On a bright Sunday morning, my usually silent phone rang ;
Is this Ms.So-and-So ? , a baritone asked .Yes, you got my name right, I said, "This
is Monu Kumar", the voice again said, "Do you know the lady who was staying in Mr. Ronu Kumar’s apartment? " . "I do not know of any Ronu-Monu Kumars, you
might have got the number wrong", I said << I told you, my phone is a
dead-silent device otherwise >> "The lady who was living in apartment # X-XXX.
You know her, don’t you ". Okay, the lady in apartment # X-XXX, that rang the
bell, “yes , I do, I do”, I said , surprised, though she never looked to me like
someone looked out for her . She was Lady Home-Alone for us.
I started noticing her a few months back , for she stands
out of the crowd with her pale-white skin and even whiter close-cropped hair , and moves at
an impossibly slow rate with the help of an elbow crutch. I was further
startled to know that she was living all alone in the apartment with no live-in
maid either. I see her seated at the concrete bench adjacent to the apartment
block, while running to catch up with the maddening morning traffic. She
recognises me, we smile, and I wave a hand. There ends the dialogue. I never
asked her name or ask about her family and
did not particularly call her anything.
I had been to her apartmet a few times and when I did , I took
Little Sid also along. And in one of these visits, I saw a photo leaned against
the wall. A lady with long, plaited hair pillared on both side by two handsome
looking men, resembling the hindi movie stars of the ‘70s. Their face had a radiance
as if touched up on by rouge ; thickset hair was jet-black and they had both
worn woolen mufflers around the neck, so primly tied as was their mother’s
saree. Your sons ?! , I exclaimed in wonder, "Umm.. One is in Ka-ne-da aur woh dusara .. ", I was looking at the future lay in my hands, snugly wrapped in hand-knit
woolen sweater. He looked away , as if he understood the predicament he is in. "He
had come here on the other day" , the drawl continued. “When?!” , I was disappointed
that I missed the visit. << It was not for an emotional melodrama or
verbal admonition to tell them of the pain of pushing a life out of a mother’s vagina, but to tell them that their mother was proud , too
proud to ask for anything >> “But he was barely here for a day”, she said
with the signature stoicism.
Now Mr. Monu Kumar continues, "I am her son , she passed
away last week, you might have known" . I was aghast that I did not know that a
lifeless and frozen body of a helpless woman was being carried out just under my feet, while I was busy with the day ; "Yes, she died of a cardiac arrest and we are conducting a small ceremony to
pay her tributes, it is tomorrow at 5, and we invite you for that ". "I am
sorry to hear that, but I fear I will not be able to join at 5 ", I cut the
call , happy that she died ,for, every day was an ordeal for her and she was
too proud to ask for anything
As someone once said, I want no tombstone with my name
inscribed, can you love me when I still live ? : I look at Little Sid; he smiles and looks away
