(This is a work of fiction. But a result of a discussion with mommy dearest, and certain instances taken from some lives I’ve known.)
Living with us, or there, it’s the same thing. It isn’t as though she really understands anything.
They decided to take me away. A pair of hands lifted the dead weight of my body. The wheelchair was being dragged behind me. There were some stairs to climb down, a car to get into.
Is it really necessary for me to go?
Ma, you’ll be better taken care off there. We’ll visit you every day. And it’s just a matter of two weeks, till your helper comes back from Kolkata. We’ll get you back then.
I tried to look out of the car window. I couldn’t remember my husband. My family tells me he was a great man. He won an award. Some award. They showed me a photo of this man, a young face, fair, handsome. A face which oozed intelligence. He was my father. They said he was my husband.
There. You have the whole room to yourself. You have a personal maid, and you don’t have to walk here. You can sit for as long as you like. We live only a few kilometers away ma. If you need anything just tell Reema, your helper. She’ll call us, and we’ll be here immediately.
They spoke to this helper, and I lay down on the bed, trying to think.
Ma, we’ll be back on Sunday. Take care of yourself.
So, I tried to think. I thought of my father. He was a handsome man. I’ve always admired handsome men, fair to be precise. But sometimes I wonder if my father was actually dark skinned, the way I am. The way that man is, the one who lifted me into the car and drove me to this room. He claims to be my son, but in my mind, memories of my father are all that exist.
……………………..
I do not want to be in the photo.
But ma, you’re never there in any photo we take. We should have one of the entire family.
Why? I’m not dying any soon. And I don’t look good in photos.
Ma, you look beautiful. Just perfect. So smile.
There I was in this photograph. A bunch of happy people, my daughter-in-law the prettiest. She was unlike me, or my son. She was fair. My grandchildren were brilliant, and fair. What was I good at? Oh, yes, I cook well, they say. I remember I used to cycle, and play badminton. In fact I was once the state champion. But does it matter beyond this dark skin?
I admire my daughter-in-law. She answers back. She has a retort for everything unfair which my husband says. But don’t get me wrong, he is loving. Yes, he is. Perhaps, a bit too domineering sometimes. He loves his work, and this work has always kept us on the move. My parents took care of my son when he was a child, and when he grew older. I do not really know him that well.
………………………
She has parkinson’s. Give her mashed things to eat. With her tongue losing all nerve control, it’ll be a difficult period for her. Be patient, be understanding.
It is sad isn’t it? But why me? Was it really because of my skin colour? Would my son have this too?
I couldn’t speak without embarrassing my family, so why did they force me to come to this party?
Why should I be there in the photo?
…………….
I remember that day, when I lost my mind. I decided to. This husband was at work. He was 84, and at work. I decided to pack my suitcase. And I called out.
Aarti!! My train is at 2 pm. Get me the taxi. Call my husband, and tell him to be at the station on time. Or we’ll miss the train.
But mashima, you are not going anywhere.
I am! Don’t argue!
Just wait here mashima. I’ll call your husband.
I sat down. I felt a sense of victory. He came home immediately, shouting at me, at Aarti. Telling me I was out of my mind. I kept quiet, like I always have. But I had won.
I did it again a few days later.
……………………….
I saw my father come in every day back from office. He looked really old. He was 86, and still working. He had won an award, after all. Some award.
Do you need anything baba?
I’m losing my eyesight in the right eye, I can’t work that well, I feel miserable.
Don’t worry baba, everything will be fine. Just fine. Sleep now.
One day, he came back, and slept.
A week and some weird ceremonies later, I was being flown in an aircraft. I was at my son’s place.
……………………
Pick up the phone!
Oh, please I’m eating, can’t you see? You go pick up the phone.
Lazy bum!
Ya, I know.
Hello?
Hello. Rashmi speaking. Auntiji died in her sleep last night.
Hello?
Auntiji died in her sleep last night.
Oh.
I saw them hurrying. I see them hurrying. But I am glad they do not worry the way I did. About dark skin. About my father.
And I see they’ve put up a picture of my father and I. Of happier times.
(As we age, we often lose our sense of reality. But do we really? All I can say is that, with age, we enter our second phase of childhood. Of weird fancies, fantasies, and fairy tales. It may be difficult for us to be patient and understand them. But perhaps, we just need to try a little harder).
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Wagging Tongues