An Excursion

Opening my eyes in the morning, my body feels like a log. Neither do I enjoy getting up from my lying down position nor do I want to go on lying down. Being a log in the bed is not particularly pleasant. I bring myself up and scratch out of bed, my every muscle and joint creaking. These days, brushing my teeth is never a must, early in the morning. It has become an elective job.

A bowl of mushy, semiliquid, yellow masala oats with preserved carrots and hard semi cooked peas is placed in front of me, I feel like throwing it in the bin. Why does the body always contradict what your soul craves? No carbohydrates, no sugar, no potatoes! I have had poha and upma for breakfast all my life and suddenly, it has lost all its goodness and this flaky, sticky thing from a foreign land has gained all the goodness. Today, I deny eating this squelchy, ugly potion of a bowl of oats and looking at the monstrous face of my lady attendant, I tell her that I will be eating out and push it away. Her monstrous face grimaces but do I care? Freedom has to be snatched and never given on a patter, I tell myself.

I get up from my breakfast chair in the living room and go to the bathroom for taking an early morning bath. I have been a lark, all my life. These days I hate showering standing up. A high stool is necessary. I hate tubs too. If I slip into them and cannot get out, I cannot imagine the embarrassment that I may face;  if I have to call that leech of an attendant, who will have the privilege of seeing me all naked. I have been chaste all my life and never touched a woman other than Maya.

The other day, I told the watchman to bring a high stool. And I told him that they are not always for the bar, they may be useful in a bathroom too. And moreover, they write whole lot of horror stories about people slipping in the bathroom and breaking their heads or their femurs. These days, I hardly find the Draculla or, I forgot what was the name of the movie playing on the TV the other day; about those bad bad dolls, scary. They feel like some bad jokes. The real horror stories are about slipping in the bathroom and breaking one's bones.

According to me there is no dearth of horror in this world. The moment you open the newspaper, you see horror stories from the front page to the last. Everyday, inflation is one consistent horror story and there are sporadic ones like legalising gay marriages, and also about intelligent talking devices, giving you information and also giving away your information to something called Google. I have put off all of them brought by my son. I only keep the landline open, and switch on the mobile only when my son is scheduled to call. And then the other horror story is watching your own transformation from tough and vital and exuberant person to this ever fearful, over careful ghost of who you once were, in the mirror.

In Spite of it all the drops of water trickle down my body the same way, infusing the same zeal into the pores of the skin and tickle my heart to get going. I rub my body with the soft towel and go to the bedroom. A line of suits of every colour and texture and style hanging in my wardrobe, motion me to pick them up. I have not worn a suit for more than 5 years, nor have I needed to shop for clothes. Now a days, I only shop for medicines and hospitals are my malls. I move my hand over the suits and pick up a blue one, my favourite. Every meeting I ever went for was successful with this suit. As I wear it, I feel as if nothing has actually changed. I get ready and head out. The monster lurking around me, the lady attendant asks me where I am going and I tell her matter of factly that I will come back after a stroll.

As I walk out of the lift, the watchman gazes at me surprised and I brush him aside. I take an auto after getting out of the apartment gate and tell him to take me to Gandharva at Fergusson College road. He dutifully does as I tell him. It's a welcome change from the fact that no one listens to me anymore most of the times. I get down in front of Gandharva and am about to walk into the hotel, but I realize that I wanted to visit my office on the same road.

I come to the Balgandharva square. It is extremely overwhelming to watch the vehicles crowding at each road of the square with the red signals. The vehicles come roaring and zooming over me, as if there is some race going on. My feet feel glued to zebra crossing, and I effortfully cross the road with my heart hammering in my chest, almost cursing myself for deciding to go out. I reach the other end and a young man, zooms past me, jumping the signal and I am startled out of my wits.  Somehow, I reach my office steps and enter. My face feels the cool breeze of the air conditioner and I temporarily forget my fright on the square.

I stroll through the office, watching the receptionists at their desks typing hastily on the computers. As I go ahead, I see employees working in their cubicles. When I was in the office, there was only one receptionist and we worked without any cubicle, with just desks and chairs. Only the manager has a chamber of his own. No one recognizes me and that I was a manager here once. My heart aches for a moment but the office ambiance gives it a tinge of joy. What once brought work stress, today brings in the pleasant feeling of nostalgia. I wonder why today's youngsters need the artificial thrill of bungy jumping, paragliding and those idiotic adventure parks. For us, being able to make ends meet for the month was enough of a doze of stress and thrill.

I come out of the office and sit in a cafe beside the office, I dare not cross the road to Gandharva, one more time. I order a grilled sandwich. I pick it up to eat, when I realize that I forgot my teeth at home since  I have to use dentures now. My son insisted that I go for implants but I denied. I hated to go to the dentist day after day. The sandwiches are of no use. I tell the waiter to parcel them and order an idli. At least, I can eat it since it is soft. I finish my idli with spicy and piping hot sambar and come out of the cafe. A girl in rags is selling flowers. I buy Gerberas for Maya and take an auto home.

When I reach, I go to Maya's room and place the multucoloured Gerberas beside her. She is beyond recognising me or the world, since her left side is paralysed and she has developed extreme somnolence and forgetfulness, these days. I am grateful that our son bought this apartment in Pune where there is every amenity like a nurse, an ambulance, and canteen if one does not want to cook and a retired people's club for elderly people like us.

As I stand thinking about my son, who is abroad, my stomach rumbles uncontrollably and I get an urgency to pass motion and I rush to the loo. I come out relieved, I know that these days, the restaurant food that I once enjoyed, makes my bowels go bonkers. I collapse on the bed and wake up after tea. The lady attendant comes with a cup of sugarless tea and two high fibre biscuits. I feel like crushing those biscuits and throwing the powder on her face, but I know the consequences and amicably take the tray from her. I sit on the sofa for a long time dozing off and on, with the TV blaring in front of me, until it's almost 7 pm and tired of dozing on the sofa.

I walk to the balcony and sit on the swing. The house was especially gifted to me by my son because one can see the stars from the balcony. I am again filled with a strange sense of ecstasy and feel like going to PL Deshpande garden, but I know that it's dark and so risky. I would have gone down to the retired officer's club downstairs, but I am too tired from my morning excursion and so I sit back. I know more than ever before that at 89, I have numerous feelings all day long, but I can hardly act on them and moreover, there is no one to listen… . I realize that at 89, you hate to live this restricted life, and yet you are afraid to die. I stay awake for a long time, since sleep eludes me; especially at night trying to think of something more worthwhile to spend my tomorrow....

*Poha and upma- Indian breakfast dishes

*Gandharva- A famous breakfast joint in Pune

*Balgandharva- A well known garden in Pune, where there is a square called Balgandharva square

*Idli and Sambar- South Indian food

PL Deshpande park- A Japanese garden in Pune

Maitreyee

21/08/2019