A rustle from the back yard woke her up. It must be close to
dawn, was the first thought that crossed her mind. ‘Narayana, thanks for waking me up to one more day of my
life, thanks for all that you have given me, and thanks for all that you have
never given me’, was the customary prayer she had taught herself to mutter
every morning upon waking up. Seldom did any other thought cross her mind.
Then she remembered it was the twenty sixth of
January”2016. Seventy Six years back
this same day, little Kuchalambal had come into this world. Today was her
Birthday, a smile crossed her face. One more year she had cheated death, she
reminded herself. There have been so many vulnerable moments in her life when
she had felt that she would not live much longer. She had come out of all of
those situations with a smile. She was now certain death would have to play a
subterfuge and catch here unawares; there was no way she would surrender to it,
if it came in announced. She stretched here cramped legs and prepared to get
up. As age caught up, getting up from
bed was an elaborate ritual. To wake up to the realisation of being alive, then
stretch, only to find that you legs have gone to sleep, dig arms into the ground
and push oneself up, a ritual that would take time.
Today when she did
manage to get up, there was this cute little box wrapped in a lovely pink
cover, tied with satin ribbons, sitting prettily on her bedside table. She smiled;
life does not stop giving to those who accept it with open arms. Seeing the
pretty little package she could not hold herself. She hurriedly went through
the motions of gargling, hurriedly put on her dentures, and wiping the wet
hands on the long end of her sari, she picked up the gift in wonderment, the
same sparkle in her eyes which would have been there seventy years back. She
was transformed into a six year old again, as she hurriedly tore open the
packaging. What would it be, wondered
her heart, ornaments she wore no more, neither
did she have a need for a watch, the package suggested that it was something
compact, it could not be chocolates
since she was diabetic, what could it be ? She wondered as the packaging tore open to
reveal a black shiny box. A dainty card announced ‘to amma with love, Sid,
Shobna, Vignesh’. She carefully set aside the card, and opened the card board
box to reveal a sleek black, shiny phone. As she lifted it out of the packaging
it seemed lightweight and just the right size for her little palms. The morning
light created a small rainbow on the glass screen as she flipped it around in
her hand. She wondered what to do with it!
She never had owned a phone the only phone that she knew was the land
instrument in the drawing room, she had to make her way to pick up every time,
Sid or Shobna called her during the day from their offices.
Sid, Shobna and Vignesh were still sleeping, she would sit
with Vignesh later during the day and learn how to use this phone, she thought.
It had been a few a week now. "Paati, don’t you know this small little thing,
did they not teach you anything at all at school?" Exclaimed Vignesh, as the
nine year old cozied up to her. Just
press this small button, to go back to the main menu. He sternly admonished
her.
Sid smiled from across the room, Aaamam he nodded mischievously.
Paati, now that you are on waatsaap, let me also add you to
face book, the little one said. Kuchalambal was also very excited. Customarily the
family would approach her a hundred times during the week, wanting to show her a
face book update or a message on Watsaap. Now that she had a phone on her own,
she could look at those messages at her convenience.
Time and age, a never ending cycle, goes on a loop.
Youngsters think that they have arrived, middle aged think that they matter a
lot, and the elderly simile at the stupidity of it all.
Having overcome so many adversities in life, switching on
the phone, and getting on to the internet seemed a cake walk for Kuchalambal. Soon
as in life she had a hundred followers. She would to go to the search page and
type the names of people she had lost contact with decades ago, and sift
through tens of strange faces, till she could identify a long lost face. Some
faces would all be the same, except for the grey hair. Some would look like a
dodo, a distant caricature of the image that she had in her mind. Soon she
would travel back in memory to reconstruct the face, the situation, the town
and try to recollect the last time that they had met. Adding them to her friend’s list and sending
them a invite to join her network would follow, their acceptance and connect,
would only unfold the travails and tidings of all that had happened in the
other person’s life in all these many years that they had not been in touch.
Some would have lost their spouse, some their sanity, some
just hanging on to life, and some would still be worried about what the future
holds for them. She would smile. Even after spending six to seven of decades in
strife, trying to take life on its own terms, people never get the grip of it. Very
few are happy with their situation, some are lucky to reach acceptance, only to
be shattered by a new twist that life unveils.
The preaching that people watch on television, the
discourses that great people have left behind, the book one reads, last only
for a few hours, a few days. They may not be enough to pluck a tormented soul
with velvet gloves, comfort them in a deep embrace, and tell them that it’s all
well. With advancing age as nature starts withdrawing the many faculties that it
had bestowed on you, one feels like a war veteran being slowly stripped of all
his medals one by one. The frustrations of a failing hearing, vision, mobility,
all seem to evoke the rebel child in a person, screaming murder at the top of
his voice.
In this ocean of defeat, some stand tall, those who can live
the moment, those whose mind can take them on journeys beyond belief, and those
who want to live life in whatever form that it throws at them. The pains and
ache of degeneration do not seem to bother these souls who seem to sustain on
sweet music they hear from the mountains of yonder.
Some escape to their memories.
Some still try and get engrossed in the cryptic crosswords
that the newspapers throw at them, god forbid if a toddler manages to soil that
section of the paper, then all hell breaks loose.
Papa but it was a two day old paper! Exclaims the daughter in law.
Beta, who cares that I had not solved the puzzle that day,
and who cares that I could not do it that day, because of the stupid party that
you folks decided to host the day before yesterday, protests the old man.
But Kuchalambal was made of a different material. For her
every moment was a gift from god. Each second was a pause for wonderment. She
wanted to live a hundred years more, and she was confident, that she could beat
the current generation, in whatever they were up to.
Amma hope you don’t get angry with me, Shobana approached
her. “Wanted to give you a surprise, since you were away to the temple in the
morning, I tried making “Thiruvatharai Kali” today, but something seems to be
wrong with it”.
“Don’t worry ‘Kuzhandai’,
give me a bit to sample”,
Kuchalambal smiled, and when she put a spoonful into her mouth, the
Kali, was a disappointment, it stuck to her
palate, and sealed her mouth shut.
“Mmmmmm”...
Kuchalambal struggled to work her tongue around the gooey stuff, and
finally she managed to swallow it. Her disappointment showed on her face, but
she dismissed it with a laugh,
“Kuzhandai, you perhaps wanted to shut me up for
good, by sealing my mouth”, she laughed out in amusement.
“What did I miss Amma”? asked Shoba
“Did you not roast the Rice Flour, brown, before putting it
into the cooker”?
“No Amma, it was not mentioned in the recipe”, replied Shobana.
“Where did you find the recipe”? asked Kuchalambal
“I found it online in a blog”, replied Shobana, “it’s by the
famous chef from Delhi, who is on TV every day”.
Oh, really, let me then give an earful to the person who
does not seem to know the basics of Tamil cooking, saying so Kuchalambal went
online, and left a paragraph of critique for the owner of the blog.
This was only the beginning
With a flourish she got there on Face book, Twitter,
Waatsapp, LinkedIn. When the LinkedIn profile page asked her for her profession,
she proudly typed, LIFE PROFESSIONAL, with an experience of 76 years she added,
and slapped the ‘Enter’ key home, with a smile on her face.
She did not have much money to burn, but she made sure, that
she wore her best saree, pulled out her favourite necklace, got her daughter in
law to arrange her hair in a tidy knot, and landed up at the nearby studio. Bhaiya
she exclaimed, I want a profile picture for my home page, and want something
which does justice to my seventy six year, she exclaimed. With star hotels proliferating
all around, she managed to drag the photographer to the nearest one, sat with
aplomb on the Victorian chair near the fountain in the lobby, and got a
photograph clicked with great pomp, to the amusement of the lobby staff. When she finally uploaded here photograph,
into her profiles, they drew a hundred cheers.
That was her approach to life.
If you have not added her to your friends list yet, you are
missing something.
****
Glossary
Naryana : Another name for Vishnu, the revered Hindu God, one among the trinity of
Bhrahma, Vishnu & Maheshwar
Amma : A form of address, tamil word generally used
for Mother or for ladies.
Patti : Tamil word for Grandmother
Khuzandai :
Tamil word for Child
Thiruvadharai
Kali : A dish made from Rice
flour, Gaggery and garnished with Cashews and Cardamom, although sweet in nature, served with a spicy mixed vegetable preparation
as an accompaniment to make it a complete meal. Made on the Auspicious day of
Thiruvadharai.
