And the day that Pagal Baba was no more, the first thing that came into my mind was, “What is that instrument? Now is the time….” I condemned myself, cursed myself, but what did it matter? The only thing that kept coming up for me again and again was, “What is Masto’s instrument?”
Curiosity is something very deep in man. It was not the serpent who persuaded Eve, it was curiosity that persuaded her, and also Adam, and so on and so forth…up until now. I think it is going to go on for ever persuading people. They pursue curiosity. It is a strange phenomenon. Of course it was not a big deal. I had heard Masto play other instruments; perhaps he may be even more efficient on this one, but so what? A man has died and you are thinking about the instrument that Masto will now have to play for you…it’s human.
It is good that people don’t have windows in the top of their heads, otherwise everybody could see what is going on. Then there would be real trouble, because what they pretend to be on their face is totally different; it is only a persona, a mask. What are they within? – a current of a thousand things.
If we had windows in our heads it would be very difficult to live. But I entertained the idea. It would help tremendously for people to become silent, so that anybody else could look into their head and see that there is nothing to see. The silent ones could smile looking at their neighbors and say, “Look on, boys, look on. Look on as much as you want.” But the head has no windows. It is completely sealed.
At Baba’s death I thought only of Masto’s instrument. Forgive me, but I have decided to tell the whole truth whatsoever it is. And mind you all, I am going to tell it howsoever long it takes – Devageet, Devaraj, and Ashu. It may take years for me to tell it and then I will tell you that you have to finish the book quickly, so don’t go on piling it up.
Don’t in any way depend upon tomorrows; just do it today. Only then will you be able to do it. Unknowingly you have fallen into a trap. And you think that I am caught in a mousetrap? Forget it, man. I have got all three of you, and now the trap will become tighter every day; there is no escape.
Yes, one woman – who will come somewhere in the story because she means much to me – she told me something similar. She is strange in a way; everything she gave me was a first: the first watch, the first typewriter, the first car, the first tape recorder, the first camera. I cannot believe how she managed it, but everything was the first. I will tell you about her later on. Remind me when the time comes.
She told me that the only thing heavy on her heart is that when her husband’s mother died she felt hungry.
I said, “What is wrong with feeling hungry?”
She said, “Do you think it is okay? My husband’s mother is dead, lying dead in front of me, and I just felt so hungry, and was thinking only of good food: paratha, bhajia, pulau, rasogulla – I have never told anybody,” she said to me, “because I thought nobody would forgive me.”