“The whole point is that there has to be some point,” Jigneshbhai said, sipping into his coffee. “Otherwise, one will always think there is no point,” he added.
Swami and I were at the point of just biting into our muffin and did not quite get the point. We carried on, nevertheless.
But Jigneshbhai seemed on his own trip, which wasn’t unusual.
“Otherwise, there is no reason for a rational human being to undergo the kind of suffering this guy went through,” he said.
Swami and I looked up and wondered who he was talking about. It turned out that he was referring to the travails of a Nepali climber who had led an expedition to the treacherous K2 mountain. Apparently, it was the first successful summit climb to K2 in the winter. What with temperatures of -70F, it wasn’t a surprise that no one had done it before. Jigneshbhai passed us the details from a magazine, which Swami and I dutifully read.
“I find it difficult to even commute to my office every day,” Swami remarked on reading it. “I don’t understand why people do such things,” he added. While impressed with the achievement, it never occurred to Swami what was the logic of why someone would subject oneself to such suffering.
“What was it that some great mountaineer had said when asked why he wanted to climb the Everest?” Swami asked.
“Because it is there,” Jigneshbhai replied.
In the cold January, Swami and I got some comfort from the hot coffee sips. Swami pulled his hoodie over his head and said, “I wear this hoodie because it is there,” he remarked and broke into a loud guffaw. He returned to the mountain climb soon.
“But just because it is there, why go and climb it?” Swami persisted.
Jigneshbhai had a faint smile on his face. We knew something was cooking and waited for him to speak.
“Well, that’s the point. He climbs mountains because he thinks they should be climbed. We do other things because we think they should be done,” he said. “The difference is only in what we do. The suffering is not the problem.”
It led to some question mark expressions making their presence felt on both Swami and my growing foreheads.
“What things do we do because they should be done?” Swami asked first, as usual. “And why is suffering not the problem?” he insisted. His entire philosophy of choosing to do anything was based on minimization of suffering. It felt like Jigneshbhai had challenged it.
But our wise friend was eating his muffin in serenity.
“Hello? Didn’t you hear me?” Swami interrupted Jigneshbhai’s peace. “Why is suffering not a problem?” he persisted.
“Because you choose it yourself when you think something should be done,” Jigneshbhai replied after a few moments.
Swami and I looked at each other. I couldn’t find any such instance. Why would I choose suffering? I agreed with Swami.
“How?” Swami asked. He prided himself in avoiding suffering at all costs. Choosing it himself was an improbable scenario.
Jigneshbhai looked at us for a few seconds. Then he looked around to ensure no one was watching and picked up a toothpick from its stand on the table. After that, in a sudden, unexpected act of violence, he caught hold of Swami’s hand and poked him sharply with the pointed end of the toothpick.
Swami howled in pain. Jigneshbhai laughed aloud and withdrew the pricking toothpick.
“What’s wrong with you?” Swami yelped while others in the café stole a glance at us. “Hell, this hurt a lot,” he said, checking his hand if there was any blood. “Why the hell, but?”
Jigneshbhai had a smile on his face, which surprised both of us.
“This hurts, but you choose to go to a doctor and ask him to poke you and cut you when you are sick,” he explained.
Swami had a grimace on his face. He looked at me and wondered if our wise friend had lost it.
“What nonsense? That’s not the same as you poking me with this toothpick. Don’t speak like an idiot,” Swami argued.
As much as Swami was agitated, Jigneshbhai was calm.
“Well, the pain is the same. Maybe the hurt is even more when a doctor gives it,” Jigneshbhai said, making his case. I hoped he didn’t want to test it again with another poke.
Swami was irate with our friend and his rational logic.
“This is illogical. You give me a pointless poke and then compare it to a doctor’s knife? Don’t you understand that the doctor is treating me?” Swami shouted in a fit of anger.
“That’s the whole point,” Jigneshbhai replied with a smile. “You choose the doctor’s knife because there is a point in it. You don’t tolerate my poke because it is pointless,” he asserted and then silently turned his attention back to the muffin.
Swami looked at me and wondered if I had got what our wise dear friend had spoken. We pondered over what Jigneshbhai had said and realised that perhaps there was a point in it.
“That’s why I said suffering alone is not the problem. Pointless suffering is,” he continued. “And the climber found some point in climbing, and the suffering that came with it.”
Swami and I mused over it. We also glared at his red sore arm that our wise friend had poked to make his point. While we were lost in thought, I noticed that the wealthy old man had joined us from the adjoining table. Like always, he had heard our conversation. He walked towards Swami and me.
He left us convinced that Jigneshbhai was right when he said, “It is pointless suffering that is the problem. When there is some point in it, suffering is not a problem.”
***