A House for My Friend

A FRIEND OF MINE is building a mansion with many rooms. Who is he? Very modestly, he calls himself “a middle-class millionaire.” But, perhaps, that is a tad too humble. I suspect that he is actually a billionaire. And we are talking US dollars, not rupees. But even if he is not, I would certainly want him to be one. Many times over. Why? Because he is one of the most gifted—and generous—people I know. His talents are many. But to enumerate them would be to sprinkle this column with too many hints and clues. Which may lead inadvertently to divulging his identity and compromising his anonymity. Which I would never do. For unlike several celebrity philanthropists, he does not crave the limelight. In fact, he studiously and sedulously avoids it. He could not care less. Genuinely.

He operates on a different philosophy. He is not interested in causes. He is only interested in people. Not all kinds of people. But genuine seekers. He wants to help them succeed in their quests. That, he believes, will contribute to human flourishing much more than any conventional acts of charity, including support of pet causes.

Once, when I pitched an idea to him, he observed me very quietly and intently. I went on with an animated voice and gestures till I became aware of his silent and steady gaze. Mid-sentence almost, I stopped. My hands, raised in lively gesticulation, also froze. I brought them down as if in slow motion and returned his silence with mine. After pausing for a while, he looked across to the shimmering sea from his balcony. “I am interested in this because you are so passionate about it because it means so much to you.” Because, he added, “I am invested in you.”

What was he interested in, I wanted to know. Without asking, I was to find out later.

We were at a small, but highly acclaimed Michelin star restaurant. It only served a multi-course tasting menu. Without gimmicks or pyrotechnics. Each dish, many of them bite-sized, was carefully crafted. The principle, it seemed, was a combination of defamiliarisation and ingredient innovation. For instance, what was termed a gol gappa, even resembled one just enough to be mildly recognisable, was crafted with entirely different, even unexpected ingredients. The chef, who personally attended to us, “taught” us how to savour it—this time, by putting it entirely in the mouth at one go, as one might an ordinary pani puri. But the explosion of taste that ensued was unbelievable and unprecedented.

One is not even aware of taste buds and receptors at the back and top of the palate because of the manner in which one eats or chews, almost mechanically, every day. Nor do we really taste, fully and consciously, what we eat. Sadly, much of regular cooking masks, if not kills, the actual taste of the various foods that we consume.

Now, suddenly, I was confronted with sweet, sour, tangy, tart, hot, cold, spicy, astringent, and other sensations. What ensued was to be felt, savoured, and experienced, rather than described.

I remembered Babette’s Feast (1987), where a French gourmet chef offers just one meal, as a token of gratitude, to a small, abstemious, puritanical, Protestant community that has given her shelter and security while in exile. That meal, the movie shows us, takes the members closer to divinity than all their self-mortifying and joyless prayers and rituals.

This restaurant, too, seemed to have understood that essence of the Rasashastra or rasa aesthetics, about which I have written earlier in these columns: “vibhavanubhavavyabhicarisamyogad rasanispattih”(Natyasastra of Bharata: 6.31). Rasa, which I translate as ‘relish’, is produced (nispattih) through a combination (samyoga) of determinants (vibhava), consequents (anubhava) and transitory states (vyabhicari-bhava).”

The entire meal illustrated this—and more.

What the experience of rasa actually leads to is deeper cognition and higher consciousness. From taste, flavour, savour to withdrawal, detachment, contemplation and, eventually, satiety, peace, benediction. Finally, to wisdom. In thought, word, and deed.

I didn’t want to know what the damages were at the end of the meal. And we hadn’t even sampled the expensive spirits or non-alcoholic shots. I expected that one meal to cost half as much as my international air ticket itself! That is when my host satisfied my earlier curiosity. He told me about his current passion.

Knowing him to be a connoisseur and collector of artists, as well as art, apart from his many hobbies including literature, music, dance, movies, education, culture, and, of course, fine dining, I was wondering what it would be this time.

“I am building a house…,” he started slowly. “Hope it’s not like Orson Welles’ Xanadu in Citizen Kane,” I interjected. “Ah!” he exclaimed, with slight exasperation, “Yes, I want it to be…,” again he paused before completing his sentence, “different.” “Of course.” But what he said next took even me by surprise. “I want you to write a poem for my new house which I will imagine and incorporate into its design.” I gaped at him. “Take your time,” he rejoined with a satisfied smile, “no stress.”

His dare stayed with me. I knew that all the expected ideas must have been included in his plans already. Apart from the obvious bar, swimming pool, home theatre, interesting interiors, extraordinary furniture, curious windows or staircases… and other unique architectural touches. An amphitheatre in the garden for private performances? Arches. Waterfalls. Statues, art, antiques? What could I add or contribute to enhance his home or, more importantly, his happiness?

Then it struck me. His house, I thought, ought also to embody the value that marked him out from his peers. Friendship. I thought that in a world torn with strife, friendship was the one thing that we needed most. Not only between individuals but between nations, peoples, religions, communities, languages, tribes, genders, species.

Plato considered friendship higher than romantic love. Skipping centuries, for what is a few thousand years to us Sanatanis, I remembered the great ode to friendship composed, it would seem specially for the United Nations, by the Kanchi Paramacharya, the late great Chandrashekharendra Saraswati (1894-1994). Sung and rendered so brilliantly and movingly by MS Subbulakshmi inside the UN premises on its foundation day in 1966. I recalled its opening lines: “maitrim bhajata akhilahrjjetrim / atmavadeva paranapi pasyata (Venerate friendship, which wins all hearts / Look upon others as yourself).”

And how the whole hymn was recited in three languages, Sanskrit, Tamil, and English, each day at Yogi Ramsuratkumar’s private breakfast. The tradition still continuing with Ma Devaki after the Guru’s passing.

A line came to me suddenly: “The space for friendship is not limited by four walls.” It turned in my mind and tumbled on my tongue. I let it simmer for a couple of days. Till, from that single naked line, a poem, fully clothed and imbued with Maitri Rasa, emerged, a style deliberately, if slightly, archaic:

The space for friendship is not limited by four walls,
Or bound by the ticking of clocks in empty halls.
It whispers in the language of the unseen breeze,
And dances in the shadows of the trembling leaves.
No door can shut it out, no lock can keep it in,
It flows like water, or a melody on a mandolin.
With silence as its canvas, whispers in soft hues,
It stitches ties eternal, deep, and true.
In the heart’s quiet chamber, it does reside,
Beyond the reach of distance, or the turn of tides.
A tie that flourishes in sun, and survives the storm,
For in the essence of the soul, friendship is born.
Like the starlight that pierces the veil of night,
It needs not the day’s bright burning light.
To the souls intertwined, it whispers clear,
“Though apart, in spirit, we draw near.”
This ethereal thread, invisible, yet strong,
Guides us back, to where hearts belong.
For the space for friendship, vast and free,
Is not claimed by walls, but by you and me.

I am looking forward to the completion of my friend’s home. I want it to be not a grand palace, full of pomp and splendour, but, as I said earlier, a mansion of many rooms. With a special place reserved for friendship.

I do not know if he will heed my advice of creating a space in it specifically called ‘Friendship Room’ or ‘Maitri Kutiram’—the site of coffee, conversations, and conviviality.

But I know that his whole home, as indeed his heart, will radiate and resonate with the noble sentiment of comradeship.

About The Author

Makarand R Paranjape

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