It is true that I have a name, like all of us do. But does having a name make us special? No. People with names are as ordinary as those without names would be. In fact fancy names – like God’s Shadow, Royal Presence or Great Khan – only add to our ordinariness. They show how weak and hollow we are.
Like all of us, I too denied being ordinary for as long as I could. I did not admit to being the Ordinary Adam I talk about, even when I heard strange noises inside my head. I denied it also when my ears grew, the right one as big as that of an elephant. I refused to acknowledge it also when I had a tail. In fact, I thought my tail makes me special, not ordinary.
How wrong I was! But I did not realise it until I started losing myself, bit by bit, limb by limb.
The degeneration began in my mind. The first thoughts to disappear were those that I considered the most precious, those of humanity, kindness, friendship, love and care.
All men and women are the limbs of a single body, created from the same essence. When calamity hits one, others are hurt too. If you do not share this pain, you are not human.
These lines of the 13th century Persian poet Shaikh Saadi are written in the UN Hall of Nations in New York. When I first read those lines, I thanked God for being among those who care, who love and who share. The poem assured me that I was human.
That evening, while returning home, I gave a five-dollar bill to a beggar and volunteered for a community kitchen during the weekend. I felt good.
Then, I madly fell in love with a woman and wrote a poem, an entire poem, for her. I felt special.
I protested outside the UN building, and at other places, against the apartheid, war and hunger and for peace, prosperity and a pollution free universe. I knew I cared. I was happy.
But between now and then, I have done many things that belie my claims.
I share but only what I do not need. I never shared anything that I thought was absolutely necessary for me and my family.
I still love the woman I wrote the poem for, but I also lust after other women whenever I can.
I care but often I push others aside to board a bus or a train. I do not mind lying or making the other person look bad to get a raise or a promotion.
I hate cronyism but often use whatever influence I have to favour my friends and relatives.
I am not racist but I do not mind telling jokes about other races. I dislike religious discrimination but deep inside, I also have the prejudices that others do.
Still, I was convinced I was better than others, if not special.
Then I met a man who gave one of his kidneys to his sister and when it did not work, offered his other kidney too.
“But that will kill you,” I told him, “the doctor is right, you cannot donate both kidneys.”
“I know but my sister has kids and if something happens to her they will suffer,” he said. “Life is a hell for motherless children and I do not want my nieces and nephews to go through this ordeal.”
“And what about you?” I asked.
“I am not married yet. If I die my parents and siblings will be hurt but it will not destroy anybody’s life,” he said.
I also met a man who gave away the last 10 dollar bill he had to a homeless person.
I tried to argue that this person will probably use it for buying alcohol, while he may have to go without food for an entire day if he gave away his money but he did not listen.
Yet another man I met, washed decomposed bodies, of men who died of cold, hunger or drug overdose on roadsides, under bridges or in abandoned buildings. He volunteered for a charity and was not paid for this work.
Once I went with him but a strong stench forced me back to the vehicle that the charity had provided for collecting bodies. I threw up twice and then returned home.
After that I started having doubts about being special, but I was convinced that I was as good, or as bad, as others are. I was an Ordinary Adam.
I was happy being what I was. Perhaps I still am.
Meanwhile, something strange – or should I say interesting? – happened. I began to lose my limbs, slowly but surely. I never felt the loss. I still do not. Perhaps, this loss suits my selfish nature.
First to go was my right arm, then left. Soon, I lost both my legs too. Then my eyes, my tongue, my ears, all disappeared.
No, they were not chopped off or gorged out. They did not disintegrate either. They are still there but they have become independent of me.
I have arms and they move too but only for their own selfish reasons. I have legs but they only walk me to where they want me to go, such as picnics, parties and to my office. My eyes only see what they want to see and my tongue says what it thinks pleases others.
Am I trying to say that all Ordinary Adams are like me? Perhaps, I am but please do not believe me. I know, and you know too, that they are not as mean as I am.
I am perhaps not an Ordinary Adam. I am me, a deformed ego that feeds on its own life source, like a bacterium.
Let me share a secret with you, I am what I am because I have a hole in my brain. It is this hole that causes me to believe that I am special. But that is a different story.