I had started on a life of ease and comfort, but the
experiment was short-lived. Although I had
furnished the house with care, yet it failed to have
any hold on me. So no sooner had I launched forth on
that life, then I began to cut down expenses. The
washerman's bill was heavy, and as he was, besides,
by no means noted for his punctuality, even two or
three dozen shirts and collars proved insufficient for
me. Collars had to be changed daily, and shirts, if not
daily, at least every alternate day. This meant a
double expense, which appeared to me unnecessary.
So I equipped myself with a washing outfit to save it. I
bought a book on washing, studied the art and taughti
doubt added to my work, but its novelty made it a plea
I shall never forget the first collar that I washed
starch than necessary, the iron had not been made ho
burning the collar I had not pressed it sufficiently. Th
the collar was fairly stiff, the superfluous starch cor
went to court with the collar on, thus inviting the rid
but even in those days I could be impervious to ridicu
"Well," I said, "this is my first experiment of wa
Answers
Answer:
kabtak padhe yarrrrrrrrrr
Answer:
SIMPLE LIFE
Explanation:
I had started on a life of ease and comfort, but the experiment was short-lived. Although I had furnished the house with care, yet it failed to have any hold on me. So no sooner had I launched forth on that life, than I began to cut down expenses. The washerman's bill was heavy, and as he was besides by no means noted for his punctuality, even two to three dozen shirts and collars proved insufficient for me. Collars had to be changed daily, and shirts if not daily at least every alternate day. This meant a double expense, which appeared to me unnecessary. So I equipped myself with a washing outfit to save it. I bought a book on washing, studied the art, and taught it also to my wife. This no doubt added to my work, but its novelty made it a pleasure.
I shall never forget the first collar that I washed myself. I had used more starch than necessary, the iron had not been made hot enough, and for fear of burning the collar I had not pressed it sufficiently. The result was that though the collar was fairly stiff, the superfluous starch continually dropped off it. I went to court with the collar on, thus inviting the ridicule of brother barristers, but even in those days I could be impervious to ridicule.
'Well,' said I, 'this is my first experiment at washing my own collars, and hence the loose starch. But it does not trouble me, and then there is the advantage of providing you with so much fun.'
'But surely there is no lack of laundries here?' asked a friend.
'The laundry bill is very heavy,' said I. 'The charge for washing a collar is almost as much as its price, and even then there is the eternal dependence on the washerman. I prefer by far to wash my things myself.'
But I could not make my friends appreciate the beauty of self-help. In course of time I became an expert washerman so far as my own work went, and my washing was by no means inferior to laundry washing. My collars were no less stiff or shiny than others.
When Gokhale came to South Africa, he had with him a scarf which was a gift from Mahadeo Govind Ranade. He treasured the memento with the utmost care and used it only on special occasions. One such occasion was the banquet given in his honour by the Johannesburg Indians. The scarf was creased and needed ironing. It was not possible to send it to the laundry and get it back in time. I offered to try my art.
'I can trust your capacity as a lawyer, but not as a washerman,' said Gokhale. 'What if you should soil it? Do you know what it means to me?'
With this he narrated, with much joy, the story of the gift. I still insisted, guranteed good work, got his permission to iron it, and won his certificate [of approval]. After that I did not mind if the rest of the world refused me its certificate.
In the same way, as I freed myself from slavery to the washerman, I threw off dependence on the barber. All people who go to England learn there at least the art of shaving, but none, to my knowledge, learn to cut their own hair. I had to learn that too. I once went to an English hair-cutter in Pretoria. He contemptuously refused to cut my hair. I certainly felt hurt, but immediately purchased a pair of clippers and cut my hair before the mirror. I succeeded more or less in cutting the front hair, but I spoiled the back. The friends in the court shook with laughter.
'What's wrong with your hair, Gandhi? Rats have been at it?'
'No. The white barber would not condescend to touch my black hair,' said I, 'so I preferred to cut it myself, no matter how badly.'
The reply did not surprise the friends.
The barber was not at fault in having refused to cut my hair. There was every chance of his losing his custom, if he should serve black men. We do not allow our barbers to serve our untouchable brethren. I got the reward of this in South Africa, not once but many times, and the conviction that it was the punishment for our own sins saved me from becoming angry.
The extreme forms in which my passion for self-help and simplicity ultimately expressed itself will be described in their proper place. The seed had been long sown. It only needed watering to take root, to flower, and to fructify, and the watering came in due course.
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