In our neighborhood, Ratna Aunty was famous for her strict moral image. She lectured everyone about values and discipline as if handing out character certificates was her birthright. Every morning, she stood on her terrace, carefully observing the activities of the entire locality, and by afternoon she would have completed her “analysis.”
The amusing part? The very things she criticized in others were habits she practiced comfortably herself. If laughter from someone’s house grew a little too loud, she would remark, “People these days have no sense of decency.” Yet in the evening, the noise from her kitty party echoed across three lanes.
Once, she gave a long speech about how wasteful spending was a terrible habit. That very week, a new sofa, new curtains, and a brand-new mobile phone appeared in her living room. When asked about it, she casually replied, “Oh, those were necessities.”
The situation reached its peak when she publicly announced that she was embracing a completely spiritual life. She declared she would go on a pilgrimage and return to guide everyone toward simplicity and self-control. The neighbors exchanged knowing smiles but said nothing.
Even before her trip, old stories resurfaced—how she would escalate minor disagreements, pass along private conversations, and sometimes add a pinch of spice to make the gossip more interesting. Everyone was reminded of the saying about those who preach virtue after a lifetime of mischief.
After returning from her pilgrimage, Ratna Aunty became even more serious. Every sentence began with, “When I was at the holy place…” But one day, she slipped back into her old habit and turned a neighbor’s small comment into sensational news.
That’s when someone responded with a grin, “Aunty, did the pilgrimage reduce your habits, or are they still intact?”
There was a brief silence—and then laughter burst out. Even Ratna Aunty smiled. Perhaps she, too, realized that true change comes not from speeches, but from actions.
RAJEEV VERMA 