Solentine English version

 

The birds chirped as loudly as they could, making a noise of their existence. Flapping their small, colourful wings, they hurried in and out of the dense mango foliage. Big, juicy, saffron mangoes hung from the branches. A pop of orange in a sea of green. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy, sketched mosaic patterns on Nirmala’s papery skin.

‘Hey, shoo away!’ She tried staving off the birds, with a stick, from her wheelchair.

‘What makes them so happy? Crazy birds!’ The angry woman spat on the ground in a fit of vengeance. The wave of disgust that surrounded her, for some time now, didn't seem to wash over the birds. In their distasteful company, the warblers still continued to be merry. Yet, their merriment didn't dissolve her discontent. She kept whacking the stick on the mango tree to scare them away.

In all the tussle of keeping herself away from the little joys of life, a bright yellow mango fell on her dull, messy maxi. The sight of the fruit made her drool. Nirmala's eyes sparkled like two tiny diamonds. The grimace on her face curved into a lop-sided smile. Her bony hands shunned the stick and grabbed the fruit, with a childlike longing for the king of fruits.

Before she could peel its skin and devour its flesh, 'Na, na, Nirmala Amma, you can't have it. Your diabetes will shoot up.’ The friendly caretaker, Ashwini, at Nirvan old age home, gently extracted the fruit from her stubborn grip. The birds rose in murmurations, escalating into the spotless morning sky. Their flight seemed like mischievous teasing to Nirmala.

‘Aha, there comes the saviour of my breed! Who do you think you are? My mother? My daughter? My husband? Or..’

'Your friend.'

Ashwini clutched the cold handle of the wheelchair, and strolled down the slope leading to a cottage, housing eight other senior citizens like Nirmala. Not exactly like Nirmala, but most things they shared were in common. From grey hair to grief. From painful knees to aching hearts. From long, sleepless nights to short visits from kin. They bore matching holes in their hearts. Sizes varied. But the depth was the same.

The cottage was nestled on the cool hill station of Panchgani. Away from the city chaos, men and women spent their twilight years here. Dusk or dawn, the elders saw death closely from the rims of life. Only when one of them crossed the hem of life, would there be a new admission. Weak eyesight and a fragile heart allowed little compensation for grieving the dead. Inertia over momentum ruled their survival.

Nirmala had very recently been dumped here, after her daughter could no longer care for her diabetes. Diabetes or not, Nirmala knew she would land here. Parental instincts are stronger than the destructive force of a giant wave. Only that one doesn't allow it to surface, and face reality.

Similarly, the old woman harboured hope that one day the calves would return. Ashwini would time and again draw her attention away from this illusion, but Nirmala continued to gaze at the world, through her myopic lenses. The excess sugar in her blood was turning bitter on her tongue. She hated her loneliness and shrunk into a shell, not allowing other members to knock on her heart.

‘Put me to sleep, that is all you can do.’ Nirmala grumbled with her toothless gums biting the words. Ashwini helped her to lie down. Being around as the nurse at Nirvan for quite some time now, Ashwini was used to such cold treatment. She didn't mind the accusations as with time the aggression thawed and this same hard ice, then became the warmth of her heart.

The room was a small one with a bed, a table, and a single chair for the occasional visitor. The old age home was economical in its necessities and expectations. Not many friendly outsiders were expected. Nirmala rested her head on the pillow and for minutes placed aside her hatred, trying to catch a wink. Half n hour later breakfast would be served.

‘Darling, wake up. See, I have prepared a nice, yellow, fluffy omelette for you. Come on, get up.'

Nirmala pushed open her eyelids forcefully so much so that her crow’s feet straightened. The lady next door had woken up. Now, the whole day, the woman would go about her business as if she was at home with her husband. The husband had long departed for the heavens, but, Mary aunty, as Ashwini called her, refused to accept this.

‘We need to visit the doctor today. Your weekly dialysis is scheduled for the afternoon. Then, darling, we have a coffee date with Jacob. Oh my, my, we have a really busy day.’

The cement walls turned hollow when Mary began her banter, thought Nirmala. For the initial few days, Nirmala complained about the lady next door’s jabbering. More than the noise, the woman’s talks reminded Nirmala of her bygone days. A litter of three children who grew up to play passing the parcel with their mother where Nirmala was the irrevocable parcel. 'Burden’, she corrected herself. Their excited cries, throaty laughter, and hissing complaints were all missed. Now, all that remained was the long stretch of silence.

‘Dear, before we go to see the doctor, I will quickly visit the market. Prawn curry for my sweetheart today.’

Nirmala knew that now Mary would walk out for breakfast. At the table, she would eat her meal hurriedly, and then, return to her hallucinating world.

‘She is suffering from schizophrenia.’

Ashwini had once updated Nirmala. Though the word meant nothing to her, Nirmala concluded that Mary was mad. Like other inhabitants of Nirvan, she, too, maintained her distance from Mary. After the initial hiccups, Nirmala enjoyed listening to Mary’s mad ramble. She was fed on juicy gossip from Mary’s inner world. It was her source of entertainment in the drab world of the old age home.

These days, Nirmala, too, would push her wheels frantically to reach her room after the meals. Least, she missed a dramatic episode of Mary’s life.

'No prawns today, Mathew. Don't worry. I bought some pomfret for you. Here, I cook and clean for my Leonardo! La, la, la..’

The woman sang beautiful Goan melodies that were difficult for Nirmala to decipher. But happiness hung from each high and low note of her song. The tapping of feet and clicking of fingers made Nirmala wonder what kind of madness was this.  Was it even a disease or a new way of life?

The day went by in a blur. At night, the chuckling of the cicadas, with the low whistle of the wind, created a symphony pleasurable to the heart. Nirmala watched the ceiling fan whirl in slow circles, as sleep was still a distant friend. Till the time, dreams came galloping to rest on her eyelids, she waited for Mary’s primetime show.

'Oh, is it very painful? I wish Jesus would have pushed me into this grind. Mathew, you certainly didn't deserve this.’

Nirmala could visualize Mary sitting close to the wall that separated them.

'Life is so cruel at times. Only when we were about to breathe carefreely, away from the mails of loan instalments and reminders of college fees, having fulfilled our duties of being responsible parents and children, only when we could be lovers of paradise, this ugly disease engulfed you.’

The wall felt transparent to Nirmala. Mary’s wrinkled brow, her shaky hands, her drooped thin shoulders, and her frayed hair waiting to be caressed, all became picture clear to her.

‘Nevertheless, we will tide over this, too. Won't we, my Leonardo?’

The wall, now a huge cinema screen, suddenly turned from black n white to colour. A smile surfaced on Mary's lips. The shoulders propped up like a bubble ready to dance. She brushed her grey hair and it shone in the moonlight that flowed through the window. Nirmala’s imagination was entertaining her. She didn't care if it was a hallucination.

‘Mathew, remember what we used to do when one of us was worried or sick or simply felt lost? Yes, we are going to do just that now. Come, I will help you.’

And then, Mary sang in her mellifluous voice. The tapping of her feet, clicking of fingers, and the happy whistle that found a place in between the melody, outdid the music of the wind and nocturnal creatures. Her serene ecstasy touched Nirmala like butterflies nudging a closed flower to bloom.

How could one be so happy after losing a loving husband and a family?

Mary's way of life bore an answer for Nirmala. When a mortal being dies, they just take away their corporal form. The cushion of their love, and the blanket of their memories, continue to comfort us. Life can be celebrated even with the wisps of smoke that linger after the candle is burned out.

These realizations rolled down Nirmala’s eyes and were soaked up by her heart. She pitied herself for wallowing in fallacies that being alone was a curse.

Neglect is when you stop celebrating yourself, not when others walk over you.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. With a deep breath, she kicked out the stale air that had pumped her lungs for so long. The song next door was reduced to a low humming. Maybe, it had stopped long back. Nirmala was only devouring its imprints on her senses. It must have been late in the night. Or early morning. The night was ambling away with its starry blanket. From black to grey to warm yellow, the universe would soon come to life.

Nirmala rested with mindfulness nurturing her.

The next morning, on the mango tree, the birds tweeted in a synchronous symphony. Nirmala enjoyed the flutter of their soft wings and the chatter of their sharp beaks. An orange mango again fell in her lap. This time, she smelled the sweetness of the juicy pulp. Ashwini had stopped herself mid-stride toward Nirmala as the old lady was in deep, happy contemplation. She allowed the woman to rejoice in her quiet space.

‘Hey, Ashwini, I know you are eyeing me.’ Both the women burst into laughter scaring the merry-making birds.

'Tell me one thing, Ashwini, is that Mary really mad?’

Ashwini placed her hands on the warm handles of the wheelchair. The sun had been kind to shine luminously on Nirmala.

‘Who knows? Maybe she is simply in love with herself!’

'Yeah, she is alone but not lonely.'

Both the women paused to soak themselves in this profound wisdom that had fallen in their laps.

From where?

Mary was hurrying to the breakfast room. She had to be quick. Mathew was waiting for her prawn curry.