Crazy

The children, after school, will often swarm around a crazy woman on the road to tease her mercilessly and say, “Oi Crazy, have a banana? Oi Crazy, why don’t you go to Dharmatala?” Until that woman will come running after them, threatening. The children will pretend to flee – as if they were a pack of wild dogs. Yet instead of fleeing, they will only change their formation to keep her encircled. Continuing with their cruel game, they will fling stones at her and laugh to their heart’s content. A prime example of human beings being one son of a bitch!

While coming back from the office, often I scold these children by saying, “Oi, why are you after her? Don’t bother her anymore – I am warning you.” After hearing this, the children will stop momentarily and look at me with such vehemence, as if I have snatched away their easy prey. That moment was the most crucial moment of my existence. I deem not the party cadres who surround me in front of my own house for a donation to be the most dangerous, or the midnight hijackers on a deserted highway. But these school children who swarm around a madwoman and tease her. I have no doubt they are the most dangerous. If they observe the slightest chink in my resolve, this ferocious swarm will encircle me too, and make me their new prey. They will pull my briefcase, pelt stones at me, and shout in unison, “Oi Crazy, have a banana? Oi Crazy, why don’t you go to Dharmatala?”

And, when their stones will hit me, and I will run after them in rage; they will pretend that they are making an escape. But in reality, it will only be a joke to them. Until I slowly turn crazy myself.

When that happens, will that crazy woman pick up a stone to defend me?

(This is my translation of a Bengali poem, titled ‘পাগলী’, by poet Ranajit Das)