Lao Tzu And The west-Delhi Punjaabi

Lao Tzu walked with his long-time friend each morning. He spoke sparingly, close to nothing. The friend follows suit.

One day the friend has a visitor. He brings him along for the stroll. Lao welcomes him and they set-off. As always, neither Lao nor the friend utter a word. The silence is unsettling.

The visitor, a west-Delhi Punjaabi, had only ever combined his morning yap-yap with a ghost of a walk. Nothing more, his triglyceride-laden heart would permit. This, to the tune of loud methane-emissions, embarrassing Pammi auntie.

Twenty minutes in, he’s ready to blow his lid off.

‘What a peaceful, sublime morning’. He looks at Lao. He looks at his host. The host looks at Lao. Not a word is spoken, not a step missed; as if nothing happened.

Fighting feelings of being snubbed, he resorts to mentally planning his day, rehearsing his negotiation strategy, his arguments and retorts. He’s due to meet local manufacturers of cheap electronics later.

The walk consummated, Lao quietly whispers into his friend’s ear. ‘Avoid him tomorrow. He’s but a gossip-monger.’ They bid good-byes.

*

That evening, the friend pays Lao Tzu an unscheduled visit.

Friend: I was quite troubled by your manner this morning. He only once complimented nature’s beauty. It hardly fits your description of him.

LT (after a pregnant pause): My dear Sir, I must talk about beauty. What is beauty?

Is it out there in what you see? In the mountains, the sunrise, the pines, the birds, in the grandeur of the Gompa?

Or is it in the eye of the beholder as they say? In the eye that is trained to appreciate proportion, depth, shadows. And dismiss that which has not all of the above.

Or is it in neither? What is beauty?

*

Beauty Sir, I submit to you, is when 'you' are not. Beauty is when the mind, which is thought, is knocked-out and hence time, being a creation of the mind, ceases to be. It may never be expressed but that’s an entirely trivial matter.

*

It is only when the mind snaps back, comparative studies are made, commentaries written and universities teach art-appreciation.

These are ancillary matters; matters of a restless mind seeking titillation, increasingly matters of commerce too; art consultants advise investment in high-art. But beauty is long gone by then.

Your guest’s words only revealed that he was untouched by the spirit of the morning, for the faintest glimpse of it nudges even a chattering mind into the timeless.

Deeply pensive, the friend walked back.

**