Seeing the world through the eyes of another person
5 DAYS
By Pratik Raghu, seeing the world via his grandmother, Rathna Narasimhiah
Monday July 20th
The creaking and clicking of my husband’s cane woke me. I turned my head in his direction but did not rise to help him make his way to the bathroom, as I used to so many times a night before. I felt nervous until he was again back under his covers, but I reminded myself that Sheelu was right: he needs to learn how to take care of himself. The signs are encouraging: he no longer mumbles “Rathna!” every time an object is just out of reach and he, thankfully, has stopped washing his hands above his plate at the table. He seems to have rediscovered laughter in Asterix’s world and the dimmest of twinkles has crept back into his milky eyes. It is wonderful to see him walk around the house from time to time, especially when I think about the state he was in before Babu and Sheelu came over: barely alive, hardly audible, almost immovable; not even a shadow of the indomitable man I’d married. Coming here was an excellent move and we really should have the Gods bless Sheela, Raghu and Pratik for everything they’ve done, everything they’ve sacrificed. (Should I give them something? Would they let me?) True, I miss Besant Nagar, my students, my classes, our neighbors, the salty sea air, our home, our street… I even found myself wondering if the crows had noticed our absence! Then again, the remarkable change in Narasimhiah has justified our year away from everything we’ve known. Let’s hope he stays this way. Another fall would undo everything. What would I do? What would I be able to do…?
Tuesday July 21st
Cooked baingan bartha today. I must say that it came out very well indeed: Sheelu made my day when she remarked, after just one mouthful, “Eh, fundoo stuff, Mummy!” Even so, I wonder how much better my dish would’ve tasted if I’d been able to get my hands on some real Indian brinjals, not the tasteless, oversized, artificially enhanced objects on display at the pasar malam. Speaking of the night market, I’m proud to say that neither my daughter nor my son can accuse me of having a closed mind: every Thursday, I tag along with Sheelu to buy vegetables and fruits. Every Thursday, I’m exposed to the sights of carved cow carcasses hung on hooks and to the unmistakable stench of fish, prawns, eels and whatnot steaming on blocks of ice. In the past, just overhearing mamsaharis discuss their plans for dinner would be enough to make me shudder with disgust: now, take a look at me! I suppose I now know that I have to accept their lifestyle – even though I still look at their platters and think of how the chickens, pigs, goats and lambs they devour with gusto must’ve lived their lives before... you know what I mean.
Sometimes, I sit and wonder whether Sheelu and Babu have ever looked at an egg carton and imagined, in its place, a dozen fluffy, chirpy golden yellow chicks looking back at them, with beady, unassuming little eyes. My children have gotten furious with me on so many occasions over this matter. “Oh, stop being ridiculous, Mummy!”“Mummy, you are just too much. How can you be so fussy?” I am not fussy. What I am is considerate – I never forget that humans aren’t the only beings with thoughts, feelings, the ability to experience pain – and the right to live and die natural deaths. So, will I never know the artery clogging goodness of ‘butter chicken’ dissolving on my tongue? Will I never be able to appreciate the flaky texture of fish flesh smoked over the open flame? Fruits and vegetables will be just fine, thank you very much.
Wednesday July 22nd
Watched Pratik getting ready for school in the morning, ironing his clothes, wolfing down his dosai, strapping on his expensive shoes (I believe they’re called ‘sneakers’ – don’t ask me why) and disappearing around the corner with a broad smile and the promise “Behgah wahpuhs berthini, Ajii.” I still can’t believe that he’s 16 years old, 6 feet tall and two years away from university. Was it really so long ago that he could barely reach the doorbell on tiptoe? That he used to run back from Sunny Brook’s, coming home to a bear hug, a plate of saar anna with Ruffle’s Lays chips and an afternoon of Tom, Jerry, the Speed Racer and Captain Planet? He’s still a baby to me and a “Putani” to Narasimhiah, whose face lights up every time he realizes his grandson is even in his vicinity. Pratik came along at just the right time for Narasimhiah – towards the tail end of his working life – and so he was able to shower him with all the attention in the world. One should really stand back and marvel at the lengths Narasimhiah has gone to give Pratik all the things, but more importantly, all the time his parents never could provide him – he was one of 14 to be tended to, after all.
Sometimes I wonder if we try to ‘smother’ our children and grandchildren with love. I know, it seems like a silly thought – but why then has Sheelu gotten angry with me for repeating instructions or pieces of advice to her, Raghu or Pratik? Doesn’t she know that all we want is to make their lives a little easier, a little more convenient by encouraging them not to make mistakes that anyone could – and that we might’ve made before? I get annoyed when we try to help, but are seen as being – what did Sheelu say? – “overprotective and overbearing.” Is it so wrong for us to show our concern and our affection for them by pointing certain things out? They shouldn’t assume that, just because we belong to an older generation, we are completely unaware of situations that they may face.
Thursday July 23rd
Sheela was so unreasonable today – we had an argument that could’ve so easily been avoided if she had been thinking clearly. The truth is that I have had to stay at home for most of the time we’ve spent in Malaysia – and I wouldn’t have it any other way: I know that I need to be at Narasimhiah’s side to help him with certain tasks every now and then, and be on my watch, just in case… no, I won’t, I won’t consider it. The thing is, unlike in Besant Nagar, I have very few things to busy myself with. I have no students coming in, eager to learn glass painting, doll making, Tanjore art, tie and dye, knitting and pencil sketching. I am not able to look forward to the visit of even the fruit vendor, the milkman, the postman, anyone for that matter. The nearest beach is two hours away, so a brisk shoreline walk in the early hours of the morning is out of the question. Watching soap operas and reading Tamil novels becomes tedious after a while. All I have to really engage myself with is cooking and household chores. This may seem a sad state of affairs, but I’m grateful to have something, anything to take my mind off the monotony that has become my life. In any case, I see these tasks as small ways of repaying Sheela and her family, to express So, I set about cleaning the living room today, determined to put an end to the messiness that had consumed it. My feet hurt and my back ached slightly, but I was driven by the image of Sheela coming home to a ‘glittering’ welcome. I had just finished going over it one last time with a vacuum cleaner, when I heard a key turn in the lock. I straightened up and quickly surveyed my handiwork with pride. Sheela came in, and I smiled at here, asking “Notice anything, Sheelu?” She glanced at the gleaming tiles on the ground, the neatly arranged items on the coffee table and the carpet that had not so long ago been unrecognizable under a layer of dust and grime. I waited eagerly for her reaction. Then, in the most furious of tones, eyes wide open, my daughter whispered “Do you think… you’re our servant, Mummy?”
I can still hear the angry echoes of Sheela’s words: “What were you thinking? Don’t you care about your health? Who asked you to clean up the living room?” I’m hurt and – I just don’t understand. All I wanted to do was help: is that so difficult to see, to understand? What have I done wrong to receive this kind of treatment? “Servants” aren’t the only people who should have to clean up a house! Sometimes, Sheelu really does shock me with her behavior.
Friday July 24th
This probably sounds silly but – I just can’t help but feel that Pratik is up to something. For the last week or so, he’s been peppering me with questions about what I’ve been doing and how I pass the time every day. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s trying to put himself in my shoes and see the world through my eyes! I know, it seems a ridiculous thing to do, but you never know with children nowadays…
We are getting closer and closer to Babu’s arrival: I cannot wait to see my children and my grandchildren come together under one roof. I wonder how Aditya and Yamini have changed since I last saw them. I think about how long their hair will be, how tall they would’ve become, what they’ll now be obsessed with, what they’ll have to tell me. It’s one thing to be able to hear their voices over the phone every now and then, but another thing entirely to be able to sit them on your lap and tell them stories, or cook breakfast for them as they sit sleepily at the table. The chances we have to really be a ‘whole family’ again are few and far between, so we must make the most of them.
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