Turmoil - {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Kaveri amma was unable to get out of bed that day. Her bones were stiff, it felt as if all energy had drained off completely, leaving her in a state of near death.

"Am I going to die?" She was mortified. This was not how she had pictured her end, alone and helpless.

"What if I die now?"

"Who will check on me?"

"Who will inform Ramesh?"

Kaveri amma was getting closer to the House of God and she knew that. She begged her body to move so that she could get out of bed and make that phone call to her only son Ramesh. Whenever she had expressed a death anxiety to him, he would always comfort her by saying that he was just a phone call away.

"Just a phone call away," she now thought weakly. At this hour of need she understood what that truly meant; nothing at all, if one cannot get out of bed and reach out for the phone.

She often took solace in her past as she had a constant struggle with the present. She was unable to live in the moment. Death seemed imminent. It was going to happen today and she was going to die alone. This frightful thought gripped her senses as she slowly sank into the past.

***

Amma had no one to blame for this situation. It was her decision to live all by herself. All these years, she had lived a much cocooned life under the warmth and protection of her husband. Her husband had passed away peacefully in his sleep at the ripe age of ninety. She was seventy eight and her coping mechanism was good. She tried not to dwell on the loss but felt even more determined to be like him, independent and strong. She did not want to be a hindrance to anybody, least of all to her only son and his family.

Amma was very fond of Asha, her daughter-in-law. They shared a very special bonding, although generations apart. Asha had lost her mother at a very young age and when she married Ramesh, Kaveriamma was more like a mother to her, perhaps even more special than that. When amma turned 80, Asha insisted that she shift from her husband's house located in a small town on the outskirts of Chennai to their apartment which was in the heart of the city.

"How long are you going to stay alone?" Asha had asked with concern.

Whenever amma was confronted with delicate questions, she would change the topic to her grandchildren and Asha easily fell into the trap. Both of them would happily travel down memory lane and recall all the mischiefs and playfulness of the twins, Priya and Varun, in their early years.

Asha was a teacher and took voluntary retirement when her twins were teenagers. She wanted to stay more connected with her family. Both her children were set on different paths; Priya was married into a wealthy family from Boston and Varun devoted himself to the music world just like his father, and was steadily gaining name and fame. He had created a niche in Indo-Western music and named his band as "Fusion beatz." His shows gave him an opportunity to explore the world but his home was Chennai, the hub of the music industry. Asha would show his music videos to amma who insisted on watching it over and over again.

One day Asha told amma, "this song of Varun has gone viral and thousands of people all over the world are seeing it? Let me play it for you."

"Even songs get virus fever?" asked amma with an innocent curiosity.

"Amma, even computers have virus," replied Asha smilingly.

A perplexed amma asked, "Which doctor can cure this computer virus?"

Asha rose up to the bait and replied in a serious tone, "Amma these doctors are computer engineers who can get rid of any sort of virus and cure the machines."

This was enough to make the women from two generations giggle like girls.

***

Amma's mind suddenly flitted to that box, a priceless possession which she had guarded all her life. It was still there, the dainty box, made of dark teak wood with intricate leaf like carvings. Somebody in the family had actually carved it. This box belonged to her great grandmother and got passed on to her grandmother, to her mother and now finally it was hers. Over the years it had lost its lustre and the copper hinges had corroded. But it still held the ancestral jewellery as the family had prospered over the generations. It would now be worth a fortune. She wanted Asha to have all of it. She was tired of guarding it. It had to be passed on.

Amma's voice trembled with emotion as she spoke, "Asha, my dear, please do not refuse and hurt my feelings. I would like you to have this in my memory."

She pressed the box in Asha's hands and continued, "You must pass this on to Priya and her children and so on for many more generations to come. I would also like you and Ramesh to have this modest house that I am living in, so that I can comfortably breathe my last and find a place in heaven."

Asha did not know what to say. She accepted the box and started weeping quietly. She was genuinely happy about her unique relationship with amma and wanted nothing more out of it. She was aware that if she refused to accept the inheritance, it would break amma's heart. So she remained silent.

All this seemed a distant past. Amma was now getting breathless. Her eyes filled up with tears as she remembered Asha who had battled till the end before finally succumbing to breast cancer. Amma hoped and prayed but nothing could change Asha's destiny.

She could now hear Asha's voice, distinctly.

"Come to me amma. We both can live together in this new place named ‘heaven' by earthlings. Do you know how beautiful it is here? There is no gravity and we can float and drift anywhere. We are masters of our doings, come to me amma."

Kaveri amma's thoughts whirled in the pool of her own emotions.

Ramesh became a recluse after his wife's death and diverted his focus from music to his daughter and grandchildren. He visited Boston to be with his grand-daughters. Varun never married and lived with his father. Amma knew that she would not be able to adjust in their space and hence continued to live alone.

***

Amma looked at her childhood photo which was by her bedside. She was the last one living out of her nine siblings. She was going to join them but for some strange reason, she was afraid to face death and even more terrified to die alone.

"What if my body decomposes? What if I turn into a ghost?"

She halted her thoughts and tried to get up. She felt very weak and paralysed. Her legs simply refused to move. Her son had given a cell phone and even taught her how to use it. At this hour of need it was beyond her reach.

"Just a phone call away," she thought wryly.

She had to call someone. Her mind was in turmoil and her head began to throb.

Just then there was a distinct knock on the door, not once but three times. She strained to see who it was.

"Is that you Ramesh?" she asked with her hopes rising.

She heard a click and the door slowly opened. She could see a woman enter the room. The woman was clad in white and next to her stood a youth with white overcoat and a stethoscope around his neck. The woman was shuffling a sheath of papers and both came towards her.

Amma's head had hurt and she was very confused.

"Had she met with an accident?"

"Did she fall off her bed?"

She looked down and found that she was in hospital clothes.

"Where on earth was she?"

"Where was Ramesh?"

In spite of all this confusion, amma's spirits suddenly soared because she was not going to die alone. She could seek their help in calling Ramesh. As she collected her thoughts a gentle voice breezed across the room.

"How are you madam?" The young doctor in white overcoat grinned and felt her pulse. At the same time, the woman touched her shoulder and gave her a light hug.

"How are you Asha?" she asked in a soft voice with a tinge of anxiety.

Amma was baffled. Her mind was again in turmoil.

"Who is Asha and where is my son Ramesh?"

"Can somebody please answer me?" pleads amma. Her head was throbbing and it felt like it would explode any moment.

"Asha, you look beautiful and fresh as a morning daisy. I had bathed and changed you last night and you still look so fresh. This means you had a good night's sleep," said the woman releasing her grip.

Amma pointed at the hospital clothes and exasperatedly asked, "Does this make me look fresh as a daisy?"

The woman in white handed her a mirror.

A pale, young face in her mid-thirties stared back.

"Who is this?" amma asked confused.

"This is you Asha. Shall I call Ramesh?" asked the woman.

"Nooooo..." she screamed in agony.

"I am not Asha. I am Kaveri amma."

"Who is Ramesh?" Amma's voice softened and trailed off as she looked at the ceiling with a deadpan expression. Her fingers were still clutching the dainty jewellery box. She opened the box and screamed again. It was empty.

***

The young intern clad in white, turned to the doctor and read out her observation:

Patient's condition is deteriorating. She has been hallucinating. I have checked with her family and there is nobody by the name of Kaveri amma. The jewellery box was gifted to her by her family. It had been empty before and she always kept it by her bedside. She is delusional and the duration of her spells has increased considerably. Therefore I recommend that the patient be moved to an institution (not in isolation) before onset of any symptoms of violence."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully as he examined Asha.

Through the narrow glass, Ramesh looks helplessly at his beloved wife with tears in his eyes, hoping for a miracle. Priya and Varun are by his side sobbing. Destiny had indeed prematurely snatched Asha away from all of them to a point of no return.

**********

Published in Muse India - January/February, 2016
Thank you Atreya Sarma - Editor (fiction & reviews)

Welcome 2016

Jingle bells, jingle bells, all the way they – jingle, jingle, jingle

As the grand pa clock chimes - ding dong, ding dong, ding dong

The countdown begins - tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

As we bid good bye to 2015 to wake up to another new year 2016

With renewed faith, dreams and desires

As our emotion unleashes the tempest within

To the farthest horizon that cannot be fathomed

It is time to gift wrap 2015 with all the memories – good, bad and ugly

Because it doesn’t matter anymore

It is not too long for the New Year to unwrap and give us all a chance

To express - love, warmth and tenderness
Reunite - with the ones we have lost ties with
Build more memories – good, better, best

Let us feel happy and cherish the kindness of time, giving us another chance
To wake up to a whole new year 2016

Let us spread cheer and warmth and steer our lives
To embark on this new journey of a whole new year 2016

Jingle bells, jingle bells, all the way they – jingle, jingle, jingle

As the grand pa clock chimes - ding dong, ding dong, ding dong

The countdown begins - tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

Merry Christmas and a HNY

Merry Christmas to all my readers and may the bells jingle all the way into a prosperous and happy 2016...

Love your wrinkles {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Her wrinkles as supple and soft as shea butter, her tiny mouth as it stifled a yawn - I looked fondly at my new born as she lay in my arms, eyes closed as if never wanting to wake from slumber-land, both hands curled into a tight fist that had to be cajoled to be released only to curl back tight against my little finger, as if never wanting to let go of me. As I drew her closer to my chest I felt like a life giver. That moment also gave birth to a new emotion within me, the proverbial “maternal instinct” bundled with abundant joy and an overwhelming sense of protection laced with a huge sense of responsibility.

I sent a silent prayer to the Universe as I watched my baby girl and saved that glorious moment in my memory box never to forget!

*****

I remember lying down on my grandma’s lap as she gently stroked my hair and I kept reading a book. A love that made me take her for granted and assume that she would last forever. I was in my teens and pretty much took all nice things in life for granted.

“Grandma, your hands are so wrinkled and rough,” I observed.

“Yes they are; years of hard work and age has added up,” she answered with a smile that made her lips curve upside down to me as my head was on her lap.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“All of eighty four,” she replied.

“How ancient is that!" To me anybody beyond twenty was old. Well, that’s how we all felt when we were in our teens, right?

“Just seventy years older than you. I was your age when I married your grandfather, you see!”

“Whaaaaaat?” I asked in disbelief.

I couldn’t picture myself to be in my grandma’s position at all.

She pointed towards the wall at the black and white picture of my grandma’s wedding photo.

“You certainly look older than fourteen, maybe you were twenty,” I declared because that seemed to be a marriageable age to me.

“I cannot see much of your hands as they are hidden under that sari of yours.”

Grandma laughed.

I didn’t say anything and kept examining her hands.

“One day your hands will also look wrinkled,” she said.

“Oh Grandma, I love your wrinkles,” I said fondly and kissed her hands.

She gave me a tight hug and started stroking my hair as I resumed reading.

*****

“Ma, are you using the creams and lotions that I bought from Paris?” I asked my mom over the phone.

“Oh dear, yes and no," my mother answered with a sigh.

“Why don’t you set a reminder on your cell phone,” I nudged.

“No matter what, one cannot avoid those wrinkles; so it is better we learn to love them,” she said.

*****

One night, I examined my face intently much to the amusement of my husband.

“Oh my dear sweet God, can you see that?” I asked.

“See what?”

“The fine lines on my face? Look at my hands and my neck; there is no mistaking the fact that it has started looking tired. I dreaded to use the word wrinkles.

Few years from now my daughter would be holding her little infant and feel exactly the same way as I did when I first held her in my arms, my bundle of joy, the wrinkles on her face, hands and body, yet as supple and soft as shea butter…..

I looked at the photo of my baby girl, my mom, I and my grandmother.

Wrinkles create memories and that is all that matters.

 

 

Maggie and the shrink

Aunt Maggie gets a jolt as she realises that she had meandered towards the thicket, the forbidden path, that too in the dead of the night.

“Sleepwalking can be dangerous. I might even kill somebody. How dreadful would that be? I must see Dr Redwood the first thing in the morning and tell him about this. He is well aware of all my problems, the inane telephone callers, the arrest of my nephew and of course my everlasting love for Merlot, which I don’t see as much of a problem except that once I did water the geraniums with it, but that was just once. I have to tell him about this new ailment; if I live through this night and escape becoming the supper for the wolves or bears or other wild boars.”

The thought of wild animals made Aunt Maggie shiver like a pale, wilted leaf. She had read so many stories to little Nancy who listened to all these horror stories with interest, in the cosy comfort of her bedroom.

Dr Redwood was a good friend of Phillip and a very kind hearted person who understood all her maladies, at least he said he did and kept making notes continuously with his head bent. She loved it when Dr Redwood made notes as this made her feel very important and she simply made up wild stories to add that spicy touch to her woes.

Aunt Maggie could never take her eyes off his head as she counted the four strands that still survived on his otherwise bald pate. Phillip was also bald but Dr Redwood was balder than most bald men whom she had come across in her life span of 80 odd years.

Aunt Maggie’s thoughts came to a halt as she heard the rustle of leaves. Was it a wolf or a grizzly bear? This was not one of those bed time stories she read out to little Nancy. This was real and she was in the woods, that too in the dead of night.

Aunt Maggie shivered in her night gown. She was barefooted and it hurt now. Her toes curled and the cramps were unbearable to the point where she could not get up.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………….”she screamed in pain and then panicked. She could not control her vocal chords as the pain was excruciating. As if understanding the misery her toes miraculously unlocked and she managed to stand up. She looked around for a stick, just in case she had to defend herself.

She had no clue how to get back to the house. There were only 2 ways – one that would take her home and the other that would take her deeper into the woods.

She did exactly what Nancy would do when caught up in such situations – eena meena myna moe……and started to walk towards the direction that ended with moe…

She heard that rustle again. She was terrified. A bear covered in black fur was walking a few yards ahead of her.

"Did this mean that she was walking towards the thicket and not her home? How could eena meena myna moe have failed her when it never failed Nancy?"

Aunt Maggie was confused. She longed for her Merlot.

Just then the grizzly bear stopped and turned. It was looking straight in her direction.

Aunt Maggie froze. If she ran she knew what would happen. She was defenceless but for some strange reason felt brave.

"Roaaaarrrrrr.....she tried to mime the voice of a tiger to scare the bear away. She had read this trick in one of little Nancy’s books.

Alas! the sound emanated from her sounded like a sheep and the bear looked at her intensely.

She decided to talk to the bear, another trick from the book.

“I know who you are, she said as if talking to a child. You are not a wild grizzly bear. You mean no harm to an old lady who is nearing her grave and wishes to live a few more years. She is in no rush to go to Phillip. I bet he is having a good time in heaven with his lady friends."

“Maggie, what are you saying? How do you know that I am not a bear?"

Aunt Maggie was stupefied.

The bear had started talking to her. The trick of the book was indeed working!

She must tell this to Dr Redwood tomorrow. And she could spin a few yarns around this story, too.

Then the bear starts walking towards her.

Aunt Maggie freezes.

“Shhh……You will not reveal this to anybody, okay?

"The bear had a secret to hide?

"Reveal what?" she asks boldly in a loud tone.

“That I sleep walk in the woods at night and pretend to be a grizzly bear, and Mrs Redwood pretends that she is oblivious to this, as I am the only shrink in town. It would be a shame if the word spreads.
I have different set of problems and I compare notes when you talk to me."

Aunt Maggie faints.

Dear readers (Revathi Raj Iyer)

On this joyous occasion of Diwali, I wish to express my appreciation to all readers who have been curious enough to visit my blog and my face book page "Expression of Pearls". Thank You!

Maggie and the thief {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Aunt Maggie was sipping the morning tea left by her bedside. Some kind soul in the family must have thought that a cuppa tea will augur well than a morning Merlot, if not for her health, at least for the sake of the flora and fauna in the garden.

"Ahem, ahem, aarrghhh....."Aunt Maggie cleared her throat as the insipid liquid made its way all the way down to settle in her stomach.

Aunt Maggie slid her hands under the blanket in search of the Merlot which she was sure she went to bed with, the night before. Since the death of Philip she slept with the bottle besides her and sought its comfort in the middle of the night, when the hissing sound of the gusty wind woke her up from slumber.

Aunt Maggie glanced around the room. Everything was where she had left it, a month ago. Her room was an untidy mess and whosoever walked in with that morning cup of tea was either too kind or had lost his mind.

For some reason unknown to her, she enjoyed the tea that morning, although weak and lacked flavour; just the way she always had when Philip was alive. A flash of memory and it felt that Philip was alive and back in her life.

That morning was unusual. The house was silent. The sprinklers did not start at the dot of 9 am and there was no sound of the dishes getting stacked in the kitchen or a yell if she had anything for the laundry. Even good old Ruffle was missing.

Aunt Maggie peered outside the window, the swing was empty and little Nancy was nowhere to be seen. This was the time when she would be out playing in the garden all by herself and singing her heart out.

Aunt Maggie nearly fell off the bed at the shrill sound of the telephone. She could not save the liquid nor the cup. The cup crashed into pieces on the stone tile and the tea stained the carpet, making it even harder to figure out the original colour and design of the ancient carpet which was of  Persian origin but over the years looked like a piece of trash.

"I have to get rid of this carpet," she thought to herself and dropped the saucer.

"What is a cup without a saucer?"

Aunt Maggie slipped her feet awkwardly inside the fluffy shoes half chewed by Ruffle and manages to toddle out of the room. Carefully clutching the railing, as if holding it for dear life, Aunt Maggie walks down the stairs slowly. She could clearly tell that she was all alone. The phone kept ringing and by the time she reached and picked the receiver, the caller had hung up.

"Darn, you stupid old thing," she muttered and went to the kitchen. It was neat and there were no signs of breakfast having been made that morning. No cereal remnants on the floorboard. The kettle was empty.

Aunt Maggie had absolutely no idea as to how the morning tea made its way to her room.

The phone broke her thoughts and this time she hastened a bit, to pick it up.

"Hello," she hollered.

"Madam, good morning. How was the morning tea?" the caller asked.

Aunt Maggie was confused.

"Who the heck are you and why are you enquiring about my morning tea?"

"Because I left it for you," he said.

Aunt Maggie was befuddled.

"Do you think I am a fool? Why on earth would you make me a cup of tea?"

"Madam, I am a thief and I have emptied your house of all its precious belongings. I left the tea by your bedside, just out of pity, because it seemed your family had deserted you. I have some good sense in me, you see!"

"How did you get in?" Aunt Maggie demanded.

"The door was wide open and I easily walked in," said the caller.

"How could her nephew have left without saying a word to her, although he had threatened several times that  he would do so. That spitfire of a wife he was married to, must have made him do this. They left the door wide open? How utterly ruthless. Even little Nancy had not pranced into her room? Even Ruffle had not said good bye?"

A wave of self-pity swept over her. She was abandoned in her own house.

"Now do you understand why I could not leave the house without offering you a cup of tea?" the caller said.

"To hell with you all," retorts Aunt Maggie and slams the receiver.

She opens the cabinet near the end of the stair case, where she always hid a Merlot in case of an emergency. She fondles the sleek neck of the bottle and looks ruefully at it. This was an emergency.

She slowly climbs the stairs up to her room. Huffing and coughing she pulls the edges of the disgusting stained carpet, in a fit of rage and despair.

Her eyes open wider than a saucer.

Multitudes of $$$$ bills lay there neatly stacked underneath. The tiles had been neatly removed and substituted by the $$$$.

Aunt Maggie sees the smiling face of Phil on each one of them.

The day Philip had that fatal heart attack he did mention that he had done something drastic.

"What have you done? You look as if you have robbed a bank!" she had exclaimed.

She finishes the bottle and smashes it on the stone tile and fumbles her way downstairs to the phone, with a wicked grin.

"Hello officer, my nephew has robbed a bank and is absconding. I can help you with more details."

She chuckles and chuckles .......