It
was a late sunny morning in October and Sunaina was still in the bed dressed in
her pale blue gown. Her sparse silver hair that barely reached her shoulders were
spread unevenly on the soft cotton pillow that rested her head. The wrinkles on
her face were more prominent around the corners of her deep set grey eyes. The
sparkle of her eyes often deceived her age. She was 75. But ever since she was
admitted to the Medical Trust she believed she was sixteen. They celebrated her
birthday more than once in a year, each time her birthday candles spelled her
age as 16. They didn’t know if she could decipher the number on the birthday
candle but once when they had put a candle of a different age, she declined to
cut the cake.
Her
room was tidy, its walls painted in a soothing cream color, that made the room
appear larger than it actually was. The tiles were immaculate except when
Sunaina came out of the bathroom on her own, when her care-taker Bindu was
away. The wall in front of her bed had a large soft board filled with pictures
of smiling faces of her family. Her mind carried no memories of those times or
the people. Sometimes she had difficulty remembering even simple everyday tasks
like having a bath or eating her meals. Her stubborn self had to be reminded
and coaxed into doing them. Bindu had mastered the art of cajoling her into
doing those tasks. Hailing from the north-east province of the country, she had
a natural sweetness to her tone, with tenderness in her words and an aura of
calmness that appeased Sunaina when she grew aggressive.
Bindu
was of a short, slightly stout built. She always dressed in denims and pastel
colored tops that complimented her peach colored skin and blunt features. She
had fled from her hometown in search of a different life. The life she led now
in the constant company of Sunaina, whom she lovingly addressed as Sunaina Pishi, was different in a lot of ways. Bindu
did not know the exact age of Sunaina Pishi
but she guessed she must be really old, older than her grandmother who
lived back in the village. Her grandmother was the oldest person she had
encountered before meeting Sunaina Pishi.
That made her admire Sunaina Pishi
even more, as if her age symbolized some sort of rarity that Bindu had never
experienced in her life before.
Handmade
greeting cards made by her grandchildren were pinned on the soft board too.
Their open ends flapped occasionally when the ceiling fan rotated overhead on
hot summer days. The children had drawn six stick figures that were holding
hands and had written ‘Happy Family’ on the top just in case it wasn’t evident
from the picture. They had filled the background with multi-directional strokes
of their wax crayons. The words inside were unaligned and drifted upwards on an
invisible trajectory.
There
was a large window beside Sunaina’s bed and when she rested in an upright
position, she could see the vast expanse of clear blue sky during the day. On
certain nights it used to be studded with stars. Sunaina gazed for long hours
into the cosmic hues day or night, and smiled occasionally. She barely slept or
winked.
Five
years ago her son Sumeet and his wife Prerna had come to have her admitted at
the Medical Trust on the advice of their doctor, who had confirmed that Sunaina
had progressed into the next stage of Alzheimer and required a full time
care-giver. Today, when they had come to bid her goodbye, she didn’t
acknowledge their presence like any other day when they had come to visit her. They
sat silently, on the edge of the iron bed opposite Sunaina and watched her in
equal measures of admiration and empathy.
In
her slurred speech she was having an animated conversation with Bindu. Bindu
was nodding in excitement, as if she could comprehend the broken words. Suddenly,
Sunaina burst out into peals of laughter and attempted to clap. At first her
hands met by accident but did not produce any sound. She tried again, this time
her hands farther away from each other, swinging aimlessly in the air. By now
the doctor had updated Sumeet and Prerna that Sunaina’s motor skills had
started to deteriorate. Unsuccessful at her attempts, she underwent a sudden
mood change and bowed her head low through her stooping shoulders, as if from
shame or embarrassment. But she had forgotten those feelings long ago. She
engaged in what seemed like an endless stare at the immaculate tiles on the
floor, her grey shadow reflecting from the tiles staring blankly at her in
return.
Bindu
held Sunaina Pishi by her weak shoulders and rested them gently on the soft
cotton pillow, on the incline of her bed. Sumeet rose up, clenching the bag
that carried some of the old photographs and knick-knacks that had occupied a
special place in her heart a few years ago. She had a story to tell about each
of them whenever they had friends or relatives visiting them. He arranged them
on the side-table one after the other, each time being reminded of something
special that had happened in their lives when his mother was with them,
physically and emotionally. Today although she was alive, in her present state their
family had already inherited loss. Like a word that has a silent syllable,
their family was complete with her, yet without her.
Sunaina
was oblivious to the little arrangement that had now occupied the table, or her
son who was next to her arranging it. Her eyes were fixed at the ceiling. Her
face bore no expression. Prerna walked up to her mother-in-law, and placed a
box made of thin cane filled with golden Champa
beside her. The moment Prerna opened its lid, the heady fragrance of the
flowers filled the room and distracted Sunaina from her gaze in a way that the
presence of her kin had not distracted her. Sunaina looked at box and smiled,
her deep set grey eyes twinkling brilliantly as she cast them on the heap of
the bright yellow flowers.
Sumeet
and Prerna walked out of the room, closing the door behind them, contented that
their mother had offered them a smile as a parting gift and acknowledged their
presence in her own mystical way. That smile was all they had of her to carry
with them to the US when they were leaving that night. It weighed heavier than
any of their belongings.
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