18. SHYNESS MY SHIELD
I was elected to the Executive
Committee of the Vegetarian Society, and made it a point to attend every
one of its meetings, but I always felt tongue-tied. Dr. Oldfield once said
to me, 'You talk to me quite all right, but why is it that you never open
your lips at a committee meeting? You are a drone.' I appreciated the banter.
The bees are ever busy, the drone is a thorough idler. And it was not a
little curious that whilst others expressed their opinions at these meetings,
I sat quite silent. Not that I never felt tempted to speak. But I was at
a loss to know how to express myself. All the rest of the members appeared
to me to be better informed than I. Then it often happened that just when
I had mustered up courage to speak, a fresh subject would be started. This
went on for a long time.
Meantime a serious question
came up for discussion. I thought it wrong to be absent, and felt it cowardice
to register a silent vote. The discussion arose somewhat in this wise.
The President of the Society was Mr. Hills, proprietor of the Thames Iron
Works. He was a puritan. It may be said that the existence of the Society
depended practically on his financial assistance. Many members of the Committee
were more or less his proteges. Dr. Allinson of vegetarian fame was also
a member of the Committee. He was an advocate of the then-new birth control
movement, and preached its methods among the working classes. Mr. Hills
regarded these methods as cutting at the root of morals. He thought that
the Vegetarian Society had for its object not only dietetic but also moral
reform, and that a man of Dr. Allinson's anti-puritanic views should not
be allowed to remain in the Society. A motion was therefore brought for
his removal. The question deeply interested me. I considered Dr. Allison's
views regarding artificial methods of birth control as dangerous, and I
believe that Mr. Hills was entitled, as a puritan, to oppose him. I had
a high regard for Mr. Hills and his generosity. But I thought it was quite
improper to exclude a man from a vegetarian society simply because he refused
to regard puritan morals as one of the objects of the society. Mr. Hills'
view regarding the exclusion of anti-puritans from the Society was personal
to himself, and it had nothing to do with the declared object of the Society,
which was simply the promotion of vegetarianism and not of any system of
morality. I therefore held that any vegetarian could be a member of the
Society, irrespective of his views on other morals.
There were in the Committee
others also who shared my view, but I felt myself personally called upon
to express my own. How to do it was the question. I had not the courage
to speak, and I therefore decided to set down my thoughts in writing. I
went to the meeting with the document in my pocket. So far as I recollect,
I did not find myself equal even to reading it, and the President had it
read by someone else. Dr. Allinson lost the day. Thus in the very first
battle of the kind, I found myself siding with the losing party. But I
had comfort in the thought that the cause was right. I have a faint recollection
that after this incident, I resigned from the Committee.
This shyness I retained throughout
my stay in England. Even when I paid a social call, the presence of half
a dozen or more people would strike me dumb.
I once went to Ventnor with
Sjt. Mazmudar. We stayed there with a vegetarian family. Mr. Howard, the
author of The Ethics of Diet, was also staying at the same watering-place.
We met him, and he invited us to speak at a meeting for the promotion of
vegetarianism. I had ascertained that it was not considered incorrect to
read one's speech. I knew that many did so to express themselves coherently
and briefly. To speak ex tempore would have been out of the question
for me. I had therefore written down my speech. I stood up to read it,
but could not. My vision became blurred and I trembled, though the speech
hardly covered a sheet of foolscap. Sjt. Mazmudar had to read it for me.
His own speech was of course excellent and was received with applause.
I was ashamed of myself and sad at heart for my incapacity.
My last effort to make a public
speech in England was on the eve of my departure for home. But this time
too I only succeeded in making myself ridiculous. I invited my vegetarian
friends to dinner in the Holborn Restaurant referred to in these chapters.
'A vegetarian dinner could be had,' I said to myself, 'in vegetarian restaurants
as a matter of course. But why should it not be possible in a non-vegetarain
restaurant too?' And I arranged with the manager of the Holborn Restaurant
to provide a strictly vegetarian meal. The vegetarians hailed the new experiment
with delight. All dinners are meant for enjoyment, but the West has developed
the thing into an art. They are celebrated with great eclat, music
and speeches. And the little dinner party that I gave was also not unaccompanied
by some such display. Speeches, therefore, there had to be. When my turn
for speaking came, I stood up to make a speech. I had with great care thought
out one which would consist of a very few sentences. But I could not proceed
beyond the first sentence. I had read of Addison that he began his maiden
speech in the House of Commons, repeating 'I conceive' three times, and
when he could proceed no further, a wag stood up and said, 'The gentleman
conceived thrice but brought forth nothing.' I had thought of making a
humorous speech taking this anecdote as the text. I therefore began with
it and stuck there. My memory entirely failed me and in attempting a humorous
speech I made myself ridiculous. 'I thank you, gentlemen, for having kindly
responded to my invitation,' I said abruptly, and sat down.
It was only in South Africa
that I got over this shyness, though I never completely overcame it. It
was impossible for me to speak impromptu. I hesitated whenever I
had to face strange audiences, and avoided making a speech whenever I could.
Even today I do not think I could or would even be inclined to keep a meeting
of friends engaged in idle talk.
I must say that, beyond occasionally
exposing me to laughter, my constitutional shyness has been no disadvantage
whatever. In fact I can see that, on the contrary, it has been all to my
advantage. My hesitancy in speech, which was once an annoyance, is now
a pleasure. Its greatest benefit has been that it has taught me the economy
of words. I have naturally formed the habit of restraining my thoughts.
And I can now give myself the certificate that a thoughtless word hardly
ever escapes my tongue or pen. I do not recollect ever having had to regret
anything in my speech or writing. I have thus been spared many a mishap
and waste of time. Experience has taught me that silence is part of the
spiritual discipline of a votary of truth. Proneness to exaggerate, to
suppress or modify the truth, wittingly or unwittingly, is a natural weakness
of man, and silence is necessary in order to surmount it. A man of few
words will rarely be thoughtless in his speech; he will measure every word.
We find so many people impatient to talk. There is no chairman of a meeting
who is not pestered with notes for permission to speak. And whenever the
permission is given, the speaker generally exceeds the time-limit, asks
for more time, and keeps on talking without permission. All this talking
can hardly be said to be of any benefit to the world. It is so much waste
of time. My shyness has been in reality my shield and buckler. It has allowed
me to grow. It has helped me in my discernment of truth.