When I pressed the panic button !

Some virus found it interesting to invade my body and decided to stay put there for more days than necessary. By the end of the first week I started feeling jittery and started imagining the worst. My husband has also been sick for the last six months due to UTI and enlarged prostate. We had no business to fall ill like this, I thought. Certainly something is wrong somewhere. Someone told me my ‘seven and a half shani ‘ has just started and it is showing its powers. I went to the temple to do some puja to ward off the evils of shani. When I told the priest he laughed and said “ You see the shani has to be somewhere ,no ?” But he agreed to do the puja. What kind of a priest is this ? Yet another ‘well-wisher’ told me that it is all due to the Chinese flowers that are standing in a corner of my drawing room which is causing all these troubles. But she also gave me a remedy- put some tulsi leaves on them and the negative energy will go away. I did accordingly.

I wanted to discuss these things with my husband. He simply brushed me aside saying “ These are all old-age problems. We are not getting any younger .” Having got drenched in that bucket of cold water I told my mother about my fears. She was genuinely upset and straight away went to her puja-room and threatened her gods of dire consequences if I am not cured soon. It was some consolation. Then I called-up my elder brother and told him the details of my problems and half jokingly added that he should take care of my cremation etc in case the worst happened. His sense-of-humour had gone on a holiday. In all seriousness he said “ Of course, I will. But you will be alright soon “ I could hear my sister-in-law giggling in the background. I felt like a ball pelted up in the air which came back with a thud.

My younger brother was at home and so I decided to pour out my heart to him. He heard me out with a dead-pan. When I finished , he said in a slow and grave tone “ You take care “. I was so touched and my eyes almost filled up with tears, when I heard him say “ Isn’t that one is supposed to say ?”

I stamped out of the room. I called up my elder sister who is a walking medical encyclopedia ,having gone through a lot in her life. She heard me quietly and in the end told me ever so affectionately “It is only UTI. You cannot have any serious illness. I am sure. Keep me informed.. “ I was touched. Then it was my younger sister. She showed all decent signs of shock and pain. She strongly believed that it is all due to someone’s evil eye. Asked me to chant Hanuman Chaalisa ( Which I had already started.) She was almost in tears and assured me that she will pray for me. I felt lots better. Her doctor-son called me up immediately after that. He assured me it is nothing serious. A typical medico talk, I thought. Will he ever tell me that I am slowly dying ?

My son and daughter-in-law called up from Delhi. My son asked me what is wrong ? I told him I have lost some weight. “Good, you can get back into your jeans now “. (Since when has he developed such weird sense of humour ?.)” But seriously, the doc said may be he has to put me on steroid “Good ,mom. May be you can participate in senior Olympics “. My daughter-in-law must have felt that it is getting out of hand. So she snatched the phone from him and consoled me “ Mom you will be alright. You just have to be positive. Visualise yourself to be completely alright, mom.This is nothing serious “

Immediately afterwards her doctor-mother called and asked me to read out my medical reports to her. After a detailed discussion she assured me that it is nothing but UTI. I started feeling better.

In the evening my son and daughter-in-law from the US called up. It was their usual Sunday phone call. Moreover they didn’t know that I was ill for some time. So my daughter-in-law was a little taken aback and probably didn’t know how to react. She tried to console me and gave the phone to my son. “ What is up, mom ?”

“ I am being treated for UTI and if it doesn’t work out, may the doc.will….”

Before I could finish, he started laughing “ What, are you in competition with dad ? I thought he had UTI. Now don’t tell me you have enlarged prostate also…” I wanted to scream while he continued “ You never know. Women want equality in everything………..”

I gave up !

Parenting A Parent

Parents came with a life time guarantee – they don’t age, or fall sick or become infirm and die. Those things happen to other mortals. Or so I used to think. Until one day my illusions broke down when during one of my annual visits I saw my father bent , shriveled and shaking with Parkinson’s. My father who was one of the smartest men I had known, with a joyful grin always on his face, who walked around in his characteristic long strides ! Death came to him as a blessing in more ways than one. Slowly I realized that my parents are also mortals and one day death will certainly take them away. All the ads purporting to show us that popping this pill will alleviate all age-related problems while this financial plan will take us into a safe and secure old age are only selling false hopes of mobility and freedom against the certainty of bodily decay. I realized there is no such thing as’ walking into our silver haired twilights’.

Armed with this new-found wisdom I came ‘home’ to live with my mother after a gap of 40 odd years. But nothing had prepared me for this total reversal of roles-that of parenting a parent who had lived almost all her life on her terms. There was this neat package of surprises waiting for me to unravel- a package which offered less comforts but more challenges.

The strength, which formed the foundation of the days to come is the unfathomable love that a child feels for the mother. No matter how much you have fought, argued ,had disagreements . This relationship defies all reason and logic.

It also gave me an opportunity to re-bond with my siblings and their families. Worried as they were about our mother’s health and other related issues they used to feel the full weight of distance, as I used to, worrying if mother will be alive on their next holiday . We cope by remote control by telephone, depend on relatives, hope the servants are honest enough. Juggling so many balls in the air-career, family, health, friends- we were all living a guilt –ridden life. But now that I have assumed the role of the front line soldier’ they heaved a sigh of relief and were too happy to extend all support in whatever form possible-physical, financial and not to speak of emotional. It became a team work, a joint effort which made things rather smooth for me. I also had to ensure the support of my own family-my husband and children. Because unless they share my enthusiasm and are able to see the shining star at the distant horizon, it would not have been easy for me. My husband was ,of course ,game for anything . My children were quite amused at this new ‘avataar’ of their mother, from a jet-setting executive to a domesticated woman. “So what did you do today, other than cooking and eating ?” A would often poke me .

I mentioned about the challenges earlier ? Having lived apart for 40 odd years both myself and my mother grew much apart . We are living in two worlds under the same roof, like an apple and orange sitting in one basket.. Talk of the generation gap (cliché,cliché ) ! Mother hates mobile phones and computers .Only time she gives a half nod of approval to the computer is when her great grand children come on the web-cam. My favourite TV programmes are anathema for her .”Oh, these North Indian women are so loud and argumentative.”. ( Burkha Dutt,please make a note !). Having lived in a city where relationships are mostly impersonal , I have become a very private person and I jealously guard my personal space . In this small town everyone wants to know everything about everyone. Added to this is my mother’s exuberance which attracts a large circle of friends . I could not relate to them. Mother cannot understand my mood swings or long spells of silence. The only place where peace prevails is the dining room. I love cooking and she loves eating.

The growing geriatric society in Kerala is facing an extreme short supply of the geriatric health-care workers . This is one thing I was not prepared for. Added to it is also our own aging and health related issues. There are times when my energy oozes out completely . At such vulnerable moments some bad childhood memories and resentments crop up in the mind . At such times it is critical how easily one can absorb things. You mellow and become more accepting . And that is how my angularities have smoothened now to a large extend. Because we have to understand that aging involves untold sadness and indignity. Old age is almost always a time of physical and mental deterioration, of pain and loss, of fear and loneliness.

When I watch mother sleep under her favourite red blanket, I recall the psalmist’s cries ,” "Do not cast me away when I am old; do not forsake me when my strength is gone." I drop a kiss on her forhead and then I am at peace with myself .

A Tuesday with Chinna Teacher

There is a list of ‘Things To Do after Retirement’ hanging somewhere in my mind . Top priority was to meet my old teachers -only a couple of them are alive now- and catch up with my classmates and friends. A way of telling them how much their love and care cemented the basics of my life’s journey. But three years have passed without me doing much about my ‘noble’ plans…..

Then came the Sunday newspaper like a wake up call . From its pages stared the picture of an elderly woman with a mop of white hair, holding a kitten against her cheek. The heading said ‘ On the high land of memories’. I didn’t bother until another small photograph stared at me from a corner- that of a much younger woman with the caption ‘ Parukutty in her younger days ’. Then the chord struck, she is my ‘Chinna teacher’ the commandant of my school NCC ! She has just turned 81 and suddenly people remembered her rare achievement of climbing the 20,600 high Shangri-La peak in the Himalayas along with Tensing in 1963. ‘ Now or never ’, I told myself , got into a bus and headed towards her house.

During the one hour bus ride I went back in times. It was not Chinna teacher’s academic influence that I remembered . In more ways than one she was a role model for students like me. I remembered how she used to cycle down to the school , in her crisp white cotton sari with a thin blue border, (even teachers had t uniforms !), her jet black curly hair tied in a pony tail, a few curls sticking to the nape. She will park the cycle in a corner and almost ‘march’ into class, ‘ chest up, stomach in,left, right,left…’, a true commandant.. She was the ‘man’ of the school. Whenever there is a crisis, an occasional accident, or a child falling ill or the school anniversary, it was she on whom the headmistress relied. Strict and disciplined she was not the mollycoddling type. But when she accompanied us to the NCC camps she will watch over us like a mother hen. Is there a place for people like her in today’s education system?, I wondered.

She was in the veranda waiting for me. (An old friend had informed her about my going to meet her) We hugged each other . Tears welled up in her eyes as she sized me up and down.

"Oh,, your hair has all gone grey ! ”, she sounded a little surprised. Perhaps in her mind I was still that skirt clad young girl of 15 or 16. (I knew exactly how she must have felt as I remembered the twinge I felt when I saw the first strand of white hair in my son’s slightly curly mop. ) We sat down and started chatting . Both of us were excited and a bit nervous. Meeting after a gap of 45 years. Much water had gone under the bridge since then…Where to start ?

I told her about the article in the news paper. She blushed a little and said “ Yeah, I don’t know what this fuss is all about . Anyway……”.

“ Remember ,you were known as the ‘Jhansi ki Rani ?” I teased .

She laughed “ You know how it was then !”

We talked about old times, our school and other teachers. Many were the trials and tribulations of her life. She mentioned about her failed marriage.

" Inever thought you were the marrying type anyway” , I said.
“ I also didn’t think so ”, she said without batting an eyelid. “ But you know how the family pressure works. For once, I listened to them and that was a Himalayan Blunder . You know we should listen only to our heart, never to others.”

“ But you need guts for that ” I said.

For a moment she was thoughtful and then said “ No, not guts. But confidence in yourself. That is what I tried to instill in you girls.”.

I know it only too well. When I was selected to represent Kerala in the Republic day Parade in New Delhi as an NCC cadet, I was ecstatic. My parents, exasperated . They couldn’t dream of sending me alone to a far off place, that too in peak winter. But Chinna teacher stood by me and finally my parents had to give in . For me it was an experience of a life time .

I watched her closely as she made tea for me . Her skin is still flawless, I noticed with some envy. “How much sugar ? ”, her question woke me up from my reverie. “” No, no sugar for me . ”., I said rather sheepishly. She glared at me .

“ What is wrong with you ? Look at me ,no old age baggage, no sugar , no blood pressure”.

“ Even the diseases are scared of you ”, I retorted.

“ Ha , ha , don’t be funny !”, she said with an affectionate knock on my head.

She continued with the saga of her life . How she was almost dismissed from her school for participating in the Quit India Movement rally in 1942 in her home town. How her dream of conquering the Himalayas was shot down by a government ruling that prevented women from joining mountaineering . Her challenges as the Headmistress .Her experiences in other institutions after retirement. About the ‘Dheera Vanitha’ award from the Kerala Government.. It has been a long journey. Yet she is not tired or bitter . Even in the twilight of her life 24 hours is not enough for her. She is busy teaching students English, Hindi, Maths apart from coaching them for competitive exams. Her memory is remarkable . She remembers almost 75 theorems by heart and can reel out dates and events of history. She stays alone but is never lonely. She has 6 kittens and her memories for company. She is now planning a holiday in Singapore with a nephew !

It was time for me to leave . Like all good things of life this also had to come to an end. I went home sending a silent ‘thank u ‘ note to the newspaper which spurred me to make this long overdue visit on a rainy Tuesday morning .

Deshadana Pakshikal

Recently I read a blog about migration . The blogger worries about the future of migration,the economics, the infrastructural inadequacies and the like. I donot know about the future but I definitely know the present. It is painful. When I got married and ‘migrated ‘ to a far off city I missed all that was Kerala….the flavours of Kerala curries, my relatives and friends. Suddenly I felt trapped in a strange city where people spoke a language which I could understand but didn’t have the courage to speak. A couple of times I did make a brave attempt and the look on the face of my listeners were enough for me to understand my limitations. It took about 5 to 6 years for me to ‘walk Hindi,talk Hindi and eat Hindi ’. (although my children still make fun of my Hemamalini accent.) Somewhere along the way I was unknowingly getting the hang of the place and Kerala became a distant dream …which came alive only during Onam or Vishu. To avoid feeling guilty I joined the Malayalam film Club, a passport to the Mallu crowd .We spoke Malayalam at home with a vengeance with a minimum sprinkle of English words.The annual visits to Kerala to see my parents ensured that my roots were firmly grounded in ‘God’s own country’. Or so I assumed and planned my next move . To shift to my home town after retirement. My friends and well wishers were not sure if I was doing the right thing. From the dazzling metro to a remote town ? But I was adamant and happily bid farewell to the city where I had spent the best part of my life, the city where I grew up from a 20 something bride to a grand mother, the city where lay buried much of my laughter, heart aches, happiness and disappointments. Where life rolled out its many hues of splendor ….I did feel the pangs of separation as I started packing my stuff…

As I stepped out of the aircraft I was tempted to kiss ‘my’ soil like a war –hero returning home. I was humming to myself an old Malayalam song ” varunnu njan, varunnu njan ,janma deshame Keralame……..” and got into the waiting taxi.

After the excitement of the new house and the hassles of settling down wore off, I looked around. The place has changed beyond recognition. Every inch of the earth is now covered with buildings .Mostly shops. It has become an extremely consumerist society. I noticed that Bhakti and other related rituals and superstitions were on the rise. Where is the Kerala of my youth where people were skeptical, agnostic if not atheistic where everything was questioned and analysed ? Communism prevailed all right but then it was not the same. The culture also has changed. It is a mix now ,thanks to cable TV and internet exposure. People are honest but lazy compared to their north Indian counter parts. On the slightest pretext a hartal will be announced and life comes to a standstill. This must be the only town where shops were shut down and a procession taken out when Saddam Hussain was hanged.

To add to the misery all my cousins and other relatives had moved to nearby towns where better facilities were available. I started feeling a bit lost. People were friendly and warm but there was this ‘let’s see how long she will last here’ kind of look etched on their faces. The funniest part was the language. It behaved like a jilted lover, neither giving in nor giving up completely. I was looking forward to get back to reading some of my favourite magazines . But alas, the new script was a hurdle. The speed of reading slowed down considerably. Moreover I could no longer identify with the issues they were writing about. Nor did I have much knowledge about the local political scene. One vegetable vendor asked me “ Aunty where are you from ?”. I thought I didn’t hear him properly and so asked “What ?”. “ You see your Malayalam is different , so I thought..”, he answered sheepishly. I was stunned . For heaven’s sake don’t tell me to attend a refreshers’ Course in Malayalam ! It didn’t stop there. I was invited to give a talk by an NGO. After the preliminary discussion, the Director asked me if I can speak in Malayalam .”But, of course “, So far the discussion was in Malayalam. So what the hell does he mean ? “You see it is one thing to have a conversation . But it is quite another to speak from the podium.” I was exasperated and with all the patience I could muster told him that I will not disappoint him. The D-day came . I saw the Director sitting in the front row, drumming the desk nervously. Poor fellow! After I spoke for a few minutes our eyes met and he nodded approvingly. By then the drumming had also stopped.

The roots have a way growing without your ever noticing it . It is quite challenging to uproot and plant yourself in a new soil .More so when you are no longer young. You will enjoy it if you still have , what they call, fire in the belly. If not, God bless you !

Jai ho and some memories

Jai ho has entered the Webster dictionary. Talk of the influence of films in our lives! I remember how me and my younger sister used to transform ourselves into Prem Nazir and Sheela religiously every evening from 7 to 7.30 pm. (there was no television those days ) We will enact all those romantic scenes , sing and dance mostly to one single dedicated audience ie; our mother. The moment we get into action my elder sister and younger brother will quietly leave the room with some pretext or other. They probably found our ‘entertainment ‘ quite silly. Although they had the decency never to mention this to us. So we danced along……… I was always the hero and my sister the heroine.

There was this old uncle of ours, “an almost sanyasi” who will be meditating in a corner. Prankster as I was, I will do the Menaka number in front of him from the then famous film “Shakuntala” imagining him to be Viswamitra. My mother and sister will burst into laughter and uncle will slowly open his eyes . By that time I would have vanished from the scene. He will innocently look around and then go back to his meditation again ! (Dear departed uncle, forgive me my trespasses ! )

Then came Chemmeen . Soon our 7 to 7.30 show turned to scenes of Karutthmma and Pareekutty. Those were the days!!!

Eventually I got married. Life took a different turn. But not for long. Came Sholay and our household was bursting forth with its dialogues. It was almost like a competition between me and my sons-to talk like Gabbar,Veeru or Dhannu at the drop of a hat, whether the situation demanded it or not. I can never forget S’s ( and his false baritone )“Kitne aadmi the ?” or “tera kya hoga Kaliya ?“ or “Sochlo Thakkur,agar Gabbar ko pata chal gaya….” “Sarkaar, mein aapka namak khaya hum” etc etc.

I wonder if my sons and my sister remember those days, buried as they are in their hectic lives now. May be they will be embarrassed to read this. Or perhaps they are plotting to murder me ! Sorry folks , the news of Jai ho entering the Webster stirred up many memories. The nostalgia was deliciously irresistible…………

The three sisters

Most of the time they sat huddled together in the bedroom coming out only for their meals or to watch their favourite soaps on TV. One of them humorously named the room as ‘ old-age home’. Three sisters (my mother and her two younger sisters ) were meeting after a gap of 2 years. One is 88 years old, second 80 and the third (the most active of them all) 75 years.

I marveled at their energy, the amount of talking they could do all 24*7 except while sleeping which was very little. Must be catching up with all the news. I did a bit of eaves-dropping to find out as to what they were chatting about so excitedly all the time ? Mostly it was about their childhood, their parents and their siblings who are no more. They were 9 brothers and sisters, only these 3 surviving now. Their talks mainly centered on their mother who ,widowed at the age of 32 had to struggle to bring up 8 children ( the eldest daughter had got married by then ), their food, education and marriage.

Sometimes I heard them giggling reminiscencing about some of their secret admirers or suitors…

One of the agendas my aunts had during their stay was to give a smart look to their elder sister ie; my mother. They were able to convince her about the advantages of wearing a gown instead of the traditional ‘mundu’ (which me and my sisters had failed to do so far). To inspire her further my aunts sported some of their own gowns with laces, bows and frills. Finally my mother gave in. I could see that she was quite thrilled about her new smart look. Then one of my aunts suggested to cut her hair short so that it becomes manageable . With a twinkle in her eyes my aunt added that the new hair do will make her look like Vijayalakshmy Pandit with all those golden locks. Mother didn’t like the idea. She felt it was too old fashioned. She preferred to look like Ms. Gursharan Kaur (our Prime Minister’s wife ). “ She looks Khandaani and modern enough,” said my mother. My aunts had to settle for that.

Item no.2 in the agenda was to feed my mother with all the delicacies they could lay their hands on in the market including hot chilly pakoras. I was worried about my mother’s delicate stomach, but who cares ? She enjoyed every bit of the attention she was getting ,behaving like a thoroughly spoilt child.

Occasionally ,my aunts’ attention will turn to me .This was item no.3 in the agenda. So there were constant advise and tips on health food, yoga ,ayurveda, spirituality and what not! After all for them I was still a kid !

But by the end of this one month’s ‘sisters-get-together’ I could not even pretend to be polite.

Finally the holiday was over and it was time for them to part. Whispering a soft ‘take care’ to each other they got into the waiting car. My mother stood at the gate watching the car slowly picking up speed, her eyes moist with unshed tears. Slowly she walked back to the house, her back bent with age, leaning on the walking stick, her only support . I know that she is going to miss them for quite some time. Suddenly I felt jealous of these sisters who belonged to an era to which I can never belong.

What is Ahimsa for you ?

What is Ahimsa for you ? For me ‘Ahimsa’ was always synonymous with Mahatma Gandhi or vice versa. As a child I remembered 2 things about Gandhiji’s ahimsa ; that he was a vegetarian and that he got us freedom without guns and swords . Since I am a vegetarian I thought half the battle is won .Since I am not a politician or a social activist the second part didn’t bother me. So I went on happily .But as you grow old your sensibilities become subtler. Then came a time when I gave up wearing silks and I patted myself ! Good job! But there continued a nagging feeling within me. What more is there to ahimsa ? Slowly the answers came. For me now it means a whole lot of thing like :

Appreciating life’s little nameless acts of kindness and of love.

Keeping our enthusiasm alive even if it is not reciprocated.

Having the courage to apologise when we are wrong.

Not using people.

Not wanting to settle scores .

Not using repartees just to show that we are smarter.

Not being the ‘devil’s advocate’ .Empathize,empathize,empathize!

Letting go. Moving on.

Removing our blinkers.

Recognising that there is neither winning nor losing in relationships.

Sharpening the intellect. Conquering emotions.

Being happy when we are alone.

Wanting others to enjoy life even when we are not around.

Knowing it is time to quit !

This is me @60! What is your take on Ahimsa ? Do send me your list…..

PS. Ahima is also being gentle with the ‘delete’ button when you receive unsolicited SMSs and email forwards…….