The brewing storm

Saroja 12 year old had not run away from her home .Her mother had brought her from the village and left her in the care of Suneetha who was on the look out for a domestic help.Saroja hailed from the same village of the previous maid who had worked for seven years in Suneetha’s house. A young girl with good features, she looked pleasant. Suneetha assured the mother that she need not entertain any fear about the well being of the girl and that she would be taken care of like the other children in the house. It was a small family of husband and wife with two children besides Suneetha’s old mother-in-law.
The two children in the house were disciplined, tidy and methodical. They would wake up early in the morning, have their bath, put the used clothes in the washing machine, finish their breakfast and will be off to the school. The rooms would always be spick- and- span. Saroja would also be up early, clean the front side and sprinkle water. She learnt to operate the washing machine. After washing the utensils, she loaded them in the dish-washer. Thereafter she swept and swiped the rooms. The work was not heavy and she was more of a handy help to Suneetha to fetch things, answer the door bell and phone, collect the clothes from the clothes line, fold them and put them in the respective cup boards. The girl was very quiet and efficient. Everyone was happy with her. She even joined the children in the board games on holidays.Suneetha never stinted on food or clothes for Saroja.Her mother-in-law had a special liking for the girl and in the afternoons spent time talking to her or asking her to massage her aching limbs. The old lady often used to regret that her daughter who was also in the same city did not have a good maid and frequently had to do all chores herself.Suneetha made sincere efforts to locate one for her thro Saroja’s mother but failed to find one..
About six months later the old lady went to her daughter’s house to stay for a couple of months. It was only in the evening that Suneetha noticed that Saroja was not to be seen in the house. She searched hither and thither in the colony in different neighbouring flats but could not find her.Saroja never went out without telling her.Suneetha became very nervous wondering how the girl’s mother would react to the incident. The girl was nearing 13 and good looking. The news about the abduction and killing of girls after rape in a northern city were very recent with bodies being discovered daily.Suneetha’s imagination ran wild fearing all sorts of dangers to the girl.Infact she had grown very fond of the girl over this period. Her mother-in-law was also not there to comfort her. She rang up her husband Sekhar who was in an important meeting. He felt that the girl would have gone somewhere nearby with her local friends and assured Suneetha that they can report to the police if the girl did not return by 8pm.
The girl did not turn up and Sekhar returned only around 9pm. They felt that it was late to go the police station and that it would be advisable to make some more efforts before approaching them. The whole night Suneetha remained awake and was crying unable to get even a wink. She prayed to several gods that she would visit their temples and donate money if only the girl was traced back safely without any problem to her.

Early in the morning there was a telephone call that Sekhar’s mother who was a diabetic and heart patient had left behind her medicines inadvertently requesting him to bring them immediately. When Sekhar went to hand them over, his sister asked him whether he would have tea. When he agreed, she called “Kutti ponnu (Little girl) bring the tea in the tray”. When the girl appeared with the tray, Sekhar was rendered speechless. It was the missing Saroja.He raised his voice in anger and asked her “How come you are here without informing my wife? Who brought you here? Don’t you have common sense that we would all be worried?” The girl started sobbing.Sekhar’s mom intervened ”Sekhar, why do you raise your voice? I only brought her here. You very well know that your sister’s health is not good. She cannot work for long hours. She has no maid. I brought Saroja to be here with me till I stay here. What is wrong? I should have informed Suneetha but the decision to take her with me was taken at the eleventh hour when the auto rickshaw had already come and was waiting.”
Sekhar was upset but kept quiet and informed Suneetha immediately of the discovery. On his way back he was thinking of the hurricane storm brewing in his household.

Differing perceptions

I have a distant relative of mine by name Paru mami living with her only son. Her husband had not left her in good financial circumstances. Past eighty, she is fairly in good health and takes care of her personal chores without help. With her reduced vision restored after minor surgery, she spends lot of time listening to music, reading dailies and magazines and watching TV serials. She is unaware of her slightly impaired hearing and the volume of her TV is heard in the neighborhood. Not given to any religious or spiritual pursuits, she does not bother about the ‘the other world’. A worldly-wise lady she is not given to loose talk in the presence of her son and bahu.Her dutiful and loving son leaves early and returns late in the evening from his office. Her relation with her daughter-in-law Shreya is cordial but formal. Shreya coming from a decent family is a Chartered Accountant working in a company. She is a very nice and gentle person who takes care of her mother-in-law like any dutiful bahu. My aged relative has really nothing much to grumble about.
A few oldies visit Paru mami in the afternoons when she is alone and spend a couple of hours daily except holidays gossiping and discussing their pains and bahus. This old lady has the habit of boasting that the amiable relation she has with her bahu has a lot to do with her own innate goodness and man management skills. She will not give any credit to the good natured Shreya for her accepting this old lady as a part of her family and for being considerate and kind to the extent possible consistent with her office commitments. That young lady leaves the lunch in hot box, snacks for the afternoon and coffee in flask. This clever lady will tell her friends “My bahu is in a hurry. I told her that I do not mind serving myself from the hot box. God has given me strength to manage my own affairs. I am not dependent on any one”. She will conveniently forget to tell about her weekly visits to the doctor every Saturday escorted by her bahu. The usual refrain of the lady was that all problems between mothers in law and bahus arose because of the foolish handling of the latter by the former and letting the grip go out of their hands. Little did she realize that her own bahu suffers in silence the conceit of this lady more out of respect for her husband and treats her talks that she comes to know as mere prattle of the aged.
Paru mami’s daughter Malati is living close by in a big house with her husband. Her well to do mother-in-law who was living with her elder son had to move here when he went abroad. That lady is very old and frail but managed her affairs well and is very affectionate to her bahu. Given to reading scriptures, she spends most of her time rolling beads. Being very flexible in nature she adjusted to the new surroundings. She gave ample sum each month to her daughter-in-law for her upkeep. But the daughter could not visit her mom as frequently as she did before as she had joined some painting and computer classes to keep herself busy and away from the home. Her retired husband stayed at home most of the times.
Paru mami’s refrain these days to her group is that her daughter Malati is confined to home tending to all the needs of her old mother-in-law and that she gets easily exhausted not being in the pink of health. She is unable to visit her much although she is at a stone’s throw forgetting carefully to mention about her painting and computer classes. The other oldies know that Malati is obese and indolent by nature, that nothing is wrong with her health and that she needs to walk daily to reduce the flab. But they commiserate with Paru mami and tell to her glee that none could match mami in her strong independent spirit, self esteem and her ability to manage the difficult modern day ‘office going and educated ‘bahu.
The last I heard was that Malati’s mother-in-law had joined a well maintained and well-to-do senior citizen’s home on her own insistence far away from the city. She wanted the quiet and peace of the suburbs to pursue her spiritual ways. Paru mami, I learn, is unusually silent these days in her afternoon sessions apprehensive that she may be sent to an old age home lacking the wherewithal to pay for deposit and monthly maintenance for a well-to-do senior citizen’s home. But her kindly bahu continues to be the same caring and gentle lady entertaining no such thoughts.

Power of compassion

Though growing old myself, I do not enjoy the company of old people. I am more at home with youngsters born several decades later. This unwillingness to mix with persons of my age or senior to me could have stemmed from my unconscious fear of seeing my image in them. It could also be that the oldies talk more about their problems: declining health, reduced money and disinterested children. It leaves even the most cheerful chap a little depressed. It never struck me that the younger folks with whom I tried to get close would have similar reaction for me. Luckily I was with kinder people and never had occasion to feel unwanted.
It was then I had a request from a friend of mine in Kolkata to visit a senior citizen’s home run in the suburbs of the city where I lived and give him my impressions. Possibly he had an old relative with no or poor income of his own in mind. My wife had also been urging me for long to donate some money to one such home. At her suggestion I took bundles of dhoties, towels and saris for giving the inmates.
It was a house with five small rooms, a hall, kitchen, three toilets and two bath rooms. There were no cots. Four or five slept in each room on mats with the hall possibly accommodating more. A middle aged man in khaki uniform informed that the manager would come only in the afternoon. Having seen me alight from a medium sized car driven by a driver, he had no objection to my seeing around. He was engrossed in talking to some woman that he paid scant attention to me. What I saw made me sad. Most of the inmates who were in the hall and rooms appeared lonely despite living in a crowd , fragile people ready to break down and full of stories of neglect and indignities. Most of them , shriveled with age, sunken cheeks, bald heads or silvery hairs, bent in body with a walker to stand steady, drooping mouths exposing a few stained teeth with cavities, thick glasses or a dangling wire from the hearing aid, did not present a pleasant sight.
When I was looking around to place the bundles I had carried, they said in plaintive tone “Sir, please distribute these to us yourself as otherwise they would not give us. They will be sold.”
I was shocked and said that I do not believe the management would do such a thing.”
They replied in chorus ” We do not know about the management. The fellow whom you saw outside will take away every thing. Now and then people come here and donate sweets and namkins, blankets and such things. He will keep most with him and give us very little. Please, Sir, give it before he comes. We will wear them immediately.”
I asked my driver to keep that fellow busy in case he finished his talk with the woman. Meanwhile I distributed all the clothes and left the surplus with them to be given to other inmates when they come. I distributed the ladoos and the namkins then and there. I spent an hour with them discussing their routine and their lives. It was not much speak about. It was a pathetic revelation of how cruel and indifferent the society has turned over the years towards the older people especially when they become dependent on others for support financial or physical. The problem is acute in cases like this home where the inmates are poor and unable to pay large sums demanded in better homes. The food supplied is inadequate and the same bland fare day in and day out. Medical facilities are not much to write home about. They suffer silently may be with sympathetic words from each other. People also become self centred in adversity. Each one of them was biding his/her time for the god of death to give deliverance from this cruel world.
Firstly no relatives visit them. Even the few who come once in a while stand at a distance for a few minutes exchanging some words in a voice that is monotone. There will be no enthusiasm or love or even a touch or caress. The servants and the man who worked in the home always talked rude in rough voice. These people crave for kindness and love that they have missed in their homes. They long for caring words and a little demonstration of concern for them. The twilight years are spent in despondence and worry.
How nice it would be if the schools were to send their young girls and boys to these homes in bright and colourful clothes to sing, dance and prance before these oldies. They can enliven their days with humorous stories and laughter lifting their sagging spirits and making them feel they are wanted. The one positive spin off would be the children learning the power of love and compassion to the lonely and lost

One kind act begets another

Murugan worked in a small job with a low remuneration. He was married with two children. He had an aged mother also with him. Life was a constant struggle for the couple. His wife too pitched in with some earnings distributing milk sachets early in the mornings. His children were studying in a government schools. The school for the elder boy was about two kilometers away and he had to trudge by foot, rain or sun. He has been pestering for long his father to get him a cycle as many of his class mates had. However much Murugan wanted to comply with his request, his poor income had higher priorities. One month it could be medical expenses for his mom, another month repair to the leaking hut or the payment of arrears with the shop for provisions taken on credit. Each month was no different from the other.Murugan’s neighbour bought a new cycle for his use and asked him whether he would like to have the old one. He demanded just Rs.200 knowing that Murugan cannot afford more. He however gave him two day’s time to buy it as he needed the money he owed to cycle shop. The boy’s demand turned into an insistent cry on hearing this.Murugan lost his temper and slapped the boy into silence.

He left soon there after to attend an auspicious function at his sister’s place. He borrowed Rs.100 for buying a gift. On his way he was struck with remorse at having been rude to the young boy but consoled himself that he would soon find someway to get a cycle for the boy. His sister’s family was better off running successfully a grocery store. His sister and her husband were happy that he participated in the gala occasion and presented him with an envelope containing Rs.250.
Murugan decided on his way back to request his neighbour to accept Rs.150 initially for the cycle and the balance to be paid subsequently. As he was retuning home from the bus stand, he met his colleague who was in tears. He had a pitiable story to relate. His young son was knocked down by a speeding three wheeler and was left bleeding in the road in what was a hit and run case. The boy needed medical attention and help.. His colleague had raised some money by pledging his wife’s chain but needed more, however much he could spare. Murugan thought of his sobbing son and the neighbour’s cycle for a moment. He said “I would like to help you but I have a small amount for some other pressing purpose. I realize the urgency of your need.”
“Okay Murugan, I understand. I have been trying several sources since morning. Let me go and find out from some others” The colleague patted Murugan, turned back and hurried into the narrow alley.
As Murugan watched him leave, he felt a slight wrench in his heart.”Hey, wait a minute. Take this Rs250.This is all I have. I will find out some other way to sort out my problem. Your need is more pressing than mine. If you need me at the hospital, tell me. I can come.”
“Thank you so much for the help. There is no need for you to come to the hospital. Let me rush” his friend replied
Murugan felt light in his heart though he felt sorry that the boy’s cycle will have to wait. When he reached his house and knocked the door, his son opened the door with a beaming smile. When he saw in the corner his neighbour’s cycle and raised his eye brows in askance his wife in answer to his unasked query said “Our kindly neighbour had left the cycle this morning and said you can pay whenever convenient even after six months. Our boy is waiting for your arrival and permission before trying it out.”
Murugan was speechless for a moment wondering at the ways of God and how one kind act begets another.

How I turned a Mohan Bagun fan

Having been brought up in soccer- starved Chennai, I knew nothing of football when I landed in soccer-mad Calcutta (now Kolkata) in a Nor’ester month on official transfer in early Seventies. Within a month I knew that football was a passion with Bengalis and no conversation is complete amongst my Bengali friends without debating the relative merits of Mohan bagan, BNR, East Bengal or Mohamedan Sporting club often ending in abuse and rarely in blows. I was all at sea not knowing the names of leading players or the rules of the game. Being a greenhorn, I had no fancy for any particular club. I remained discreetly silent with an air of all-knowing indifference. The city was divided not on the basis of religion or political affiliations as we witness elsewhere. You have to be pro- one of these clubs and naturally anti - others. It was an exclusive choice not permitting your taking kindly to more than one club at a time, only black and white with no shades of grey. I believe these days the craze is much less, but then in Seventies, it was amazing and at times horrific. I knew a person, who would starve for days if his East Bengal lost. If they won, entire neighbourhood would be feasted with Hilsa fish. I didn’t know then that East Bengal was associated with Hilsa and Mohan Bagun with prawns. Depending on which club won, particular variety will vanish from market. Such polarisation of people on the basis of loyalty to the clubs is to be seen to be believed...Nevertheless it is the love for football that binds the city without regard to status, age, gender, language or religion however much it is divided on the playing days.
It was then on a hot Sunday afternoon while I was returning home from an errand I saw a middle aged guy in a gaudy yellow shirt and Dhoti with a jholna bag hanging on the side with unkempt hair walking on the other side of the road close to my house talking to himself with gesticulations. I took him for a mad cap and when I saw him moving towards me I gave him a wide berth by moving hurriedly to the opposite platform. I was a bit scared and profusely sweating when I rang the bell of my apartment nearby.
.When my young daughter opened the door, I mentioned about this amusing but scary man.
No sooner I started telling her, she stopped me and asked ”Was he wearing a yellow shirt with a bag on his shoulder and talking to himself”
I said “Yes, how do you know?”
“Appa, he is a Mohun Bagan pagal, he will invariably ask you “Do you like Mohan Bagun or East Bengal? If you say per chance East Bengal, you are finished as he will immediately give you a hard slap”
“My God,” I muttered thinking how close he came to me and how deftly I avoided him.
She continued saying “He was a leading player in his days in Mohan Bagun and lost his moorings when he broke his leg and had to discontinue playing. Poor chap, he is otherwise a harmless fellow”
It was at that moment I chose Mohun Bagan as my favourite club and started walking bravely on the same side of the platform with my yellow shirt friend. However he never asked me to my disappointment the eagerly awaited question. But I did not switch my loyalties as there were no pagals in the vicinity swearing by East Bengal or Mohamedan Sporting clubs.

A gift with a difference

My husband Kumar hated meaningless spending on festival days like Diwali on clothes, jewellery, sweets, fireworks and varied gifts to near and dear. He felt they had no religious sanction and each family tried to outdo others in getting bigger and costlier things. While he did not belittle the religious part of the festival, he was against aping others in this mindless spending spree. But he never imposed his opinion on me or other members of the family. He used to gently point out that vast majority are suffering without basic requirements and that such lavish spending by the fortunate few is socially unacceptable.
He never accompanied me to shops on such occasions. I used to get him each year any one of the items like new suit lengths, good shirts, costly tie pins, branded shoes and even gold chain. He was a gentleman who cannot hurt others and when he accepted them with a small smile, I could guess what passed in his mind as sheer waste of money to demonstrate one’s love for the other. Still I could not allow such festive occasions to go by without a gift from me even though I was aware that they never impressed him.
Last year I did something different, something after his heart for Diwali. Kumar is not very rich though he earned enough to make us live comfortably. Yet he set apart a portion of his income for philanthropy no matter there was pressing needs elsewhere. He donated money to hospitals for treatment of poor, to schools for scholarships to needy students and in kind like blankets and sweaters for poor homes. He never mentioned this to others, not even to me on many occasions.
The idea came to me when I accompanied my friend Vasumati to a destitute home for girls run by private efforts with great difficulty. What was started as a noble cause floundered when the promised money from different sources was not forthcoming.Vasumati along with a few friends tried to keep it running. They were after persons who could afford to donate for the cause. She wanted to involve me too in this cause of seeking liberal contributions. It was a pathetic sight to see young girls of varied ages from two to sixteen dressed in tatters. The clothes were not even adequate to cover themselves with dignity and adequately. Some of them did not have spare sets to wear. They were walking in bare foot. They frequently stayed away from the school for want of a clean dress. The home found it difficult even to provide two square meals. Often they had to make do with conjee for the nights. There were about forty inmates then. I was so moved by their condition that I instantly wrote out a cheque for Rs.50,000 from my personal account in favour of the home for purchase of two sets of dress for Diwali.I kept the receipt carefully. That Diwali I kept the purchases to bare minimum and skipped the gifts to friends and relatives.
I put the receipt in a brightly coloured envelope addressed to my husband with the inscription ‘With best wishes for a Happy Diwali”.On the day prior to Diwali when the family members assembled to see the purchases, they were a little shocked at the poor spread. No silks, no Conjeevarams, and no jewellery they found just one set of daily wear clothes for each from Khadi Gramodyog.To the surprised husband who could not believe what he saw, I thrust the envelope in his hand. With everyone curious to know the contents, Kumar broke into a large smile when he saw the receipt. He said this is the best gift that he had ever received from me. His happiness rubbed on others and soon we looked forward to celebrating the festival with gusto in our own new found way.

A child's compassion

I pack the lunch boxes with three chapattis and sabji or pasta or four idlies for my school going children aged 11 and 9. The items vary almost daily. They leave after breakfast around 8am and return only at 4pm.While I found the girl, the elder of the two, grumbling that I stuff the lunch box with too much of the items, the younger one was asking me for more. I thought being a boy and playing all the time whenever there was leisure, he must be burning more calories and have greater appetite than the girl. I started keeping more of the items that I made and was happy he liked them. One evening when we were having supper together my husband asked the boy “Sunil, you seem to have a ravenous appetite. Have you not taken your lunch or what?” I remembered that I had kept six chapattis with plenty of alu sabji.It appeared strange that he was eating more than what a normal boy would eat after a heavy lunch. Sunil replied with a hurt look “I am hungry. Is it improper to eat more?” My husband did not pursue the topic. But this was rankling in my mind as I gave him lunch more than normal for a boy of his age. His lunch box was always found wiped clean in the evening. I did not ask him anything then.
The next day I went to the school and met his class teacher. After the pleasantries I asked her how Sunil was faring. She said ”Oh Sunil, he is a gem of a boy. I am proud to be his teacher. Very well behaved, he is one among the first three students.”
“Does he participate in games and play as well?” I casually asked.
“I am sorry. That is one point I wished to tell you myself. He doesn’t participate in any games and always prefers to sit on the sidelines. He needs to exercise. Otherwise he is a very lovable boy”
That evening when we were alone, I asked “Sunil, I want you to tell the truth. I am stuffing your box daily with more than adequate lunch. Yet you seem to be hungry in the evenings. I met your teacher today. While she is happy with your performance in studies, she mentioned about your lack of interest in games and physical exercises. You don’t also seem to burn your calories justifying your hunger. Tell me what exactly the matter is. Are you eating in full the lunch I give you?
After some hesitation he said ”Mom, please do not get angry. I share my food daily with Mohan. He is a very poor boy and does not bring lunch. On some days he does not even take any breakfast as nothing is available at home. He is reading on scholarship.Mom, he is first in the class. When everyone is eating the lunch would it be proper to leave him alone starving? To tell you the truth I give him more than half the share. Please do not get upset. Have you not told me about Eashwar Chandra Vidyasagar and his generous heart?”
”Sunil, I am not upset with you at all. But you should have told me all these before my asking.. It is not proper to hide facts” I said.
“Mom, I was afraid you may reduce the quantity and tell me not to share.”
I could not suppress my tears at the simple innocence and the compassion this boy had for his hapless class mate. I told him “I am proud of you. What you did is right but take your mom into confidence always.”
From the next day I started using a bigger lunch box and stuffing much more than what two boys can consume