Public affection is terrible! Absolutely, utterly terrible!!
They write in the inbox: Brother, please give us a career talk in our district.
But they never say: Brother, come visit our district.
Conversations always begin like this: Brother, which books should I read for BCS written exams?
They never think to ask: Brother, how are you?
They send friend requests saying—Brother, I need some advice from you, so I’d be happy if you’d accept my friend request.
I say, why do you need to be friends just for advice? I give that freely anyway.
The other day I posted a “bride wanted” type of advertisement (read: status). Even there, the comments were: Brother, how many hours should I study per day? When is your next career talk? Where?
R.K. Narayan has a wonderful story called Under The Banyan Tree. There, a man tells stories to the villagers, keeping them spellbound. He has no motive beyond pure joy in the telling. The village is utterly remote—when you go there, you feel it’s cut off not just from the city, but from the entire world. Their only urban comfort is surviving, eating and living from day to day. The villagers are few, and they have only one refuge for lifting their spirits—the stories of this storyteller.
The poor man’s name is Nambi. No one ever bothered to ask how Nambi was doing, whether he ate properly, whether he slept well. That he too might feel sad never occurred to anyone! That his body might be unwell, that telling stories might be difficult—none of this crossed their minds. Everyone only thought: Where are the stories? We want stories, stories! They came to him only for his tales, thinking of Nambi only at day’s end when they wanted to lift their spirits. Nothing else!
Yes, they did think of Nambi one day, felt it deeply—something was missing, something was missing! That was when Nambi could no longer tell stories. God had taken away all his power to create tales. All he could do then was stare blankly at everyone and ask for a little human love. Of course, no one sent him away empty-handed; they gave him something—not love, but pity.
One line from that story is among my most beloved: What is the use of the lamp when all the oil is gone?