A Quest for Identity : The Last Act

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Rama Shankar grew up in a family where hardships defined his life. His parents had a hand to mouth existence. In an age when he would have been better off at school, he would often escort his mother to the next door aunty’s house where she was the maid.

For a good half an hour each day this would be his sneak – peek into the high life. The riches, the pomp and the myriad colours of a life that had nothing to complain about. It gave him his fair share of amusement. Rama would often compare his own small ghetto to the lavish home where his mother would cook, clean and serve.

He would often wonder why they did not have the riches to live life in style. He would quietly sneak into the TV room and watch Mem – sahab watch a TV soap or a film. Sometimes he would also model himself on the hero on the TV screen dancing and doing things with a perfect swagger.

He would drool over the sweet meats and the sumptuous delicacies that the master’s would cherish, while he and his family would go to bed with Roti, Salt, Dal and few slices of onions. He would nurse those wounds of poverty and go to bed only to get up hoping of a palatial surprise but in vain.

Rama joined school late. By the time he could say Jack Robinson his parents had thought of making their son worldly wise within limited means. While schooling happened, adjusting to this life was increasingly difficult. The troubles came but were taken with a pinch of salt. Failing to strike a balance, Rama Shankar took solace in performing arts and some odd jobs that could add some chips to the family kitty.

By the time he reached class 10, he had taken the call to dropout of school. He had by now taken up the job of a painter assisting seniors in the trade. But come Dussehra, he would be on a different Ramlila high that became an inextricable part of his life.

He would deck up as Ravana, Rama, Sita or Lakshmana and then revel in his childhood fascination to be a star on stage. For him the Ramayana and its story would be a means to vent creative passions. Young and full of energy he would own the stage, he would live up to public demand. He would become the guy who moved like Jagger for the local populace. His stardom would know no bounds. But this was shortlived.

He knew his craft but liquor did him in as he aged. After marriage he was father to a daughter. He would often sip liquor and force his daughter to go and buy beedis from the nearby Gumti. He would overpower his wife to make sumptuous delights to savour his gastronomic fascinations. Worse when he would be in his elements he would unleash his anger on his wife and daughter.

With no job in hand and failing health his only way to walk with his head held high was performing stunts by breaking tubelights on his body, chew them or use petrol to show firestunts. Like each year Dussehra came, it ignited the festive spark and took with it the precious life of Rama Shankar who set himself ablaze to show a fake act of bravado.

Even as locals in the initial phase clapped and cheered they failed to understand that this man got charred to death, all in a quest for identity.

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