaunt our rich heritage in the name of women empowerment. Yet, there are brutal gang rapes and no gender equality. It’s a vastly discussed topic with no real solution in sight. And many more.
Thus having gained the gift of the owl’s keen sight I started writing…
…And my pen has not rested ever since.
*
Morcha – Protest march
Gherao- Mobbing
Desi – Indian
Darshan – An opportunity to see a holy place or deity
Ramcharit Manas – An Indian epic by the sage Tulsidas
