Gangaram

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I really had it up to here with being incarcerated. You know – the house being painted. I was holed up all day in my lair to stay out of the painters’ way. What with everything piled up almost to the ceiling, there’s hardly any room to move in there. I felt like a bear in a cave, assuming bears get claustrophobic. Maybe they don’t, or they’d never last out their winter hibernations. I’d make a lousy bear, or even one of those cave-dwelling hermits who sit crossed-legged on a leopard skin. (I can see how leopard skins would be the in thing among hermits, what with Shiva favouring them, but where on earth or in heaven do all these hermits get them anyway?)

Well, the painters left only at nine, and I lost no time getting out of the house, with some idea of whooping it up, or getting some fresh air, at any rate. Once outside I simply followed the noise, which brought me to a Navratri fun fair. Giant wheel, merry-go-rounds and other things that whirl people round till they’re green in the face, a “motorcycle circus” (daring stunts, don’t miss once in a lifetime chance to see), try-your-aim-and-win-any-item stalls, food stalls…the usual kind of stuff you have at such fairs, with large film star posters impartially gracing shooting galleries, food stalls and lucky dip stands alike. I wandered around aimlessly for a while till my ears got accustomed a little to the knock-out decibel levels; it’s the auditory equivalent of walking from the dark straight into a powerful searchlight.

And then, dear D, I found a special item. “Doankey show, don’t miss! Watch Gangaram the genius doankey. Hurry, get your tickets, starting in five minutes” screamed one of the competing loudspeakers. I hurried for my ticket, wondering idly whether the announcer had said genius or jennyass. About jack or jenny it’s not too hard to tell with donkeys, and I thought if it turned out to be a jackass, then that would automatically make it a genius, while if it was a jenny the question of genius vs. jennyass would remain unresolved. Inside the tent the spectators stood around a roped-off circle waiting for the genius (or jennyass) doankey to make his (or her) appearance. The noble animal must also have been financially savvy, because it came trotting in only 15 minutes later, when the tickets were pretty much sold out. Or maybe it’s just that every artist likes to play to a full house. Gangaram was wearing a silver-grey blanket with his(?) name embroidered on it in large letters. The blanket precluded any direct confirmation, but I suppose if he had been a she, they would have just called her Ganga. “Now you will watch Gangaram the Genius Doankey use his powers to recover a stolen watch”, the MC of the donkey show announced without preliminaries. While the MC covered Gangaram’s eyes with his (the MC’s, not Gangaram’s) hands so that he (Gangaram, not the MC) couldn’t sneak a peek, an assistant borrowed a watch from someone in the audience and secretively slipped it to a girl on the opposite side of the ring. “Go, Gangaram”, said the MC. “Go find the thief. Catch this person who stole the poor man’s watch.” Gangaram was off, trotting slowly around the circle. “Now remember you’re an honest donkey, not a cop,” admonished the MC. “No bribes. Find the thief and let the public know.” At this point the MC paused in his chatter, and Gangaram headed unerringly for the young girl with the watch.
And so it went. Gangaram unfailingly got his man or woman or child every time. After the watch thief he identified by turns a woman wearing matching sari and blouse; a girl with the number 25 on her T-shirt (Gangaram can read English numerals); a student with a bright future (a bespectacled nerdy-looking boy); someone with a hearty appetite (an amply built young woman who got into a near panic when Gangaram tried to nuzzle her across the separating rope); a kamchor (the shirker being a bashful-looking young working-class man); a woman who had loyally served her spouse (a very plain-looking elderly woman who glanced rather anxiously, I thought, at her husband when the donkey stopped by her); a kanjus who never willingly parted with a single rupee (and I must admit the man did look a thorough skinflint); and finally a bearded man who, dear D, happened to be yours truly.

Well dear D, so that long day yesterday had a good ending, even though my hearing must have taken a real beating. Jai Sri Gangaram!