The Answers to The Ultimate Question Of Life, the Universe and Everything

I’m sitting in the Patisserie with friends when K shows up and asks, “Do you want to hear a joke?”. Innocently enough we acquiesce. K continues, smiling, “There is this large village where it rains a lot. When it rains, it causes floods. Now, there are two girls, Gita and Sita, who wish to cross a river overflowing due to the floods. There are two ways to cross the river, one, a strong stable bridge which takes you comfortably to the other side. The other option being to swim through the crocodile infested river and the strong currents. Gita peacefully crosses safely by walking across the strong stable bridge whilst Sita toils and slogs across the river, fighting off the reptilian monsters. However, the dumb Sita is adjudged to be the smarter of the two, why?” As he ends, emphasizing on the last word, we, the listeners, are left befuddled. Looking blankly into each other, we try to hypothesize an answer but to no avail. Finally as we surrender to his grinning face, K replies, “Its quite obvious if you think. The dumb Sita who fought her way across the river is said to be smarter than Gita because she got more marks in her board exams.”

Some jokes are funny because they make use of puns. Double entendres. This one was funny because it was not expected. Frankly, it was just silly. But that’s just it. Silly jokes seem to be so much funnier than normal jokes because they are almost not jokes. They are imperfections. Much like you and me.

Man should be blessed that he is not imperfect. I can wager any form of obscene amounts that no single individual is perfect. Is, was or will ever be. Most people work day in and day out to attain perfection, the perfectionists, when alas, they forget that imperfection is happiness. Isn’t it true that the most interesting things we remember about people we meet are their imperfections?

And on top of all of this, who would ever want to watch any game between two perfect teams or two paragons? I’m talking about an absolutely faultless game. No one. It’s only because nobody is consummate does sports and entertainment flourish. Except Federer.

I’m walking down the corridor of 4^th wing when D calls me into his room. He is smiling. Reminded me of K from the other day. “I have a joke. A funny one”. He is grinning ear to ear by now. I uneasily gesticulate him to continue. “In a large village…”, I already hated the way this one started and begin to squirm, “there is an old woman. This woman has five children. Four of the children are Yudhishtra, Arjuna, Bhima and Nakula.” (For the mythically handicapped, these are four of the five Pandavas.) D pauses for a moment before he continues, “What is the name of the fifth child?”. I hesitate but then query “Sahadeva?” (which for the culturally stunted, is the name of the fifth Pandava). D nods his head in disapproval and after I act dumb for a while, he overwhelmed by the moment, spits out the answer, “Jimmy.” “Huh?” I ask, nay, demand. “Jimmy”, he reiterates and is then lost in his laughter. Shortly after, I follow suit. Jimmy is the new sensation of our wing.

Douglas Adams claimed that 42 was the answer to the Ultimate Question though never mentioning the actual question that was considered. First things first, I think the answer is 23. Not 42. Though 42 is close. And no, I too reserve my right to merely allude to the question and not clearly state what it is.

As far as non-numerical answers to the Ultimate Question go, the best solution I can come up with is Jimmy. Jimmy is anyone and Jimmy is someone. Jimmy is anything and yet, yes, you probably already guessed it right, Jimmy is something. Jimmy is you and Jimmy is me. No, this is not just some Jimmy that Jimmy came up with. It’s true. Try it. Whenever someone asks you, what you are doing, answer Jimmy. Whenever someone accuses you of doing something you shouldn’t have done, blame it on Jimmy. Jimmy is that person you met in last week’s party who you couldn’t recognize but claimed knew you. Jimmy is that really cool black Mercedes you saw yesterday. Jimmy is the security guard at the hostel entrance. Jimmy is the machine which gives you hot lemon tea.

And say Hi to Jimmit.

Basically what I am trying to convey, albeit, disgracefully and downright awfully is that there are some questions that shouldn’t be attempted. Like “What is the purpose of one’s life?” or “What is the reason why some event occurred?” or “What is the secret of living?” (Not Art of Living ~ that’s the 1.5K course which teaches you how to breathe :|). They are of pure intellectual pursuit for the mentally bored. Much like the True or False sections in PH101 and PH102. And the Ultimate Question.

S joins D, H, Im and me on top of the mess as we sit there exchanging stories and prophesizing the return of Communism. H asks S to narrate some story, any story, with a moral. S thinks. Thinks hard. The rest of us wait in silent anticipation. Finally S emerges out of his self induced comal catharsis and relates the following tale, “Once there was a father who wanted to divide his wealth before he died. He had three sons and he proposed a challenge to test their capabilities. Thus, he asked the sons to fill a huge hall with anything they can buy for a paltry 10 rupees. The first son proceeds to buy cotton for the amount and obviously does not cover even quarter of the hall. The second son obtains oil which however does not permeate even half the hall. The third son gets incense sticks for this money and hence saturates the whole hall with the smoke from burning the sticks. So…” D interrupts the conclusion and asks, “If the first son brought cotton and the second got oil, why doesn’t the third burn the cotton and the oil together?” S with a nonplussed face, tries to explain his way out of the situation, “Well, he could have but he didn’t. In any…” Im uses the opportunity to pitch in with his comments, “So the third son wasn’t as smart as the first two, since I suppose the first two under the same circumstances wouldn’t have wasted money to get the extra incense sticks. In fact, I suppose the first two were trying to help the third brother out. Perhaps he was the dumbest brother or something.” By now, we four are giggling incessantly, as every new remark is cited. S looks irked but smiles along as is characteristic of him. Finally I ask, “So what’s the moral of the story?” S is unable to reply before H who out-of-turn and rather unrelated to the topic suggests, “I think the father wanted to divide the property between only two brothers instead of three. Its easier to divide by two than three. So he was searching for someone to cut off his will. Clearly the third brother is the one who would have been deleted.” S is quite pained now.

Suddenly, out of the blue, something strikes me. “You know what, I realized something…” All four of them are curious. “The third brother. Guess his name.” S is the only one of us not rolling on the floor laughing as he replies, smiling, “Jimmy!”.