Disappointment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  We must have it out with the Commanding Officer, otherwise we shall not be able to go on any longer. The Indian students and others who have joined our Corps are not going to abide by any absurd orders. In a cause which has been taken up for the sake of self-respect, it is unthinkable to put up with loss of it.’ I approached the Commanding Officer and drew his attention to the complaints I had received. He wrote asking me to set out the complaints in writing, at the same time asking me ‘to impress upon those who complain that the proper direction in which to make complaints is to me through their section commanders, now appointed, who will inform me through the instructors.’ To this I replied saying that I claimed no authority, that in the military sense I was no more than any other private, but that I had believed that as Chairman of the Volunteer Corps, I should be allowed unofficially to act as their representative. I also set out the grievances and requests that had been brought to my notice, namely, that grievous dissatisfaction had been caused by the appointment of section leaders without reference to the feeling of the members of the Corps; that they be recalled, and the Corps be invited to elect section leaders, subject to the Commander’s approval. This did not appeal to the Commanding Officer, who said it was repugnant to all military discipline that the section leaders should be elected by the Corps, and that the recall of appointments already made would be subversive of all discipline. So we held a meeting and decided upon withdrawal. I brought home tothe members the serious consequences of Satyagraha. But a very large majority voted for the resolution, which was to the effect that, unless the appointments of Corporals already made were recalled and the members of the Corps given an opportunity of electing their own Corporals, the members would be obliged to abstain from further drilling and week-end camping. I then addressed a letter to the Commanding Officer telling him what a severe disappointment his letter rejecting my suggestion had been. I assured him that I was most anxious to serve. I also drew his attention to a precedent. I pointed out that, although I occupied no official rank in the South African Indian Ambulance Corps at the time of the Boer War, there was never a hitch between Colonel Gallwey and the Corps, and the Colonel never took a step without reference to me with a view to ascertain the wishes of the Corps. I also enclosed a copy of the resolution we had passed the previous evening. This had no good effect on the Officer, who felt that the meeting and the resolution were a grave breach of discipline. Hereupon I addressed a letter to the Secretary of State for India, acquainting him with all the facts and enclosing a copy of the resolution.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  The Viceroy seemed to be listening spell- bound, his eyes riveted on Shastriji as the latter poured forth the hot stream of his eloquence. For the moment it seemed to me as if the Viceroy could not but be deeply moved by it, it was so true and so full of feeling. But you can wake a man only if he is really asleep; no effort that you may make will produce any effect upon him if he is merely pretending sleep. That was precisely the Government\’s position. It was anxious only to go through the farce of legal formality. Its decision had already been made. Shastriji’s solemn warning was, therefore, entirely lost upon the Government. In these circumstances mine could only be a cry in the wilderness. I earnestly pleaded with the Viceroy. I addressed him private letters as also public letters, in the course of which I clearly told him that the Government’s action left me no other course except to resort to Sayagraha. But it was all in vain. The Bill had not yet been gazetted as an Act. I was in a very weak condition, but when I received an invitation from Madras I decided to take the risk of the long journey. I could not at that time sufficiently raise my voice at meetings. The incapacity to address meetings standing still abides. My entire frame would shake, and heavy throbbing would start on an attempt to speak standing for any length of time. I have ever felt at home in the south. Thanks to my South African work I felt I had some sort of special right over the Tamils and Telugus and the good people of the south have never belied my belief. The invitation had come over the signature of the late Sjt. Kasturi Ranga Iyengar. But the man behind the invitation, as I subsequently learnt on my way to Madras, was Rajagopalachari. This might be said to be my first acquaintance with him; at any rate this was the first time that we came to know each other personally. Rajaagopalachari had then only recently left Salem to settle down for legal practice in Madras at the pressing invitation of friends like the late Sjt. Kasturi Ranga Iyengar, and that with a view to taking a more active part in public life. It was with him that we had put up in Madras. This discovery I made only after we had stayed with him for a couple of days. For, since the bungalow that we were staying in belonged to Sjt. Kasturi Ranga Iyengar. I was under the impression that we were his guests. Mahadev Desai, however, corrected me. He very soon formed a close acquaintance with Rajagopalachari, who, from his innate shyness, kept himself constantly in the background. But Mahadev put me on my guard. ‘you should cultivate this man’ he said to me one day. And so I did.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  CHAPTER IV Connie always had a foreboding of the hopelessness of her affair with Mick, as people called him. Yet other men seemed to mean nothing to her. She was attached to Clifford. He wanted a good deal of her life and she gave it to him. But she wanted a good deal from the life of a man, and this Clifford did not give her; could not. There were occasional spasms of Michaelis. But, as she knew by foreboding, that would come to an end, Mick _couldn't_ keep anything up. It was part of his very being that he must break off any connection, and be loose, isolated, absolutely lone dog again. It was his major necessity, even though he always said: She turned me down! The world is supposed to be full of possibilities, but they narrow down to pretty few in most personal experience. There's lots of good fish in the sea ... maybe ... but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you're not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea. Clifford was making strides into fame, and even money. People came to see him. Connie nearly always had somebody at Wragby. But if they weren't mackerel they were herring, with an occasional cat-fish, or conger-eel. There were a few regular men, constants; men who had been at Cambridge with Clifford. There was Tommy Dukes, who had remained in the army, and was a Brigadier-General. "The army leaves me time to think, and saves me from having to face the battle of life," he said. There was Charles May, an Irishman, who wrote scientifically about stars. There was Hammond, another writer. All were about the same age as Clifford; the young intellectuals of the day. They all believed in the life of the mind. What you did apart from that was your private affair, and didn't much matter. No one thinks of enquiring of another person at what hour he retires to the privy. It isn't interesting to anyone but the person concerned. And so with most of the matters of ordinary life ... how you make your money, or whether you love your wife, or if you have "affairs." All these matters concern only the person concerned, and, like going to the privy, have no interest for anyone else. "The whole point about the sexual problem," said Hammond, who was a tall thin fellow with a wife and two children, but much more closely connected with a typewriter, "is that there is no point to it. Strictly there is no problem. We don't want to follow a man into the W. C., so why should we want to follow him into bed with a woman? And therein lies the problem. If we took no more notice of the one thing than the other, there'd be no problem. It's all utterly senseless and pointless; a matter of misplaced curiosity."

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  He had made a careful study of the question, and he often invited me to his office and gave me guidance. Sjt. G. Subrahmaniam of The Hindu and Dr. Subrahmaniam also were very sympathetic. But Sjt. G. Parameshvaran Pillay placed the columns of The Madras Standard entirely at my disposal, and I freely availed myself of the offer. The meeting in Pachaiappa’s Hall, so far as I can recollect, was with Dr. Subrahmaniam in the chair. The affection showered on me by most of the friends I met and their enthusiasm for the cause were so great that, in spite of my having to communicate with them in English, I felt myself entirely at home. What barrier is there that love cannot break? 56RETURN SOONFrom Madras I proceeded to Calcutta where I found myself hemmed by difficulties. I knew no one there, so I took a room in the Great Eastern Hotel. Here I became acquainted with Mr. Ellerthorpe, a representative of The Daily Telegraph. He invited me to the Bengal Club, where he was staying. He did not then realize that an Indian could not be taken to the drawing-room of the club. Having discovered the restriction, he took me to his room. He expressed his sorrow regarding this prejudice of the local Englishmen and apologized to me for not having been able to take me to the drawing-room. I had of course to see Surendranath Banerji, the ‘Idol of Bengal’. When I met him, he was surrounded by a number of friends. He said: ‘I am afraid people will not take interest in your work. As you know, our difficulties here are by no means few. But you must try as best you can. You will have to enlist the sympathy of Maharajas. Mind, you meet the representatives of the British Indian Association. You should meet Raja Sir Pyarimohan Mukarji and Maharaja Tagore. Both are liberal- minded and take a fair share in public work.’ I met these gentlemen, but without success. Both gave me a cold reception in Calcutta, and if anything could be done, it would practically all depend on Surendranath Banerji. I saw that my task was becoming more and more difficult. I called at the office of the Amrita Bazar Patrika. The gentleman whom I met there took me to be a wandering jew. The Bangabasi went even one better. The editor kept me waiting for an hour. He had evidently many interviewers, but he would not so much as look at me, even when he had disposed of the rest. On my venturing to broach my subject after the long wait, he said: ‘Don’t you see our hands are full? There is no end to the number of visitors like you. You had better go. I am not disposed to listen to you.’ For a moment I felt offended, but I quickly understood the editor’s position. I had heard of the fame of The Bangabasi.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  There had been no welcome home for the young squire, no festivities, no deputation, not even a single flower. Only a dank ride in a motorcar up a dark, damp drive, burrowing through gloomy trees, out to the slope of the park where grey damp sheep were feeding, to the knoll where the house spread its dark brown façade, and the housekeeper and her husband were hovering, like unsure tenants on the face of the earth, ready to stammer a welcome. There was no communication between Wragby Hall and Tevershall village, none. No caps were touched, no curtseys bobbed. The colliers merely stared; the tradesmen lifted their caps to Connie as to an acquaintance, and nodded awkwardly to Clifford; that was all. Gulf impassable, and a quiet sort of resentment on either side. At first Connie suffered from the steady drizzle of resentment that came from the village. Then she hardened herself to it, and it became a sort of tonic, something to live up to. It was not that she and Clifford were unpopular, they merely belonged to another species altogether from the colliers. Gulf impassable, breach indescribable, such as is perhaps non-existent south of the Trent. But in the Midlands and the industrial North gulf impassable, across which no communication could take place. You stick to your side, I'll stick to mine! A strange denial of the common pulse of humanity. Yet the village sympathised with Clifford and Connie in the abstract. In the flesh it was--You leave me alone!--on either side. The rector was a nice man of about sixty, full of his duty, and reduced, personally, almost to a nonentity by the silent--You leave me alone!--of the village. The miners' wives were nearly all Methodists. The miners were nothing. But even so much official uniform as the clergyman wore was enough to obscure entirely the fact that he was a man like any other man. No, he was Mester Ashby, a sort of automatic preaching and praying concern. This stubborn, instinctive--We think ourselves as good as you, if you _are_ Lady Chatterley!--puzzled and baffled Connie at first extremely. The curious, suspicious, false amiability with which the miners' wives met her overtures; the curiously offensive tinge of--Oh dear me! I _am_ somebody now, with Lady Chatterley talking to me! But she needn't think I'm not as good as her for all that!--which she always heard twanging in the women's half-fawning voices, was impossible. There was no getting past it. It was hopelessly and offensively nonconformist.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  The fact, however, was that the new department wanted some apology for work, and the men wanted money. If there had been no work , the department would have been unnecessary and would have been discontinued. So they found this work for themselves. The Indians had to apply to this department. A reply would be vouchsafed many days after. And as there were large numbers wishing to return to the Transvaal, there grew up an army of intermediaries or touts, who with the officers, looted the poor Indians to the tune of thousands. I was told that no permit could be had without influence, pounds in spite of the influence which one might bring to bear. Thus seemed to be no way open to me. I went to my old friend, the Police Superintendent of Durban, and said to him: ‘Please introduce me to the Permit Officer and help me to obtain a permit. You know that I have been a resident of the Transvaal.’ He immediately put on his hat, came out and secured me a permit. There was hardly an hour left before my train was to start. I had kept my luggage ready. I thanked Superintendent Alexander and started for Pretoria. I now had a fair idea of the difficulties ahead. On reaching Pretoria I drafted the memorial. In Durban I do not recollect the Indians having been asked to submit in advance the names of their representatives, but here there was the new department and it asked to do so. The Pretoria Indians had already come to know that the officers wanted to exclude me. But another chapter is necessary for this painful though amusing incident. 81AUTOCRATS FROM ASIAThe officers at the head of the new department were at a loss to know how I had entered the Transvaal. They inquired of the Indians who used to go to them, but these could say nothing definite. The officers only ventured a guess that I might have succeeded in entering without a permit on the strength of my old connections. If that was the case, I was liable to be arrested! It is a general practice, on the termination of a big war, to invest the Government of the day with special powers. This was the case in South Africa. The Government had passed a Peace Preservation Ordinance, which provided that anyone entering the Transvaal without a permit should be liable to arrest and imprisonment. The question of arresting me under this provision was mooted, but no one could summon up courage enough to ask me to produce my permit. The officers had of course sent telegrams to Durban, and when they found that I had entered with a permit, they were disappointed. But they were not the men to be defeated by such disappointment. Though I had succeeded in entering the Transvaal, they could still successfully prevent me from waiting on Mr. Chamberlain.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  But the excitement all too quickly died, and then Cinderella was left with less pleasant sensations. The attentions that her husband bestowed upon her had seemed flattering in the beginning, but in retrospect they appeared to have very little to do with her. His desires and appetites were shocking in their frequency and strength, which ran hot until satisfied, only to dissolve too quickly into nothingness. She at once admired and resented his determination to have fulfillment of those desires. Her initial instinct and aspiration to satisfy her husband had eventually come to feel more like a task. And no sooner was the task complete than he would remove himself from her, both physically and emotionally. In the end she was left feeling isolated and even sometimes a little misused. Yet if these duties were not petitioned at all, she felt even worse, inadequate. Besides these problems that existed when Cinderella and the prince were together, there arose equally disconcerting ones when they were apart. Cinderella, in her tedium, could not help but wonder where her husband went and what he did when he was away from her. Left out and alone, with only the crippling glass slippers for companions, she felt quite forsaken. She began to envy the prince and the things he did, and even the people he did them with. It was all so disappointing. And Cinderella was as disappointed in herself as in everything else, for hadn’t she done everything in her power to win this position as the prince’s wife? Why had she and all those other young women been so actively competing for a man they hardly knew? Worst of all was the feeling of helplessness. Cinderella was completely bewildered about what she could do to improve her situation. She still cared for the prince, she supposed, but he was not making her happy. One day it all became too much for Cinderella to bear, and in a fit of anxiety she threw open the doors of the castle and rushed outside. The sun was shining encouragement and the birds were singing a carefree tune that made everything seem possible, so, taking heart, Cinderella began to run. But her discomfort quickly overcame all else and forced her to stop her running and sit down on a nearby log. She began to weep miserably. Suddenly there came all around Cinderella a soft, tinkling sound accompanied by little, sparkling lights. She looked up with a sense of recollection and, lo and behold, there before her was the fairy godmother of her childhood. “What ails you so, Cinderella?” asked the kind lady. “Oh, Fairy Godmother!” exclaimed she. “I am not living happily ever after!”

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Using the very last grain of self-control that he possessed, he slowed his thrusts and once again busied himself with pleasing her. He could not believe, after all that, he had almost forgotten her and gotten himself off without satisfying her. Happy wife indeed! Cat gathered his wits and held back, concentrating on giving Mouse what she needed. Soon she was again reaching the true object of her struggles. This time he brought her through to the very end, and then with a loud yell he poured himself into her with absolute relief. They clung to each other afterward, both trembling from the experience. After a while Cat lifted himself up from her embrace to examine her face. As Mouse regained her composure, a small blush crept over her features. But she struggled to maintain an indifferent demeanor as she boldly met Cat’s eyes and said, very nonchalantly, “I must say you caught me off guard that time….What do you say to a rematch?” CinderellaOnce upon a time there came to be a fairy-tale princess who wasn’t living happily ever after. She was called Cinderella, and it happened that a number of years after marrying the prince she began to wonder if she hadn’t been happier before her meddling fairy godmother sent her to that ill-fated ball. For one thing, the once-beloved glass slippers had of late become dreadfully uncomfortable. Cinderella’s feet had suffered from the rigid confines of the glass, and she could scarcely endure the pain it caused her to venture from one room to the next, let alone to go outside the castle. Any desire to roam or explore was quickly squelched by the horror of the piercing pain she would have to endure to get there. The prince had also become a source of displeasure to Cinderella, who felt as confined in her husband’s castle as her poor feet felt in the glass slippers. Oh, at first it had been terribly exciting to think that he had chosen her from among all the women of his kingdom to be his wife! When he whisked her away to become his wife, she felt that she really must love him, if for no other reason than that.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  So he gave a cold shoulder to the Indian deputation. ‘You know,’ he said ‘that the Imperial Government has little control over self-governing Colonies. Your grievances seem to be genuine. I shall do what I can, if you wish to live in their midst.’ The reply cast a chill over the members of the deputation. I was also disappointed. It was an eye- opener for us all, and I saw that we should start with our work de novo. I explained the situation to my colleagues. As a matter of fact there was nothing wrong about Mr. Chamberlain’s reply. It was well that he did not mince matters. He had brought home to us in a rather gentle way the rule of might being right or the law of the sword. But sword we had none. We scarcely had the nerve and the muscle even to receive sword-cuts. Mr. Chamberlain had given only a short time to the sub- continent. If Shrinagar to Cape Comorin is 1,900 miles, Durban to Capetown is not less than 1,100 miles, and Mr. Chamberlain had to cover the long distance at hurricane speed. From Natal he hastened to the Transvaal. I had to prepare the case for the Indians there as well and submit it to him. But how was I get to Pretoria? Our people there were not in a position to procure the necessary legal facilities for my getting to them in time. The War had reduced the Transvaal to a howling wilderness. There were neither provisions nor clothing available. Empty or closed shops were there, waiting to be replenished or opened, but that was a matter of time. Even refugees could not be allowed to return until the shops were ready with provisions. Every Transvaller had therefore to obtain a permit. The European had no difficulty in getting one, but the Indian found it very hard. During the War many officers and soldiers had come to South Africa from India and Ceylon, and it was considered to be the duty of the British authorities to provide for such of them as decided to settle there. They had in any event to appoint new officers, and these experienced men came in quite handy. The quick ingenuity of some of them created a new department. It showed their resourcefulness. There was a special department for the Negroes. Why then should there not be one for the Asiatics? The argument seemed to be quite plausible. When I reached the Transvaal, this new department had already been opened and was gradually spreading its tentacles. The officers who issued permits to the returning refugees might issue them to all, but how could they do so in respect of the Asiatics without the intervention of the new department? And if the permits were to be issued on the recommendation of the new department, some of the responsibility and burden of the permit officers could thus be lessened. This was how they had argued.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  Connie felt there was truth in this. But she also felt that Mick was hardly making a display of selflessness. "Aren't all men wrapped up in themselves?" she asked. "Oh, more or less, I allow. A man's got to be, to get through. But that's not the point. The point is, what sort of a time can a man give a woman? Can he give her a damn good time, or can't he? If he can't he's no right to the woman...." He paused and gazed at her with his full, hazel eyes, almost hypnotic. "Now I consider," he added, "I can give a woman the darndest good time she can ask for. I think I can guarantee myself." "And what sort of a good time?" asked Connie, gazing on him still with a sort of amazement, that looked like thrill; and underneath feeling nothing at all. "Every sort of a good time, damn it, every sort! Dress, jewels up to a point, any night-club you like, know anybody you want to know, live the pace ... travel and be somebody wherever you go.... Darn it, every sort of good time." He spoke it almost in a brilliancy of triumph, and Connie looked at him as if dazzled, and really feeling nothing at all. Hardly even the surface of her mind was tickled at the glowing prospects he offered her. Hardly even her most outside self responded, that at any other time would have been thrilled. She just got no feeling from it all, she couldn't "go off." She just sat and stared and looked dazzled, and felt nothing, only somewhere she smelt the extraordinarily unpleasant smell of the bitch-goddess. Mick sat on tenterhooks, leaning forward in his chair, glaring at her almost hysterically: and whether he was more anxious out of vanity for her to say Yes! or whether he was more panic-stricken for fear she _should_ say Yes!--who can tell? "I should have to think about it," she said. "I couldn't say now. It may seem to you Clifford doesn't count, but he does. When you think how disabled he is...." "Oh damn it all! if a fellow's going to trade on his disabilities, I might begin to say how lonely I am, and always have been, and all the rest of the my-eye-Betty-Martin sob-stuff! Damn it all, if a fellow's got nothing but disabilities to recommend him...." He turned aside, working his hands furiously in his trousers pockets. That evening he said to her: "You're coming round to my room tonight, aren't you? I don't darned know where your room is." "All right!" she said.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  This speech was one of the crucial blows of Connie's life. It killed something in her. She had not been so very keen on Michaelis; till he started it, she did not want him. It was as if she never positively wanted him. But once he had started her, it seemed only natural for her to come to her own crisis with him. Almost she had loved him for it ... almost that night she loved him, and wanted to marry him. Perhaps instinctively he knew it, and that was why he had to bring down the whole show with a smash; the house of cards. Her whole sexual feeling for him, or for any man, collapsed that night. Her life fell apart from his as completely as if he had never existed. And she went through the days drearily. There was nothing now but this empty treadmill of what Clifford called the integrated life, the long living together of two people, who are in the habit of being in the same house with one another. Nothingness! To accept the great nothingness of life seemed to be the one end of living. All the many busy and important little things that make up the grand sum-total of nothingness! CHAPTER VI "Why don't men and women really like one another nowadays?" Connie asked Tommy Dukes, who was more or less her oracle. "Oh, but they do! I don't think since the human species was invented, there has ever been a time when men and women have liked one another as much as they do today. Genuine liking! Take myself ... I really _like_ women better than men; they are braver, one can be more frank with them." Connie pondered this. "Ah, yes, but you never have anything to do with them!" she said. "I? What am I doing but talking perfectly sincerely to a woman at this moment?" "Yes, talking...." "And what more could I do if you were a man, than talk perfectly sincerely to you?" "Nothing perhaps. But a woman...." "A woman wants you to like her and talk to her, and at the same time love her and desire her; and it seems to me the two things are mutually exclusive." "But they shouldn't be!" "No doubt water ought not to be so wet as it is; it overdoes it in wetness. But there it is! I like women and talk to them, and therefore I don't love them and desire them. The two things don't happen at the same time in me." "I think they ought to." "All right. The fact that things ought to be something else than what they are, is not my department." Connie considered this. "It isn't true," she said. "Men can love women and talk to them. I don't see how they can love them _without_ talking, and being friendly and intimate. How can they?"

• From The Decameron (1353)

  On the morrow, having meanwhile revolved in himself many and divers devices, he betook himself, after eating, as of his wont, to his daughter's chamber and sending for the lady, who as yet knew nothing of these things, shut himself up with her and proceeded, with tears in his eyes, to bespeak her thus: 'Ghismonda, meseemed I knew thy virtue and thine honesty, nor might it ever have occurred to my mind, though it were told me, had I not seen it with mine own eyes, that thou wouldst, even so much as in thought, have abandoned thyself to any man, except he were thy husband; wherefore in this scant remnant of life that my eld reserveth unto me, I shall still abide sorrowful, remembering me of this. Would God, an thou must needs stoop to such wantonness, thou hadst taken a man sortable to thy quality! But, amongst so many who frequent my court, thou hast chosen Guiscardo, a youth of the meanest condition, reared in our court, well nigh of charity, from a little child up to this day; wherefore thou hast put me in sore travail of mind, for that I know not what course to take with thee. With Guiscardo, whom I caused take yesternight, as he issued forth of the tunnel and have in ward, I am already resolved how to deal; but with thee God knoweth I know not what to do. On one side love draweth me, which I still borne thee more than father ever bore daughter, and on the other most just despite, conceived for thine exceeding folly; the one would have me pardon thee, the other would have me, against my nature, deal harshly by thee. But ere I come to a decision, I would fain hear what thou hast to say to this.' So saying, he bowed his head and wept sore as would a beaten child.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The next morning, the queen once again plucked one of the roses from its vine as she left the little cottage, and she began her journey home with a light heart. But old habits die hard and, no sooner had the latch clicked in the door upon the prince’s departure, than the queen raced up to her bedchamber to learn what she would from the mirror. And a single glance in that glass caused the poor queen such anguish and disappointment that she collapsed on her bed in a heap, sobbing. After she recovered from this outburst the queen faced the mirror once more, with the following words: “Mirror, mirror, know I will— Is my lover faithless still? Did not the hairs upon the comb, Prove Snow White is in her tomb?” The mirror delayed not in responding: “Snow White lives on, with beauty rare. Her life could buy you years to spare. You must weave her death of ilk Into corset strings of silk!” The queen was delighted with this new opportunity and immediately set to work, so that by the time the prince arrived at her doorstep later that afternoon she had the corset, with its deadly laces, ready and wrapped for her victim. But on this occasion the queen did not confide her true intentions to the prince. Instead, she convinced him that she had repented of her former behavior toward Snow White and wished him to deliver this present as way of an apology. The prince, completely unable to see any evil in his beloved queen, immediately took himself off to the woods to do as she bade him, after abstracting from her the promise to spend yet another evening in his cottage. Snow White received the gift with great joy, and the prince, not suspecting any treachery from the queen, did not linger there but set forth immediately to make his return. As for Snow White, she could not resist the beautiful corset and nearly ripped her old clothes to shreds in her eagerness to try the elegant frippery on. But no sooner had the corset touched her skin, than the stays, of their own accord, began to tighten, forcing a gasp from Snow White’s lips and continuing until she was unable to take a single breath. She fell to the floor in a swoon and remained there, quite lifeless, until later that day, when she was discovered and placed in a beautiful glass coffin. But the remainder of Snow White’s tale will have to wait until another time, for the prince is about to return to his queen, and I am certain that you would like to know what became of that poor lady.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I saw later that all this was pure folly on my part. I had planned reform in the education of children, My brother had children, and my own child which I had left at home when I went to England was now a boy of nearly four. It was my desire to teach these little ones physical exercise and make them hardy, and also to give them the benefit of my personal guidance. In this I had my brother’s support and I succeeded in my efforts more or less. I very much liked the company of children, and the habit of playing and joking with them has stayed with me till today. I have ever since thought that I should make a good teacher of children. The necessity for food ‘reform’ was obvious. Tea and coffee had already found their place in the house. My brother had thought it fit to keep some sort of English atmosphere ready for me on my return, and to that end, crockery and such other things, which used to be kept in the house only for special occasions, were now in general use. My ‘reforms’ put the finishing touch. I introduced oatmeal porridge, and cocoa was to replace tea and coffee. But in truth it became an addition to tea and coffee. Boots and shoes were already there. I completed the Europeanization by adding the European dress. Expenses thus went up. New things were added every day. We had succeeded in tying a white elephant at our door. But how was the wherewithal to be found? To start practice in Rajkot would have meant sure ridicule. I had hardly the knowledge of a qualified vakil and yet I expected to be paid ten times his fee! No client would be fool enough to engage me. And even if such a one was to be found, should I add arrogance and fraud to my ignorance, and increase the burden of debt I owed to the world? Friends advised me to go to Bombay for some time in order to gain experience of the High Court, to study Indian law and to try get what briefs I could. I took up the suggestion and went. In Bombay I started a household with a cook as incompetent as myself. He was a Brahman. I did not treat him as a servant but as a member of the household. He would pour water over himself but never wash. His dhoti was dirty, as also his sacred thread, and he was completely innocent of the scriptures. But how was I to get a better cook? ‘Well, Ravishankar,’ (for that was his name), I would ask him, ‘you may not know cooking, but surely you must know your sandhya (daily worship), etc. ‘#Sandhya#, sir! the plough is our sandhya and the spade our daily ritual. That is the type of Brahman I am. I must live on your mercy.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  I can think of only one remedy for this awful state of things that educated men should make a point of travelling third class and reforming the habits of the people, as also of never letting the railway authorities rest in peace, sending in complaints wherever necessary, never resorting to bribes or any unlawful means for obtaining their own comforts, and never putting up with infringements of rules on the part of anyone concerned. This, I am sure, would bring about considerable improvement. My serious illness in 1918-19 has unfortunately compelled me practically to give up third class travelling, and it has been a matter of constant pain and shame to me, especially because the disability came at a time when the agitation for the removal of the hardships of third class passengers was making fair headway. The hardship of poor railway and steamship passengers, accentuated by their bad habits, the undue facilities allowed by Government to foreign trade, and such other things, make an important group of subjects, worthy to be taken up by one or two enterprising and persevering workers who could devote their full time to it. But I shall leave the third class passengers at that, and come to my experience in Benares. I arrived there in the morning. I had decided to put up with a panda. Numerous Brahmans surrounded me, as soon as I got out of the train, and I selected one who struck me to be comparatively cleaner and better than the rest. It proved to be a good choice. There was a cow in the courtyard of his house and an upper storey where I was given a lodging. I did not want to have any food without ablution in the Ganges in the proper orthodox manner. The panda made preparations for it. I had told him beforehand that on no account could I give him more than a rupee and four annas as dakshina, and that he should therefore keep this in mind while making the preparations. The panda readily assented. ‘Be the pilgrim rich or poor,’ said he, ‘the service is the same in every case. But the amount of dakshina we receive depends upon the will and the ability of the pilgrim.’ I did not find that the panda at all abridged the usual formalities in my case. The puja was over at twelve o’clock, and I went to the Kashi Vishvanath temple for darshan. I was deeply pained by what I saw there. When practising as a barrister in Bombay in 1891. I had occasion to attend a lecture in ‘pilgrimage to Kashi’ in the Prarthana Samaj hall. I was therefore prepared for some measure of disappointment. But the actual disappointment was greater than I had bargained for. The approach was through a narrow and slippery lane. Quiet there was none. The swarming flies and the noise made by the shopkeepers and pilgrims were perfectly in-sufferable.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  Up to now my experience here has shown me that for those with a weak digestion and for those who are confined to bed there is no light and nourishing diet equal to that of milk. I should be greatly obliged if anyone with experience in this line, who happens to read this chapter, would tell me, if he has known from experience, and not from reading, of a vegetable substitute for milk, which is equally nourishing and digestible. 88A TUSSLE WITH POWERTo turn now to the Asiatic Department. Johannesburg was the stronghold of the Asiatic officers. I had been observing that, far from protecting the Indians, Chinese and others, these officers were grinding them down. Every day I had complaints like this: ‘The rightful ones are not admitted, whilst those who have no right are smuggled in on payment of 100. If you will not remedy this state of things, who will?’ I shared the feeling. If I did not succeed in stamping out this evil, I should be living in the Transvaal in vain. So I began to collect evidence, and as soon as I had gathered a fair Amount, I approached the Police Commissioner. He appeared to be a just man. Far from giving me the cold shoulder, he listened to me patiently and asked me to show him all the evidence in my possession. He examined the witnesses himself and was satisfied, but he knew as well as I that it was difficult in South Africa to get a white jury to convict a white offender against coloured men. ‘But,’ said he, ‘let us try at any rate. It is not proper either, to let such criminals go scot-free for fear of the jury acquitting them, I must get them arrested. I assure you I shall leave no stone unturned.’ I did not need the assurance. I suspected quite a number of officers, but as I had no unchallengeable evidence against them all, warrants of arrest were issued against the two about whose guilt I had not the slightest doubt. My movements could never be kept secret. Many knew that I was going to the Police Commissioner practically daily. The two officers against whom warrants had been issued had spies more or less efficient. They used to patrol my office and report my movements to the officers. I must admit, however, that these officers were so bad that they could not have had many spies. Had the Indians and the Chinese not helped me, they would never have been arrested. One of these absconded. The Police Commissioner obtained an extradition warrant against him and got him arrested and brought to the Transvaal. They were tried, and although there was strong evidence against them, and in spite of the fact that the jury had evidence of one of them having absconded, both were declared to be not guilty and acquitted. I was sorely disappointed. The Police Commissioner also was very sorry.

• From The Story of My Experiments with Truth (An Autobiography) (1927)

  My brother also felt much worried. We both came to the conclusion that it was no use spending more time in Bombay. I should settle in Rajkot where my brother, himself a petty pleader, could give me some work in the shape of drafting applications and memorials. And then as there was already a household at Rajkot, the breaking up of the one at Bombay meant a considerable saving. I liked the suggestion. My little establishment was thus closed after a stay of six months in Bombay. I used to attend High Court daily whilst in Bombay, but I cannot say that I learnt anything there. I had not sufficient knowledge to learn much. Often I could not follow the case and dozed off. There were others also who kept me company in this, and thus lightened my load of shame. After a time, I even lost the sense of shame, as I learnt to think that it was fashionable to doze in the High Court. If the present generation has also its briefless barristers like me in Bombay, I would commend them a little practical precept about living. Although I lived in Girgaum I hardly ever toa carriage or a tramcar. I had made it a rule to walk to the High Court. It took me quite forty- five minutes, and of course I invariably returned home on foot. I had inured myself to the heat of the sun. This walk to and from the Court saved a fair amount of money, and when many of my friends in Bombay used to fall ill, I do not remember having once had an illness. Even when I began to earn money, I kept up the practice of walking to and from the office, and I am still reaping the benefits of that practice. 31THE FIRST SHOCKDisappointed, I left Bombay and went to Rajkot where I set up my own office. Here I got along moderately well. Drafting applications and memorials brought me in, on an average, Rs 300 a month. For this work I had to thank influence rather than my own ability, for my brother’s partner had a settled practice. All applications etc. which were, really or to his mind of an important character, he sent to big barristers. To my lot fell the applications to be drafted on behalf of his poor clients. I must confess that here I had to compromise the principle of giving no commission, which in Bombay I had so scrupulously observed. I was told that conditions in the two cases were different; that whilst in Bombay commissions had to be paid to touts, here they had to be paid to vakils who briefed you; and that here as in Bombay all barristers, without exception, paid a percentage of their fees as commission. The argument of my brother was, for me, unanswerable. ‘You see,’ said he, ‘that I am in partnership with another vakil.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  “Hey Maxine!” somebody yelled. “Get your ass over here and DANCE with me!” Her eyebrows, which had begun to frame a question, shot back to home base. “’Scuse me,” she said, and shouldered by. I sighed wistfully, shreds of fantasy trailing uselessly around me. Tomorrow morning, as I salted my scrambled eggs, it would come to me in a sudden burst of inspiration—what I should have said to hook her attention. Alas and damn. Thinking I was maybe a little drunk after all, I wandered away from the music and noise. There was an open window in the back of the room. I climbed up on a table to get to it and perched on the sill. This was the second story of a warehouse, so I had a good view of the stars and the freeway. I didn’t open my beer, just rolled the cold can on my forehead and cheeks. When the metal got warm, I set it beside me, and ran my fingers through my hair. The slight breeze was ice-cold on my damp scalp. It set my teeth on edge and made me shiver with delight. Up to now, the evening had been a success. With enough rock ’n’ roll and beer under my belt, the universe had begun to make sense; I had no grievances against myself; all the women around me were funny or sexy or at least basically good at heart. Now, I felt an ache in my bones from too much boogeying, and along with it came an edge of creeping misogyny. There went a woman who looked like a monkey—and that one looked too far gone for Maybelline or methadone to fix what was wrong with her. My high, fine feeling was beginning to melt away. The party was going through an ebb cycle, too. A big, dark woman left her buddies with a parting insult that had them roaring with laughter. She dug her patient, wallflower lover out from under a table where she had fallen asleep, gently shook her awake, and propelled her toward the stairs. The dancing partners in silver lamé jackets and David Bowie haircuts who had been the Disco Queens of the evening finally collapsed in each other’s arms and tottered on their glitter-encrusted platform shoes to the EXIT sign. The nice lady who had sold me my beer grabbed her purse and split, a six-pack under each arm. I popped the top of my beer and took a gulp, trying to recapture my euphoria. My epiglottis had begun to bob when I remembered that my car was in the shop—sideswiped yesterday morning in the parking lot. The buses had stopped running hours ago. Shit, I would have to call a cab. The thought of hunting a pay phone in this neighborhood, at this hour, was bitterly depressing. The beer tasted like shampoo. I turned and spat my mouthful out the window, and poured the rest of the can after it.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  The party was going through an ebb cycle, too. A big, dark woman left her buddies with a parting insult that had them roaring with laughter. She dug her patient, wallflower lover out from under a table where she had fallen asleep, gently shook her awake, and propelled her toward the stairs. The dancing partners in silver lamé jackets and David Bowie haircuts who had been the Disco Queens of the evening finally collapsed in each other’s arms and tottered on their glitter-encrusted platform shoes to the EXIT sign. The nice lady who had sold me my beer grabbed her purse and split, a six-pack under each arm. I popped the top of my beer and took a gulp, trying to recapture my euphoria. My epiglottis had begun to bob when I remembered that my car was in the shop—sideswiped yesterday morning in the parking lot. The buses had stopped running hours ago. Shit, I would have to call a cab. The thought of hunting a pay phone in this neighborhood, at this hour, was bitterly depressing. The beer tasted like shampoo. I turned and spat my mouthful out the window, and poured the rest of the can after it. I should have struck up an acquaintance with that baby butch who harassed me about my walk. In fact, there were half a dozen women I suddenly realized I could have and should have taken home with me. I was just too damn picky. One was too scrawny, one was a phony, one was not The One, and then there was none. I sorted madly through the available bodies. Not one of the runner-ups was left. I would have to start from scratch—and I couldn’t see anybody who stirred even a faint interest in me. “Come clean,” I told myself sternly. (I am always forcing myself to confess to one sin or another—when I can’t find someone else to make me.) “You have cut off your nose rather than iron a handkerchief. You have made your own bed and short-sheeted it. You have counted the bush in your hand before the bird was hatched. In fact, my dear, you didn’t really want any of the ladies who made themselves agreeable to you. You had your sights set on Jessie, and when she walked out with her latest cheap thrill, you just weren’t going to settle for second best. Well, you sat on the merry-go-round with a poker up your ass. Now you can twirl on it.” I reminded myself that masturbation is the foundation of female sexuality, a mode of gratification that is every bit as valid as getting it on with a partner. I tried to work up a little enthusiasm for the new forty-dollar vibrator a friend had bought for me in Japan.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  "It would almost be a good thing if you had a child by another man," he said. "If we brought it up at Wragby, it would belong to us and to the place. I don't believe very intensely in fatherhood. If we had the child to rear, it would be our own, and it would carry on. Don't you think it's worth considering?" Connie looked up at him at last. The child, her child, was just an "it" to him. It ... it ... it! "But what about the other man?" she asked. "Does it matter very much? Do these things really affect us very deeply?... You had that lover in Germany ... what is it now? Nothing almost. It seems to me that it isn't these little acts and little connections we make in our lives that matter so very much. They pass away, and where are they? Where.... Where are the snows of yesteryear?... It's what endures through one's life that matters; my own life matters to me, in its long continuance and development. But what do the occasional connections matter? And the occasional sexual connections specially! If people don't exaggerate them ridiculously, they pass like the mating of birds. And so they should. What does it matter? It's the life-long companionship that matters. It's the living together from day to day, not the sleeping together once or twice. You and I are married, no matter what happens to us. We have the habit of each other. And habit, to my thinking, is more vital than any occasional excitement. The long, slow, enduring thing ... that's what we live by ... not the occasional spasm of any sort. Little by little, living together, two people fall into a sort of unison, they vibrate so intricately to one another. That's the real secret of marriage, not sex; at least not the simple function of sex. You and I are interwoven in a marriage. If we stick to that we ought to be able to arrange this sex thing, as we arrange going to the dentist; since fate has given us a checkmate physically there." Connie sat and listened in a sort of wonder, and a sort of fear. She did not know if he was right or not. There was Michaelis, whom she loved; so she said to herself. But her love was somehow only an excursion from her marriage with Clifford; the long, slow habit of intimacy, formed through years of suffering and patience. Perhaps the human soul needs excursions, and must not be denied them. But the point of an excursion is that you come home again. "And wouldn't you mind _what_ man's child I had?" she asked. "Why, Connie, I should trust your natural instinct of decency and selection. You just wouldn't let the wrong sort of fellow touch you." She thought of Michaelis! He was absolutely Clifford's idea of the wrong sort of fellow.