XVIII. 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 I 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. Allinson's views regarding artificial methods of
birth control as dangerous, and I believed that Mr. Hills
was entitled, as a puritan, to oppose him. I had also 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
wateringplace. 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- vegetarian 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 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 my 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.
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