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Where have all the FOOLS gone?
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People in the city are too grimly busy to waste time on tomfoolery.
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THE LAST time someone made an April Fool out of you was probably aeons ago. In school, maybe. A palpable aura of thrill and danger would surround the first day of the fourth month. We would be in a state of high alert, for anybody — brother, buddy, neighbour — could at any moment spring a nasty surprise. It was a day of constantly checking the backs of our pinafores for papers pinned or stuck to them, inscribed with "I am an April Fool" in block capitals. We would refuse to accept any folded piece of paper since it might contain the deadly message. Then there were the silliest of false alarms: teacher's coming, no class today, "see, there, snake-snake," any kind of attempt to catch someone off guard. Even adults would make prank calls, assuming a phoney voice to hoodwink close friends.
A fool, in their book, was someone who helped others, expecting nothing in return. The man they crowned Mahamoorkha (the biggest fool of them all) was a sculptor, "because he wastes time chipping away at bits of stone".
Not all sculptors today are "fools" — there are some quite savvy ones in the City. But I take issue with the cynical notion that one who does what he loves with no hope of a reward is a fool. It may be true that many benefactors come with the postscript "What's in it for me?" They do not give if they do not receive. They'll help widows and orphans as long as it helps them save on income tax. In fact, they don't even want to know what cause you espouse. Knock on their doors for a contribution and they'll ask you cryptically, "Do you have 80 G?" To translate: "I don't care whether you're collecting on behalf of leprosy patients or Olive Ridley turtles. What I want to know is, are you a registered organisation and do you hold out a promise of tax benefits for munificent patrons such as yours truly?"
Selfless charity, ungrudging charity that demands no quid pro quo of names on plaques or in print, is usually found in little acts of kindness. Like leaving large pots of water or diluted majjige (with steel tumblers hanging on chains) in public places in summer, or covering sleeping figures on pavements with blankets in winter. I encountered one such angel who had hovered over an accident victim at 1 a.m. He had spoken soothing words to the injured man, telephoned his parents, waited till they arrived (and took him to hospital), and waited some more, since relatives were on their way. When they came to the spot he explained what had happened, assured them that it was nothing serious, and pushed off, leaving only his first name and no address.
Call such people fools? If you do, you must be the bitterest misanthrope on the face of this earth. No, let us go by the meaning of fool that denotes a blockhead, tubelight, gullible goose. Let us exclude those who get cheated by scammers or tricked by advertisers. Let us not enter the I.Q. minefield, either. We'll stick with the nitwit. Come up and take a bow, for this is a day in your honour. You are the stuff of legend; one of you tried to count a chicken's teeth; another almost sawed off the branch he was sitting on. But you belong to an endangered species, if I'm not mistaken. There are fewer of you than there used to be.
Fewer of us, I should have said. We have all felt foolish some time or the other, we all believe we could win first prize in the "most embarrassing moment of my life" contest. But the fool as a category is grievously diminished. As Pete Seeger (almost) sang in the Sixties, "Where have all the phools gone?" People have become less credulous. An example from childhood that comes to mind is that of the deceptive package. I don't know how many of you have seen, as I have, grown men tear open the wrapping from a large cardboard box, only to find another layer and another box, and another, and another, until there emerges a miniscule box containing a worthless object. A different version featured no boxes, just layers of newspaper enclosing a stone or some such. It used to be a very successful practical joke, if I recall right. Today you can't get a three-year-old to fall for the gag.
We seem to have lost that sense of playfulness. Children, too, acknowledge All Fools Day only in a half-hearted way; there's too much else to occupy or distract them. People in the city are too grimly busy to waste time on tomfoolery. The practical joker invites their annoyance rather than their appreciation.
Go on. Fool someone today. I just hope it isn't me.
C.K. MEENA
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