Читать книгу Shakespeare on a Train - B. NAIR - Страница 1

Everyone has a story to tell. In fact, there are so many stories from real-life experiences suspended from your memory cells, ready to drop off like ripe cherries. Most of us look at these cherries as too small or trivial to pluck. We simply ignore them. These cherries decay and are forgotten. Like you, I too have a whole, fully grown cherry tree within me carrying so much fruit. Until recently, I did not even notice the existence of this tree within me. Now that I have discovered the tree, I could not resist spending a little time with this beautiful creation that has been growing within me with its strong trunk and branches, the lovely leaves and the heart-shaped fruits hanging from every branch. My cherry tree gives me both sweet and sour fruits.

I lived in several countries in Africa for several years working. I travelled extensively within Africa and outside for work and pleasure. For the most part, my family lived with me. My second son was born in Freetown, Sierra Leone. Our life was enjoyable and exciting. We received the proverbial African hospitality and friendliness where we lived. At the same time, the life in Africa, particularly in those days of coups, counter-coups and military rules, was not without its attendant risks. I was lucky that those risks visited me the least and only on very few occasions. While none of them affected me physically, a couple of them left indelible marks on my psyche just enough to remind me that life is not always a bed of roses. My travels, for the most part, had elements of surprise, fun, frustration and luck. The stories of occupying a wrong aircraft or reporting at a wrong airport might produce a slight smile on your lips. The ‘loss’ of my sons in Amsterdam and on the Alps might treat you with a mild shock. Whilst on the subject, these stories are not written to evoke sympathy. The objective is to provide the readers with some light moments as I myself have taken the darkest experiences in a lighter vein over time.

Away from Africa and Europe, I have described the horror which I experienced while hanging from a rope ladder from a ship on the high seas, and I want the reader to laugh at my helplessness with no reservation. I can assure you that my pre-schooling was exactly as I have written. There was an elephant named Neelakandan in my village and the older generation still remember the ordeal created by that Tusker. I was only four or five years old when the episode occurred. This story was handed down to me and other children by an uncle who sat up a tree and witnessed most of the drama. I hope you will enjoy the bitter-sweetness of my real-life stories.