All is lost

My daughter tried to be brave . Put up a smile , however fake . The eyes screamed -“All is lost.” She will throw a hysterical fit , once she was alone .
She might have had one as she came here. I thought. It seemed more likely. Eyes were red ringed . What could I say to reassure her ?
Nothing . I couldn’t lie . The reports wouldn’t lie . The doctors wont .
But there have been miracles . There have been cases where one has been written off,and bounced back. With strength both inexplicable and incredible . Life was strange .Death stranger .I was there lying , and my daughter crying over my imminent passing away. I was incapable of consoling her .
Telling her , as I had done numerous times earlier, “this too shall pass”. This wont . The grief wont . I will. The vulnerability of a parent . The realisation that your personal rock of Gibraltar is flesh and blood after all. Prey to diseases and cancer . Capable of rotting, decaying , and leaving you alone , like a miserable flotsam in the frothy , churning , vicious sea of humanity.
She looked at me , almost with accusation , as if asking ” How could you mom ?”
I answered back , contrite , “I am sorry , baby”
We both burst into tears and fell into each others arms .

Ruby

Ruby had jet black hair . Neither did she have red rosy cheeks . all rosiness lost in the swarthiness of her dusky complexion . Ruby had a large heart and guts . She made this apparent when she was asked to display her gems at an impromptu catwalk at a party. It was one of those parties , which are remembered only by the degree of mirth generated by coercing portly matrons to shake their booty on the dance floor,and by recollecting the names of esteemed personages who pass out in the end .

Ruby was small, dark and wore jeans and T-shirt to the party. An unforgivable error. She walked down the make shift aisle and stood at the “display” end , and requested for the mike . She then began , “I bring to you, my million dollar smile , eyes that shine like diamonds , a heart that is rare as Kohinoor, and a name of the costliest red gem ever discovered . I am, your honour, (here she took a little bow) Ruby.”

Normally listless, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause .

Roomie

There were four of us . All girls , of course . I just took them in. One large , doe-eyed, almost with a naughty gleam in the eye; other , tall, dark , slim , bespectacled and serious, yet another , small, frail , and with cherubic dimples on her face . I was  the last one .

 When I entered, the large room was dimly lit , with very high ceiling , and tall rafters for hanging fans . Even the tube -lights hung on pairs of hanging rods, dangerously low. Thick maroon curtains hung on the doors and windows . There was a whiff of grime and talcum . I gathered the unoccupied bed was mine , so was the bookshelf with pencil shavings rolling about in the dust , on the shelves . A newspaper  was spread on the spare bed , some one was reading it as I entered.

My roomies looked as lost and new as me . Possibly a bit apprehensive or scared even. I didn't wear glasses , nor had dimples , neither  was huge and intimidating. But I was as scruffy and scrawny , and as homesick, as the others. There was no home , nor its material and emotional comforts , all we had was each other .

 I smiled tentatively , and I got smiles back . All was well. The tall , bespectacled girl would immediately glide in , and remove the newspaper( two days' old, I was to learn later),crumple it into a ball and chuck it into a dustbin kept in a next room , hidden from view . "Basketball",my heart leapt up. I had found a kindred spirit.

The Matron

There was a loud gossiping session , on in full flow , which one could hear from a mile away . Peals of laughter and snatches of conversation kept reaching me as I entered the hall . Young girls !! I fumed inside , frowning at loud giggles . Suddenly one of them caught sight of me and nudged her neighbour. Then all turned and stared at me , as if I was a cow dressed in whites . The dining room fell silent . Except for the clattering of the cutlery and hurried eating .

I hated this too. This sham display of subservience or discipline . It made me wonder if I was the subject of all that conversation and giggles . Perhaps I was . I should be okay with that . After all , I was the senior most dining in member of the mess.It would definitely not do to have ten girls chatting you up every evening , updating you on hospital gossip, getting into your hair , asking favours.Even if they belonged to my state and spoke my language . So what?

I went and sat on my special table . A long table with two chairs , one at each end , one for me and the other for any visiting dignitary. As there were none today , I sat there , surrounded in a haze of aromas , food from the junior table , cologne from their bodies. I felt important , foolish and lonely , all at the same time .

Soon all wiped their mouths ,  got up, their chairs scraping  on the tiled floor, and left hurriedly , still chewing. A quaint colonial custom entailed them to excuse themselves from me as they went. They came in an orderly queue, most of them looking down , a few couple of eyes that dared to meet mine , seemed to be mocking me outright.

I was left alone in the huge hall . The brass chandeliers swayed in all their golden glory . I looked at myself , reflecting back from the steel jar of water. A mess servant placed a jar of coffee and a tray of toasts on the table , in front of me . My egg arrived , soft ,boiled for one minute , in its shell, still steaming . My jar reflection showed wrinkles around my throat. The part of the anatomy  not covered by my ample uniform .

Last evening, I was approached by one of the girls , apparently timidly , shadowed by her cronies , for a spate of leave. Apparently her mother was ill. Their mothers seem to be ill all the time .They all seem to be wanting leave, on one pretext or the other. No one wants to work . It seems to be an obsession with them . I refused . It is always safer to refuse . If the girl's need is genuine , she will insist , if not , my authority will have reinforced itself . If she pleads and I agree, I will be popular amongst them too, projecting myself as a benefactor , par excellence. A win-win situation.

Smug in my small victories , I ate my breakfast with my usual desultoriness , having called the waiter twice to haul him up . Once for his tardiness in bringing my nutramul-milk, and second time for his sloppy uniform . You always have to haul them up . That is how they remain in shape . You have to keep threatening to fire them , that way they are afraid of you , and consequently , loyal . The poor little buggers , I thought , as I flicked crumbs from my pristine white napkin , and wiped my nutramul stained lips on them . Now the white was brown-stained , I noted with satisfaction . Now this guy will  have a job to do , removing the goddamn stain / washing the napkin. I saw the dismay on his face , and hopefully he saw the glee on mine . The wretched fella .

A small figure waited for me as I made my way to the gate , next to the hillock. The girl. She was waiting with her scooty .That meant she was late for duty.  Another opportunity for me to shout at her ,I noted with joy.

"Do you intend to give me a ride , girl?" I took charge ,I always take charge. It makes matters easier for me .
"Ahhh, yess, yes ma'am " She stammered.
"Good ! Now drive away ! and don't drop me ." I plonked myself on her pillion , before she could say something .She had no choice but to kick start the vehicle. I congratulated myself, silently , for staging this coup.

For a skinny girl , She drove fairly well . When she stopped ,she hesitated and rubbing her hands together , said "I got a call from my mother , last night , ma'am . "
"So?" I was straightening the creases on my uniform.
"She is really serious."
"So am I . ha ha ." I threw back my head and laughed, these girls were all alike.Asking for leave and creating fake emergencies.
"But ma'am..."Her voice shook this time . I didn't pay attention . They were always upto dramas. I marched smartly away. One should always march in uniform , not slouch , like the girl was next to the scooty. Her shoulders shook . She was probably crying . I sighed , shook my head and looked away. Melodrama never affected me , I was made of sterner stuff. One always has to be dignified , specially in uniform , in the public.

I sat on my chair, in my cool , air-conditioned office . I could see from my window , the girl was wringing her hands now . She was probably going to throw a fit . I quickly dispatched my assistant to get rid of her , and to tell her that she wont be getting any leave , on any pretext whatsoever. She was a good worker . the doctors in ICU called her a "valuable asset".I could not afford to send her on leave now . The ICU was practically full of dengue cases. Humph.

The assistant spoke to her in low voices, occasionally looking towards the window , the girl slumped further , eventually gathering her wits , wiping her tears and driving away.

"Did she go to work ? " I asked my assistant as she came in.
"Ma'am, but her mother seems to be genuinely ill."
"Look at your audacity! How dare you talk to me like that ? You are my assistant!"
"I was just saying the truth . I am your assistant , not your slave." She stared at me with fiery red eyes. Before slamming today's mail on my table with undue violence .What was wrong with her ?
That was when I decided to change my assistant. I do not appreciate insubordination . That afternoon my fat classmate whom I had sent away to a remote ward waddled into my office . I sighed . But I had no option . The new breed of girls were efficient but were very hot-headed. This fatso was slow , and slept through mess meetings , I had to do most of the paperwork myself . But she at least sat there silently . Not  jumping at the sight of me , as if she had seen a beast , as most of them did.


That night , my phone rang , in my sleep. I hate to be woken up from my beauty sleep.I was obviously very upset, but the voice on the other side was upsetter. and it belonged to my boss, the commandant of the hospital . He sounded tired too. "What have you done now, Mary ?" he used my maiden name , unlike most of them who called me Mrs. Mathews , after the moron whom I got married to for two short weeks of my first annual leave.Thankfully he drank himself to his death, by the time ,my next leave was sanctioned . My mother blamed me . She used to say I drove him to despair with my constant nagging.
The CO breathed deeply into the phone . Before I could say anything , he said "Get ready , they are coming to take you."And slammed the phone immediately afterwards .

Almost immediately , the doorbell rang . There were impatient boots stomping in my perfect lawn . I had a good mind to shout at them , whoever they were . But I was in my nightie , with curlers in my hair and face pack on my face . They could wait. I started walking towards my bathroom . After all, I was a senior officer in the Army , I could not be seen like this!

But they did not . After two more rapid knocks, a harsh order was issued , and they broke my door open . I was handcuffed and dragged unceremoniously away . I was screaming, my rollers came off and my loose hair fell over my pancaked face . That was when I noticed an ambulance outside the mess and the gurney with a white cloaked body on it. All the girls stood at their doors , with their lights on, with folded arms and stern faces. No one came to my rescue. Not even my assistant , who turned her face away at the sight of me .
The officer thrust a paper in my hands . It was my arrest warrant .

I was being arrested for aiding and abetting the suicide of Miss Mary Peter , who worked in my hospital and whose mother died "waiting for her " at 1600hrs that evening .I was mentioned in her suicide note.

I slumped and sobbed against the cold hard seat of jonga as it sped away , and I was suddenly reminded of the girl who had slumped and sobbed against her scooty , this morning.

The electrician

The shop was closed for two hot and humid summer weeks.
All the neighbouring shops were open for business. The electrical gadgets conked off one by one. The ironing machine , the mixer-grinder, the cooler. It was as if the electrical goods were also lamenting the absence of the avid repairer. Upon enquiring , we came to know , there has been a death in the family . Some said it was the shopkeeper, some said it was the owner . I presume , they were the same person.

When the shop opened , brisk business resumed . It was as if it had never been shut down.
I had to get the mixer repaired , ASAP . It was the cool smoothie season and things became "lumpy" , in the absence of one .

Three strange young men manned the shop now . I asked , out of politeness, the whereabouts of the older man , and was met with indifferent stares. The boy at the bench continued to thread some cotton threads through a coil of glistening copper wires ,a gadget that was probably a motor of sorts . Another turned and flicked the TV on with grimy remote cracked at the base . That was when I noticed his biceps.The biceps were menacing  balloons of flesh, with engorged veins creeping like vine on the surface . Then one saw it . "Arnold " , in capitals , and a perfect replica of the famous muscled man's visage tattooed on the peak of the fleshy mound, complete with black aviators.

Another tattoo on the neck said" I love gym ". The "O" of the love was a small red coloured heart, with the two halves cleverly shaped into ,what else, bulging biceps .

This was a man with some serious love of body-building. What was he doing in a grimy electrical shop in a dingy part of the town , it was difficult to tell.

 Another person with his dreams gutted , songs muted and treasures of the soul looted.

Honey

"Honey on toast. No jam or marmalade for me please !"
"No, no butter or cheese  either !"
I was shifting my abode, this person was supposed to help me shift , and here I was trying to feed him toasts. I could kick myself in the shin . How was I supposed to know where I had placed the bottle of honey ? It could be in the fourth carton of kitchen stuff, or in the first. Or it could be in the spouse's belongings as he was fond of honey and would occasionally keep it on his bedside table . A trail of determined ants would always lead me to the honey bottle , which sat there , its drippings coating the sides and smudging my embroidered tablecloth from Kashmir. In serious breaches , the cap would have rolled down underneath the bed, where it would be fetched from, by wide arcs of reluctant brooms ,smothered unrecognisably , in honey, ants and dust bunnies .
I would  retrieve , curse , clean , curse some more , and replace the bottle on the kitchen shelf . Over the years, my unconscious mind and spouse's rising blood sugar, associated honey with too much work and insulin shots. I stopped buying it and the last bottle sat , half slurped on the kitchen shelf for too long . The honey solidified into a golden mass, first , then it started bleaching itself , top downwards . A white ,crinkled ,scummy layer appeared on the surface .
With a sickening certainty , I remembered chucking the honey, bottle and all, into the dustbin , during a recent "purge", that always preceded a move . Others called it "spring cleaning",only , this was no spring . Blistering summer morning , and a shorts clad urchin sat on my balcony, plate of "unhoneyed " toasts on his lap, staring at me expectantly.