Two Obituaries

Sometimes, people get old and die. You feel bad, remember them and then move on with the memories. With a working mother, I spent most of my childhood in company of my grandmother. May be, that’s why I have certain degree of affection for a cotton-saree clad, wrinkled faced, gray haired, thick-glassed women. Two such individuals I know are no more. They both were old and wrinkled but pleasant.

They say you cannot choose neighbors, friends yes, but not neighbors. I guess, at one time we were too lucky to be believed. Gurjar Aji and Manda Tai followed us as neighbors a few months after we moved into a rented apartment. Actually, they lived there for a few years before us, but both were in Canada when we moved in. At 84, Aji was as young as they come. A gem of a person she was always excited about something. A life full of hardships was endured and the swarthy face showed it. Aji’s mother was chronically ill, so Aji dropped out of the school early on. Her childhood gave her opportunities not only to learn to take care of chores at home but also cycling and swimming. After her wedding, she came to Dadar. But low paying salaries and big families were the pain areas. Aji took to tutoring girls in swimming and earned some money for her family. The conditions were tough, but she encouraged her son to get into IIT and never was more proud of him. The son eventually went to US and then to Canada. After Aji’s husband and mother-in-law passed away, she also moved to Canada. A life in new country, along with new people, new neighbors, no friends or relatives around…but she coped well. Until an untimely widowhood of her daughter brought her back to India. She shuttled between the two countries and enjoyed her time in each as much as her health would allow.

It was not difficult to have Aji in excited state of mind. She would be excited about anything – a film, making tea for everyone in the afternoon, chatting with the neighbors, preparing pickles before the rainy season, knitting, new books or clothes. She had a knack of taking people along with her and enjoying life. She would worry about my food if my parents were away and invite me for meals. A visit from her son and grandchildren from Canada brought a sparkle to her eye. Our floor was lively because of her presence. After the duo left again for Canada, the closed door disturbed me every time coming out of the elevator, so used were we to her presence. Everyone knew Aji was old, but no one accepted she would not return. Providence had different plans for her. Eventually we also moved away with a promise to keep in touch. A phone call told us of her departure. Peacefully, as happy as she was always.

The same day, another phone call came in with another bad news. Seeing my father’s number on the caller-id was information enough for me. Another old lady had finally left us for her abode. In my family, she was affectionately called Ranga-Mamee, otherwise only Mamee. She was my father’s maternal uncle’s wife. Large families tend to shorten names! My grandmother’s youngest brother – Shrirang became Ranga to her and Ranga-mama to my father and his siblings, Mama’s wife carried the moniker forward in its feminine format. A fair, tall, educated lady had endured all the hardships in life but remained steadfast. She became surrogate mother to my father and many of my uncles and aunts who came to Mumbai for further studies or jobs. And when the retired life was getting easy, Mama’s early death made Mamee lonely. A broken hip-bone brought a dependent-life style. Mamee never recovered from it completely but dragged on for years. Three years back, when I met her, she was wearing black glasses to protect her cataract operated eyes and carried a stick to help her walk. She firmly clasped my hand and wouldn’t let go for a long time – lost in old days, telling me stories of old times. Old age eventually caught on bringing multiple organ failures – unfortunately one-by-one. A comatose Mamee did not recognize my father when he visited her in the hospital; forget about the care taken by her tired daughters. But I still remember the younger old-lady – a visit to our home once or twice a year would bring lot of joy. Mamee would have stories to tell and affection to shower. For such a pleasant lady, when death took over, he caused a lot of pain…but so was her fate.