Soon after her wedding my daughter and her husband did a six month stint in Cochin. They returned home with a strong affinity for the spicy food of the Malabar coast. My grandson who was born to them long after they returned home strangely showed the same preference for spicy food and has decided that Spicy fried chicken Kerala style is his favourite chicken so now we have it at least once a week!
Day is done
Gone the sun
From the sea , from the hills , from the sky
All is well, safely rest
God is nigh.
Well, the beginning of another week is over and before I go to bed, I am reminded of these Taps we used to sing as Girl Guides .
Today was one of those days where I played lady in waiting – waiting for the chemist to send the medicines we needed to stop the baby’s colic. Needless to say , the delivery came after we’d spent the better part of the evening walking the colic away!
Last week I finally managed to get through to my regular plumbing contractor Mr. D who was away looking after an ailing mother -in-law . It seems that this lady who is well past her 80’s had a heart attack which was so severe that it would have killed her were it not for the intervention of a doctor whose treatment left her alive but barely just. Now the poor bed ridden lady who is also suffering from Alzheimer’s is just lying in bed wondering why she wasn’t allowed to die in peace. With her only child left in India to take care of her, she feels she’d be better off dead on the days she remembers who she is. On other days , she just stares blankly at her daughter.
Like many urban , educated , upper caste Indians Mr.D faces the prospect of living out his old age in an assisted facility as his two sons have migrated overseas, knowing that their intelligence and hardwork would be unappreciated in India. Not only is this a loss for the country but also a loss for the parents who often have to pinch several pennies to send their children abroad to study.
Now many children are more than willing to take their parents with them and carry out their filial duties but as Mr. D said he’d rather be alone in India than stay in the lap of luxury as an alien in a foreign land.
But does this mean that we are all condemned to a miserable old age and are better off dead? Should one decide when to pull the plug?
The Buddha said that all life is suffering and an old lady once told me that each one of us has a quota of ‘suffering ‘ that we have to fulfil so planning one’s exit is as futile as walking in the rain without a raincoat and expecting to remain dry.
So I’m going to stop worrying about my end but concentrate on the now and continue waiting for the Amazon parcel which was scheduled to come last week, continue waiting for the plane to arrive and to enjoy each moment while I wait.
I’m linking this to. #MondayMusings
Lena ben glanced at the clock: its neon hands glowed 4.30. “Oh dear,” she thought, “another two hours to get up.” She shut her eyes and rolled to her side facing the wall and was about to nod off again when the curtain moved to reveal Coco padding furtively on the window sill. “Scat cat,” she whispered, “go back into the street,” but Coco refused to listen and continued his way into the room, defiantly, daring her to get up and shoo him. The soft pad pad of his paws disturbed the stillness of the night as he came forward slowly and walked onto her bedside table, put his paw on her diary and slowly arched his back. Looking at the graceful curve of his spine , Lena ben was transported into a time machine.
She was sitting nervously on the blue sofa in the Upper drawing room waiting for ‘the boy’ to come. Pupul, one of the many stray toms that had adopted their home, was sitting on the window sill, looking down at the drive way. Her mother and sisters were waiting with her and Motli, her youngest sister was actually giggling and blushing like the silly 10-year-old she was. Lena, herself only 16 years old tried to still the thumping in her heart as she waited for Sureshchand Lalbhai and his father Seth Gopichandbhai to come visit her grandfather, the patriarch of their family . Seth Gopichand Bhai, her father’s tennis partner at the Club, was a familiar figure in their house as he was one of the merchants who accompanied her father to the market every day. Occasionally, she had spotted Sureshchand tagging along with them – a tall, lanky lad of 20, dressed in white like the rest of the merchants but sporting a rather stylish hair style like the young men of his generation.
“He’s a good boy,” said her mother, looking at Lena, “don’t worry, I’m sure your grandfather will approve of him.”
There was a scrunch of tyres on the gravel in the driveway and the sound of doors shutting as the men walked into the house. The ladies upstairs could hear the faint sounds of conversation as the men sat down to discuss the business at hand – to ask for Lena ben‘s hand in marriage. Pupul got up and arched his back, then gave the ladies a pitying look and gracefully lept onto the branch of the Gulmohar tree outside.
“He looks handsome,” said her mother, peeping through the glass window in the floor of the Upper drawing room – which no outsider knew of – the secret look out to the Lower drawing room so that the women could have a sneak peek at the strangers who walked in through their door.
“I know, ” said Lena blushing, “I’ve seen him many times waiting in the car for Papaji to join them.
“Let me see, let me see,” whispered the girls jostling one another to get a good look at the potential groom.
Crash! The cat moved and tipped over the Waterford vase that had stood by her bedside for so many years. ‘Oh No!” thought Lena ben rudely awakened from her reverie. Shards of glass glistened on the floor and a darkening patch of water spread all over the soggy diary holding memories of a lifetime now gone.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
I’m also linking this to Write Tribe Pro Blogger Challenge.
