Scene-1
It was dusk. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon , and the lamps had flickered to life . The chimneys , painstakingly cleaned in the evening with ash and rags , were still shining. Soot will come later , when the wick burns up and the kerosene is almost finished . There was a knock at the door. Who could it be at this hour ?
A knock at any time of the day , during those phone-less days , and of the age of "snail mail", was a moment of bated breath , of heightened anticipation coupled with apprehension .
"Could it be ?" was a question uppermost on all minds. In the bright eyed anticipatory looks, from kids at their homework , swivelling their heads towards the door . From the rosary -handling matriarch peeping out from the pooja room , lips still moving in mechanical chant of the mantra , loathe to bring evil on the household by breaking the chain of prayer. To the "masaalchi " who stops his masala smeared hands , in mid-grind , to the lady of the house who was wielding the "kadchi" , on some bubbling pot on stove , and is now washing her hands , covering her head , wearing slippers to answer whoever it may be at the door.
The servant , loathe to wash his hands , has pushed the lantern , meant for home works , closer to the door with his foot , amid protests, to see "who it is ?" A pale yellow rectangle of light falls on three suitcases and two duffel bags , one pair of trousered legs and a pair of dhoti -covered legs.
A whoop of joy from the kids , and the trousered legs are engulfed in baby embraces and dhoti legs in customary feet touching . The faces remain in dark but the visitors have been identified.
Bags are opened . Homework abandoned . Gifts lapped up . Kitchen work halts to heat bathwater for visitors and to boil tea . The door lamp is appropriated for reading mint -issue Enid-Blytons and Tintin comics. Another lamp mysteriously appears from the vast stores of the matriarch . Candles are lit for toilets , etc, as power continues to be elusive.
More beds are being made , and the household , so orderly and quiet a few moments ago , has descended into a state of joyful chaos.
The patriarch , in his dhoti , sits quietly , on the chair , and rubs his palms slowly , over his swollen knees , once , twice . He has just come back from the city , with his son , after a minor hernia surgery.
Next moment , the matriarch has flown to his side , abandoning all pooja and paath . Flinging the rosary , inside the room and calling the servant to heat up some massaging oil , she sits facing him and gently massages his knee.
The patriarch is in tears , and in considerable pain , and no one notices. Except for the matriarch.
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Scene-2
It has rained last night . In fact , whole of last week . The patriarch insists on carrying his bucket of hot water to his bath , a couple of steps above the verandah .
There is slippery moss everywhere , slimy , treacherous .
No one is around . The matriarch's voice can be heard from the roof , where she is busy multitasking ; drying clothes, scolding errant kids , answering shouted greetings of neighbours.
Next , a loud clanging and banging emanates from the verandah. The patriarch has fallen , and the bucket of water has rolled over him . He is stuck in the vast concrete lined drain , unable to move .
The matriarch , again , as if by magic , is the first one to reach the scene. Pulling him out , getting someone to fetch a fresh bucket of hot water , inspecting bruises .
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Scene-3
It is the deep end of winter month , the" paush", when cold wind whistles at the windows and shops down their shutters at 7 'o' clock in the evening. Dinner is over by 9 , and all retire inside by 10.
A fresh" sigri"(brazier) of small -sized burning coals is taken into the patriarch's room , and the matriarch locks herself in too .Late into the night , their whispered gossip is heard as the coals die down , and kids , tired and warm in their quilts , drift off to sleep , having tried in vain to eavesdrop on a conversation they have been so unceremoniously packed away from.
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Scene-4
The old matriarch has taken ill. Very seriously ill. The patriarch watches from a bed next , as she fights with the illness and a looming end , and finally , on a sultry June day , with blinding sunlight , gives in .
He refuses tea , saying , how can I drink tea now?This is unprecedented. He has never refused tea.
Goes empty stomach to the crematorium , accompanying her , one last time .
The skies open up , that afternoon. The first rain of the monsoons . The patriarch sits inside a hired taxi , waiting for the rain to subside, his own tears mingling with the torrents outside.
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Scene-5
The Old lady passed away five years ago , this day. The Old man is in a hurry . He must be in time to see the last bus . Dementia had set in , and the nonagenarian wanted to bring his "wife" back home . The rickshaw -puller was an old family friend . He would patiently suffer the old man and his crazy tantrums . After an entire morning of futile searching , he would bring the old man back . Tired , hungry , confused. It was a scene repeated everyday , nearly , for the last years of his existence . His demented mind had deleted the death of his spouse , and refused to accept her absence .
It was achingly moving , dangerous and comical at the same time .
Six years after the matriarch's death, God decided that He had had enough fun at the Old man's expense and plucked him off his miserable life , back to His bosom.
It was dusk. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon , and the lamps had flickered to life . The chimneys , painstakingly cleaned in the evening with ash and rags , were still shining. Soot will come later , when the wick burns up and the kerosene is almost finished . There was a knock at the door. Who could it be at this hour ?
A knock at any time of the day , during those phone-less days , and of the age of "snail mail", was a moment of bated breath , of heightened anticipation coupled with apprehension .
"Could it be ?" was a question uppermost on all minds. In the bright eyed anticipatory looks, from kids at their homework , swivelling their heads towards the door . From the rosary -handling matriarch peeping out from the pooja room , lips still moving in mechanical chant of the mantra , loathe to bring evil on the household by breaking the chain of prayer. To the "masaalchi " who stops his masala smeared hands , in mid-grind , to the lady of the house who was wielding the "kadchi" , on some bubbling pot on stove , and is now washing her hands , covering her head , wearing slippers to answer whoever it may be at the door.
The servant , loathe to wash his hands , has pushed the lantern , meant for home works , closer to the door with his foot , amid protests, to see "who it is ?" A pale yellow rectangle of light falls on three suitcases and two duffel bags , one pair of trousered legs and a pair of dhoti -covered legs.
A whoop of joy from the kids , and the trousered legs are engulfed in baby embraces and dhoti legs in customary feet touching . The faces remain in dark but the visitors have been identified.
Bags are opened . Homework abandoned . Gifts lapped up . Kitchen work halts to heat bathwater for visitors and to boil tea . The door lamp is appropriated for reading mint -issue Enid-Blytons and Tintin comics. Another lamp mysteriously appears from the vast stores of the matriarch . Candles are lit for toilets , etc, as power continues to be elusive.
More beds are being made , and the household , so orderly and quiet a few moments ago , has descended into a state of joyful chaos.
The patriarch , in his dhoti , sits quietly , on the chair , and rubs his palms slowly , over his swollen knees , once , twice . He has just come back from the city , with his son , after a minor hernia surgery.
Next moment , the matriarch has flown to his side , abandoning all pooja and paath . Flinging the rosary , inside the room and calling the servant to heat up some massaging oil , she sits facing him and gently massages his knee.
The patriarch is in tears , and in considerable pain , and no one notices. Except for the matriarch.
-----------------------------------
Scene-2
It has rained last night . In fact , whole of last week . The patriarch insists on carrying his bucket of hot water to his bath , a couple of steps above the verandah .
There is slippery moss everywhere , slimy , treacherous .
No one is around . The matriarch's voice can be heard from the roof , where she is busy multitasking ; drying clothes, scolding errant kids , answering shouted greetings of neighbours.
Next , a loud clanging and banging emanates from the verandah. The patriarch has fallen , and the bucket of water has rolled over him . He is stuck in the vast concrete lined drain , unable to move .
The matriarch , again , as if by magic , is the first one to reach the scene. Pulling him out , getting someone to fetch a fresh bucket of hot water , inspecting bruises .
-------------------------------------
Scene-3
It is the deep end of winter month , the" paush", when cold wind whistles at the windows and shops down their shutters at 7 'o' clock in the evening. Dinner is over by 9 , and all retire inside by 10.
A fresh" sigri"(brazier) of small -sized burning coals is taken into the patriarch's room , and the matriarch locks herself in too .Late into the night , their whispered gossip is heard as the coals die down , and kids , tired and warm in their quilts , drift off to sleep , having tried in vain to eavesdrop on a conversation they have been so unceremoniously packed away from.
-----------------------------------------
Scene-4
The old matriarch has taken ill. Very seriously ill. The patriarch watches from a bed next , as she fights with the illness and a looming end , and finally , on a sultry June day , with blinding sunlight , gives in .
He refuses tea , saying , how can I drink tea now?This is unprecedented. He has never refused tea.
Goes empty stomach to the crematorium , accompanying her , one last time .
The skies open up , that afternoon. The first rain of the monsoons . The patriarch sits inside a hired taxi , waiting for the rain to subside, his own tears mingling with the torrents outside.
---------------------------------------
Scene-5
The Old lady passed away five years ago , this day. The Old man is in a hurry . He must be in time to see the last bus . Dementia had set in , and the nonagenarian wanted to bring his "wife" back home . The rickshaw -puller was an old family friend . He would patiently suffer the old man and his crazy tantrums . After an entire morning of futile searching , he would bring the old man back . Tired , hungry , confused. It was a scene repeated everyday , nearly , for the last years of his existence . His demented mind had deleted the death of his spouse , and refused to accept her absence .
It was achingly moving , dangerous and comical at the same time .
Six years after the matriarch's death, God decided that He had had enough fun at the Old man's expense and plucked him off his miserable life , back to His bosom.
Jai ho........RIP
ReplyDelete:), they shared a wonderful relationship.
ReplyDelete