She tried to keep herself as collected as she could, but I could see the gathering of tears in her eyes. That was the moment when I turned away, and left for the station. I didn’t look back when I turned the corner of the street. I knew that if I looked back, either she would burst out crying, and then I would never go to college; or, if she did not burst out crying she may even die, just stop breathing. I was so much to her. Her only existence was around me. My clothes, my toys, my room, my bed, my bed sheets, the whole day.
I used to say to her, “Nani, you are mad. Twenty-four hours a day you are engaged doing things just for me, who is never going to do anything for you in his life.”
She said, “You have already done it.”
I don’t know what to make of it. Now, there is no way to ask her, but the way she said, “You have already done it,” was so powerful, with so much energy, that whether you understood it or not, you were overwhelmed. Even today, remembering it, I am overwhelmed.
Later on I came to know that when I turned the corner of the street, the whole neighborhood wondered, “What kind of boy is this? He didn’t even look….”
And my Nani was very proud; she said to them, “Yes, he is my boy. I knew he would not look back, and not only on this street corner, he will never look back in his life. And I am also proud that he understood his poor Nani, knowing that if he had looked back I would have burst into tears, and he never wanted that. He knew perfectly well, better than I knew, that if I had burst into tears he would not have been able to go. Not because of me, but because of his love for me. He would have stayed his whole life just so that I would not have to weep and cry.”
Saying an abrupt goodbye to Masto is just like that. No, I cannot do it. I will have to come to a natural end with no full stop just arbitrarily chosen; because my life is such that if I go on talking about it, there will be neither beginning nor end. In my life there will be neither beginning nor end.
The Bible at least says, “In the beginning….” You will have to publish this within a beginning or an end. It will be very difficult to publish that way. But Devageet can understand, he is a Jew. A Jewish scroll can be almost without beginning and end. Of course there seems to be a beginning, but it is only seemingly so. That’s why all the ancient stories begin, “Once upon a time” – and then you can start anything. And once upon a time everything stops, without even saying, “The End.” My life cannot be an ordinary autobiography.
Vasant Joshi is writing a biography of me. The biography is bound to be very superficial, so superficial that it is not worth reading at all. No biography can penetrate to the depths, particularly the psychological layers of a man. Especially if the man has come to the point where the mind is no longer relevant to the nothingness hidden in the center of an onion. You can peel it layer by layer, of course with tears in your eyes, but finally nothing is left, and that is the center of the onion; that is from where it had come in the first place. No biography can penetrate to the depths, particularly of a man who has known the no-mind also. I say “also” consideredly, because unless you know the mind, you cannot know the no-mind. This is going to be my small contribution to the world.