Authors: Minakshi Chaudhry
Today it is kishmish which bring back these memories. There was no need for me to buy it, though it is used frequently in my house, Dadoo took care of it.
What will happen, who will do all these small but important things for me. Then I console myself, he did it for so many years I should cherish that memory and I recalled little things just in flashes: Lots of fresh corn, ginger, peas, dates and so many other small things, which I have stopped having for the last two years like jamun, berries even bananas, jalebi, and besan ki barfi. He has stopped buying them because he doesn’t remember what they are.
With fondness I remember his love for dry fruits. When we were children, travelling the world with him, the first things that Dadoo bought for us were almonds, pistachios, walnuts, fruit peel and cashew nuts. Now it is Mamma who buys these and he enjoys eating, munching away happily and saying, ‘These are very tasty, what are they called, I have had them for the first time.’
A couple of months back when we had gone to a shopping mall there were only two things that he concentrated on. Packet of dry fruits and potato wafers and he kept picking them up and then keeping them back in the rack as he read the price tags. In the end Rohit and Mamma bought two packets each of the dry fruits.
Some four years back when I was recovering from a long illness and Dadoo was still in his senses, I remember him making several tours to the local markets in Chandigarh: Bringing all kinds of things ranging from fresh coconut to fresh juice, from beetroot to green onions, from flavoured milks to cold coffees, from eggs to poultry, from mithais to samosas and household stuff including vegetables, rice and wheat. He was constantly on the move, buying, coming home, leaving things and then going back to the market again. What was nutritious and what was not, what was expensive and what was not didn’t matter, because it was needed (anjir, prunes, pine nuts) and when after every chemotherapy I came back to Shimla our vehicle was loaded with fruits and vegetables – kinoos in quintals, for fresh juice. This was all done by Dadoo.
Sometimes, I used to get so irritated when he would forcibly ask us to eat the fruits like bananas which we didn’t like and we would snap at him ‘Why do you bring them, we don’t like them.’ And now I realize the preciousness and the warmth of that spirited man. I agonize on who is going to do this for me now. Is it over? It saddens me but then again it gladdens my heart, at least I experienced it for such a long time.
And kishmish, it is fine. I will buy myself and every time I buy I will remember him fondly. Dadoo always loved food and that was one of his priorities in life.
‘There is no excitement of eating things which are in season. Nothing can match the taste and joy of eating vegetables which are out of season! It is expensive but compensates for the kick that it gives you,’ he would often say.
I had been motivated by him for so many years to eating lots of salads and fruits, but now all this is passing. He eats nothing, he buys nothing. I make it a point now to buy fruits, so that he can have one of his favourite ones, but alas he has totally forgotten the taste and instead of enjoying these things which he once loved he remains muddled up, stressed to the point of breaking down. In fact now he has become so lethargic that he opens his mouth and says, ‘Put it in, I can’t get up.’
Another dread is settling on me, if it goes on like this will he stop eating food by himself? Is it lethargy or something else, something dangerous, ticking in his brain making him forget how to eat on his own.
2 May 2011
He says, ‘I am a very satisfied man. I have educated my children, they are all settled and earning well’, and then a flash of memory and a doubt creeps in, ‘except for my elder daughter’, he whispers.
‘She is fine, Dadoo, she is doing good, don’t worry about her.’
He laments, ‘It is all my fault, it is the parents’ fault. It is the punishment that I got for going to Nigeria.’
I try to pacify him that what has to happen has to happen but he persists that he is guilty, that if he had been here in India she would not have eloped.
Just a week back he again reminisced on this issue which always disturbs him. ‘Was she alone here in India?’ he asked.
‘No, Dadoo, Dadi was with her.’
‘Oh,’ he said forlornly.
‘How old was she?’ he asked.
‘Seventeen.’
‘Yes, it was a tender and tumultuous age, we should have been more careful. Your grandmother must have found it difficult to take care of a teenage girl. Mala too must have found it difficult to share her doubts and anxieties with her.’ I keep quiet. He has made up his mind long back that it was his fault for spoiling didi’s future.
He also worries about Mamma – what will happen to her, who will take care of her? ‘You are the only ones who have to take care, she has only you.’
Sometimes during his rare moments of sanity he says, ‘She will have no problem, I have provided her with a house, sufficient money and then she will also get my pension, what else is a husband’s duty.’
6 May 2011
Today I ask him, ‘Dadoo, did you lead a happy life?’
‘Yes. I did my best, my children are good. I have gone places, I did it all by my own means. I was never dependent on anyone.’
‘Then why are you sad now?’ He looks at me with intense pain which I cannot decipher.
‘Happiness is in the moments. Now I don’t remember that happiness because it was at that moment. And in this moment what is there to be happy about? I have grown old. I have no mind, my memory is fading. There is no medicine, sometimes I think I am losing my mind and what am I waiting for? Let God take me away.’
I get upset and I snap back, ‘Everyone has to go, you are not the only one.’
He nods and says, ‘This is philosophy, beta.’
I am little hesitant but then I ask him, ‘Are you scared of death?’
He is thoughtful and then says, ‘What is scary about it? No, I am not.’
I persist, ‘The physical pain? How intense the pain will be when you leave this world?’
He is a little surprised and mutters, ‘Physical pain is nothing. It is just a body. Earlier limbs were removed when operations were done without anaesthesia. That time too humans endured this pain and lived. I am not scared of physical pain,’ he said emphatically.
‘Then what?’ I interrogate him.
After a long pause he says, ‘
Moh
aur
maya
– love and desire. In this world these two things suffocate us. It is my love for my family that frightens me, I don’t want to leave them. I am scared that they will not be able to survive. My children will be insecure and I don’t want that to happen.’
I am amazed at his obsession with us but then what do I know about parenting. I am not a parent.
‘And what is your desire?’ I ask.
‘There is no limit to desires, they keep on coming, multiplying. They are always there.’ He says giving me a look which says, ‘Don’t you know this simple truth.’
‘But—’
He interrupts, ‘—My desire is to see my children rise high, my desire is to see Deepak. What has he become now?’
‘Vice president.’
‘So what will be his next promotion?’
‘President.’
‘Yes, I want to see my son as president and want to see this daughter of mine to get an award for writing. When are you getting an award?’ He asks.
I smile, ‘Don’t know, Dadoo.’
‘But you must get an award, no one has written so many books in Himachal.’
‘There are people, Dadoo, who have written many books,’ I murmur.
‘Yes, but they are not popular.’
I have nothing to say, I am embarrassed. I want to change the topic when he repeats, ‘Moh—maya are the two things which have made life miserable on this earth.’
‘According to me without this there is no meaning to life,’ I say.
And he says, ‘I agree. But this itself is a torture, it is a suffering.’
I give in a little and then say, ‘Fine, there has to be a balance, not much, not less, Dadoo.’
He looks at me and shakes his head and with his wisdom replies, ‘
Arrey beta
there cannot be a balance that is why there is so much of suffering. Everyone knows this but love and desire are two things which are not in control. I am telling you this because no one has made this “balance”.’
Love and money. Whom do I love madly? Rohit, my parents, my in-laws? Can I make a balance? No, I can’t, love just pours out, it is not measured. And money? I have to have little but then, what is little? If someone says I will give you millions will I turn my back? I am not sure.
These philosophic discussions used to go on and on, sometimes on life, sometimes on being in the present – and sometimes on death.
‘When you reach my age you will know that
kuch nahin hai iss duniya main, yeh sara mazak hai,
drama
hai
[there is nothing to life. Everything is a joke, a drama]. The problem is that you get to know of it very late, by then you can’t turn back, so my advice to you is “enjoy the present, spend money, go places, do what you want to do because when you become old there will be nothing left”.’
‘Did you do what you wanted to do?’ I ask him.
‘Yes, I did,’ he says laughing proudly, ‘but I could have done more,’ he adds still smiling.
I am happy for him and I realize how very different he is from other parents. Whenever Rohit and I plan holidays, call friends in our house for dinners and parties, go for picnic, spend money on food and books, read books he encourages us and says, ‘This is life, don’t wait for something to happen because nothing happens in the end and unfortunately you realize this very late and by then you can’t do anything.’
‘This is all a drama, if you have the right attitude to live then enjoy every moment in whatever circumstances you are. That is the only thing that you will gain in life,’ he often says.
Now I do understand the reason for his love for food, his love for people, discussions, gossip, interaction, his love for seeing new places and with that his love to shower people with gifts. He was always a giver and his boisterous laughter always echoed in our house. Laughter is very essential and portrays happiness and joy in a family. There are very few people I have seen laughing so openly.
He says, ‘Everyone has to pass his time but if you pass this time enjoying every moment, then this is what belongs to you, that is what you gain, the rest is rubbish. All else is useless.
Bas
enjoy life,
wahi apna hai baki sab kuch bekar hai
[enjoy life, that is what you have, rest all is futile].’
‘Something happens and we say, “Look how strange life is. We don’t know what will happen the next moment.” Actually that is what life is, you don’t know what will happen in any moment. Had we known it, it would not have been life. At least not what we know as life. Not being able to know what lies in store is
life.
’
‘But, Dadoo, is this all not philosophy?’ I interrupt.
He shakes his head, ‘To live a beautiful life you have to philosophize it sometimes.’ And then he goes back, ‘Moh—maya are two things that hang like a curse on our heads, we can’t escape them,’ then he contradicts, ‘But these are the crucial anchors and provide zest to life.’
‘Can’t a man be brave and bold enough to live alone?’ I ask casually.
‘Everyone needs support in life. We need company to enjoy things. A lone man is a scared man. If I need help today I will count my friends, relatives; I may not avail it but their presence is a source of comfort.’
‘What is relationship?’ I probe.
‘If you take out relationship what is left: eating, defecating, sleeping! Nothing more. It is the soul that brain and body asks for.’
‘Life is so complicated,’ I complain.
‘In one way it is simple too. Enjoy “now”. There is no later. What you can do today, you will not be able to do tomorrow. So “now” is the time to enjoy. Once you have basic security – food, shelter, clothes, and a regular income – why waste time, live to the fullest. There is nothing if you look at the world in the materialistic or even in spiritual sense. Your happiness is all that matters every day for you. Saving money is useless unless you enjoy spending it. Property is meaningless if you can’t use it, my father left lots of lands and even money. I did not use it, so it is waste. There is a hundred bigha land in our village, Kuljar, lying waste not being used. What is it for me?’
‘Everything is temporary and nothing is permanent except change.’
I nod.
‘
You have to spend the time allotted to you, time
kaatna hai
bas
[we just have to kill time that is all]. I have seen the world. I visited England and America during the time when very few ventured to these far off places, it was considered wasting money, very few had seen the world at that time. It’s easy now,’ he reminisces, ‘but I did what I wanted to.’
‘You come to Solan, don’t worry about building a house. I can afford to feed you. It is just two of you. No worry at all. Don’t buy land, don’t build a house. I have enough.’
Since our childhood we have heard Dadoo talk relentlessly about the importance of education and the need to promote people in different fields.
‘Even being handicapped,’ he said, ‘cannot stop anyone from learning. There can be different ways, different schools and you will always find a way to be educated.’
His thrust was not only to educate everyone in our extended family or in his village but also in the families of his friends. He would tell us stories of his three friends whom he had sent abroad to England and America for further studies. They later settled down in these far off lands where they became rich and succeeded professionally. Two of them died last year. The third still calls him and credits him for making his life.
It was Dadoo who despite all family pressures sent my differently abled cousin to study in Delhi. He was the one who ran hither and thither with forms for different courses not only for his daughter and sons but also for those of his brother’s and neighbours.
I realize that one of the biggest reason why Dadoo could not get along with Mamma’s brother – my mama – was this: Daddy said that Mamma’s father had done very wrong by not educating both his children. Moreover, her brother was indulging in a greater wrong, a sin, towards his children by not taking proper care of their education.