Tuesday, September 19, 2006 ||
1:48 AM ||
The narrow lane to the Sharada Madhom at Kochi is liberally strewn with withered leaves, the color of bronze. They flutter about in the cold breeze only to settle down resignedly a few moments later. It’s quite late in the evening as I mount the steps to the verandah, stricken by the moss laden brick wall that smells of dampened earth. The spirited flames on a finely lit lamp put up a brave fight against the impish waft that seems to be getting naughtier by the moment. Solemn chants of a long-lost reverie reverberate from somewhere across the somber walls. A dimly lit corridor with the fading sunlight streaming in, leads to a tiny chamber where my aide leaves me, pointing to a room at the far right. My supple steps nevertheless startle two elderly inmates perched up on twin beds strategically placed on either side of the door towards which I am headed. Amidst their frantic attempts to put up a decent show before their unexpected visitor, I enter the room and walk into her frail arms. ‘It has been so long’, she murmurs, running her thin fingers through my dry hair. At 80, she hasn’t changed much. The charming smile is as brilliant as ever, and the twinkle in her eyes unmistakably youthful. She cajoles me into staying a few hours with her, and firmly states that there were umpteen stories to be told. As I munch on a few biscuits that have been reserved for ‘exceptional’ occasions as these, and flip through an array of fading photographs cautiously placed on my lap, she animatedly talks of a life lived. I playfully tease her on her new hairdo that’s fashionably short; she pretends to ignore me and speaks instead of the mosquito menace in the city as a fierce horde surrounds us all of a sudden and we arm ourselves for the battle. When I tell her that the mango sprout that she had planted long back in our yard had fresh blooms for the first time this year, she clutches my hands in excitement. And reminds me with a chuckle that she had had a tough time with my wetting my bed all the time – ‘You never knew where to pee, did you??!’ I gently remind her that the sun had long set and that a dusk drizzle was on. She accompanies me to the hallway, her fingers intertwined with mine, our feet getting wet in the spray that had splashed across the gleaming red terrazzo. ‘I am incredibly happy that you came, but it’d take me some time to get used to these silent walls again, when you have left. And then I will be sorry that you were here.’ The rueful tenor in her wavering voice is all too evident, and the beaming eyes moist. Before I walk out into the chilly night, I hug her tight and fervently promise her that I would be back soon for sure.
Perhaps with a few fresh ripe mangoes.
