Axes to Grind

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AX

".........There is no man so poor but what at intervals some man comes to him with an ax to grind. By and by the ax's aspect becomes familiar to the proprietor of the grindstone. He perceives that it is the same old ax. If you are a governor you know that the stranger wants an office. The first time he arrives you are deceived; he pours out such noble praises of you and yours and you are thankful that you have lived for this happiness. Then the stranger discloses his ax, and you are ashamed of yourself and your race. Six repetitions will cure you..........."

--------------- Mark Twain, a Biography

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The story goes like this: A growing kid is pedaling his dad's newly acquired grinding wheel. A passing woodcutter (WC) with an ax on his shoulder stops by and asks the kid what this new gadget is for. Kid boasts he can grind and polish steel blades, knives and stuff in a jiffy. WC gives a dubious look, shakes his head and turns to go away. Kid feels challenged, hails WC and offers to give a free demo on his rusted ax. After the demo, WC looks bewildered and appears chastened, and resumes his walk. Kid feels gratified, but the sly glint in WC's eyes haunts him and he is sure he has been taken for a ride.

That is one version of the birth of the idiom: The woodcutter had "an ax to grind".

From womb to tomb all of us have axes to grind in the sense that we have to seek favors from mother, father, wife, boss and perhaps neighbor too.

I once entered the Office of a newly recruited AR (Acad) at IIT KGP on some business. I saw that the youngster had this plaque on his table turned towards visitors:

"Come to a man of business,
State your business,
Do your business,
Leave the man of business
To his business"

An eminently sensible motto. If everyone could be as straightforward as the plaque, there would be no axes to grind. It is when one seeks a slightly undue favor, but doesn't want to admit it prompto, and goes beating about the bush wasting everyone's time that the idiom applies to a tee.

I have often to travel overnight in the Simhapuri Express to reach my mom's place next morning. I book my sleeper ticket well in advance. Seeing my Senior Citizen status (67) the Indian Railways Computer automatically allots me a Lower Berth (LB). My son comes to see me off. More often than not there are a couple of plump middle-aged ladies in the same cabin as me. My son whispers: "Dad, tomar promotion hoye jabey!" (We talk in Bengali when we wish to trade secrets in Hyderabad). I smile.

As soon as the train toots off, the charade starts. The ladies are overly concerned about my health, wealth, family life, business if any; and start offering me idlies with coconut chutney. I try to be as reticent and aloof as I can pretend, refusing every favor offered. By bedtime the cat comes out of the bag: can I please exchange my lower berth to their middle berth? I smile and say that I can even travel on the roof like Gandhi (in Attenborough) or King Khan (in Chayya Chayya) or even Sean Connery (in Great Train Robbery). The ladies are pleased but look foolish for running around so many thorny bushes for such a trivial favor.

In the 14 years of my bachelorhood at IIT KGP, I was forced to stay alone for half the time in unwanted palatial Qrs just because I was becoming too senior to stay in the Faculty Hostel (IIT was losing rent); while there were many married Research Scholars wanting to stay in Qrs with their families but were denied the facility because rules didn't permit.

So, there would be this perennial stranger visiting me in my Qrs on a lazy Sunday morning. He would introduce himself, say that he got my parichay from so and so who told him that I was not only the genius from our AP keeping its flag flying in Bengal but a very friendly and popular soul!!! I coolly absorb all kind words and compliments like a bloody sponge but keep silent. After singing our praises for half an hour, he would go forth about the need for linguistic, casteist, communal and all sorts of bonding; which sentiments I laud silently. Finally after an hour of sweet and soupy feast of reason and one-sided flow of soul, his cat would be out of the bag: Could I please make space for him, his wife, kids and mom-in-law on a strictly unofficial basis (there were Conduct Rules against sub-letting), stating that he is my 'convenient cousin'; but he would pay the full rent and take me as his PG (Paying Guest) for food for which I would no longer have to forage.

I would then feel extremely sorry and say without batting an eyelid that, much as I would have loved the company of him, his wife, kids and mom-in-law, unfortunately my own marriage is coming off next month, and my wife would be joining me the day after the wedding. He would be confused, betrayed and curse himself, his informers and me, and quit elsewhere to 'grind his blunted ax'. You know by now that while I never lie for personal gains, I have absolutely no compunction in mouthing white lies when my privacy (which I cherish next to my Life) is invaded.

I myself had one and only one possible ax to grind at KGP: I was in constant need of PF loans to discharge my filial responsibilities and my bachelor-needs of smoking (a well-known sex-substitute). As you can expect, the Rules and Regulations governing PF Loans were so framed that an honest soul could never get one except when he doesn't need it. So, I had to depend on the ingenuity of the Superintendent of the Accounts Section who happened to be a wizard at the game of pretending to follow the hallowed Rules without being caught.

It was my good luck that Gouri Babu (a sworn bachelor 15 years or so senior to me) took a liking to me the very first day when I frankly bared my soul and its outpourings without beating about several bushes. From then on Gouri Babu would welcome me whenever I approached his desk, make me seated pleasantly, order Tea, and ask his Assistant, Satya Roy, to fetch the form, fill it up himself except for my signature (stating acceptable bahanas as the situation demanded) and deliver the cash at my desk in my Office all in altruistic exchange for coaching Satyada's daughter for her B Sc (Hons) Physics exams (Kharagpur Town Inda College):

"Come to a man of business........"

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Like the true sport I expected him to be, the unseen and unknown Varun responded prompto to my request for a bawdier version of Saswat's limerick.

Here it is:

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"I know of a certain man from Nellore
Who, I am told, knew Physics galore;
But now he belabors on this, that and sundry.
(He must be senile, for he begged for ribaldry!)"

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He also asks:

"What do you think of that?"

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gps:

It is sufficiently irreverent.

I quote Mark Twain's insightful take on irreverence:

"Irreverence is the champion of liberty and its only sure defense"

......................................Mark Twain

But 'bawdy' it is not! (Webster defines 'bawdy' as: "boisterously or humorously indecent").

And 'senile' ribaldry?

Maybe the 's' in 'senile' could be replaced with 'p'.

Ho ho ho!!!!


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