UNTYING PASSIONS

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. This story is meant for entertainment purposes only and does not intend to hurt the sentiments of any individual, community, sect, or religion. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this Story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and unintentional.  

With trembling hands, I try to grasp it but it always escapes me, eludes me like a beautiful poem to a poet. He can sense it, feel it, maybe even poetically touch it- but it evades him like a dream…escaping into the depths of the unknown or in the darks of the night!

With quivering hands, I try to grasp it again…..but it is getting the better of me, becoming more stubborn and unyielding and going deeper and deeper….and I too become equally stubborn and desperate until…until finally, it yields, like a reluctant lass to a persistent lover. And I get a bit of it, just a tip of it maybe, but it is a promise and a start nevertheless…….until I finally manage to clinch it with all my might and in this case, with my skill and I pull it out from the depths where it was hiding and lay hidden for so long. My cotton pajama!

Ha! Finally, I manage to get it out. This *nadi which I had a terrible time groping for and searching for and tie up my pajama.

Found it and tied it! This long, troublesome *nadi. And I heave a sigh of relief and exult with triumph!

Such a sweet victory!

Such are the victories of the old age, the conquests of the 90-year-old man!

I glee like a baby gloating over a newly-found toy, that he thought he had long lost and has now suddenly got it back!

And to think that I had foiled the attempt of soldiers crossing the border, even gunning down a couple of enemies in the process & had even ventured through a mine-laden area. All alone.

But that was 60 years ago.

Back then, I was a fierce-looking, able-bodied jawan.

Yes! Jawan is the word.

A 30-something Jawan.

When I was loved, respected, and looked up to by all.

Nowadays no one even sees me! 

They never do.

My son Mohit and my daughter-in-law Kavita. They never do. Or maybe they see through me. As if I have become invisible.

At times, even I do not see myself especially when I peer in the mirror.

Or that the image that I see in the mirror is just not me or just not my concept of 'me'. Is it because I do not want to see myself, this disheveled, old, grumpy toothless face, with a balding head and those tired bleak eyes, which have seen almost an entire century pass by?

Is it because I want to see the better, stronger version of me in this 'liar of a mirror'? 

Yes! This mirror is a liar! And a brutally honest fellow!

This mirror who is more honest than any human being that I have come across in my 90-years of long life.

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There are times when my son and daughter-in-law talk to each other, in my presence, without speaking to me, and worse without even acknowledging my presence. As if I am not present!

There are times when my son and daughter-in-law do not see me or just simply see through me!

As if I don't exist. It is then that I panic.

Have I really become invisible? 

Or worse, have died and become a ghost?

At such times, I command my weak breath to blow strongly through my flared nostrils, so that I can check, like a doctor………… if I am still alive!

Feeling my breathing, even though it is labored and forced, assures me like nothing else in the world, and once more I am convinced that man's love for his own life is more than anything in the world, however wretched it may be! 

Only the strong-minded, fools or saints can love something more than their lives and their bodies.

Days go by when no one speaks to me and I can only hear my breathing, which is slow and weak like me. 

It is as if everyone has forgotten me ……my son, daughter-in-law, neighbors, friends…..But I cannot be bitter with them since even Death has forgotten me….. By-passed me, not considering me even worthy of…...

'You have to make a noise to be heard' Ratna, my wife of six decades used to tell me. 'Especially in old age' she used to say justifying the nuisance and tantrum that she created in her old age.

True to her word, she believed in the 'litmus-test' learned in college: 'Colourless to pink, pink to colorless'. 

She used to subject her son and daughter-in-law routinely and periodically to her very own litmus tests to find out if they truly love her, want her, and care for her. So she use to create scenes and spend her time gauging them, analyzing them, validating them…..watching for the change in their colors or the appearance of their true colors….Colorless to pink, pink to colorless.

Her tricks or 'tests' as she would like to call them, were fairly simple.

On one of the days, she would purposefully come home late, to check if her son and daughter-in-law were waiting for her, were missing her, and were worried for her. On other days, she would feign illness to check if her son and daughter-in-law would call the doctor or not.

I was always against these 'so-called tests' because I never wanted that attention.

Maybe I was wrong.

'Because what you desire ……you almost always get' goes one law of nature.

Because I never desired attention, I have been cursed into oblivion. Oblivion due to age, burdened with diseases of old age….. which are frightfully more often diseases of the mind than the body.

It is said that 'your thoughts create your reality'. Maybe they do, for they have started creating my reality.

At the same time, with my Alzheimer getting worse, and Dementia creeping over my mind……I feel myself swaying……between night and day, between reality and imagination, between delusions and certainty. There are times when it becomes increasingly difficult for me to figure out what is true and what is not, what is real and what is an illusion, what is present and what is absent. And I spend seemingly unnecessary time dwelling over trivial things, like wondering about today's date or trying to find out the present time.

My son Mohit has bought a two-bedroom, hall and kitchen flat in a worn-out building & has allocated a small bedroom (if you can call it that) to me. The shape and size of the bedroom do not matter to me as much as the location of the room. My room is placed at the far end of the house and it does not have an attached washroom. I have to cross the kitchen and pass through the passage, towards my son and daughter-in-law's bedroom where the sole washroom is present, facing their bedroom.

For an old diabetic patient like me, with a prostate gland operation, it is sheer torture!

There are times when I fail to understand what is worse, the pain or the shame?

The pain while peeing or the shame that I had to pee several times a day.

Plus my increasing age and my trembling hands make untying and tying the *nadi of the pajama a cumbersome activity, hence even a small act like peeing becomes an ordeal and a rather clumsy process for me.

When my son is at home, I sometimes request him to untie and tie my pajama. Mohit does it without a word. Is it out of love or duty or fear that I might pee in the bedroom and Kavita will once again scold him though, in reality, she wants to scold me……….the real culprit?

There I go again…judging my son, whether he is doing it out of love or duty…… applying my wife's litmus test ….. Colorless to pink, pink to colorless….shame on me and my wretched old man's selfish thoughts!!

Things are worse these days…….since my son has gone on a business tour for a fortnight.

I cannot tell Kavita to untie and tie my pajama, even though she is like my daughter…..But wait! How can I say 'like my daughter' when I don't have any daughter of my own?

The pain in my groan has been getting worse so my doctors have prescribed tranquilizers and sleep-inducing medicines to be taken after lunch and dinner. These medicines have resulted in me sleeping soundly like a baby on most afternoons and at night.

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It is only yesterday that I realized that I have exhausted my medicines and now I have got only one tablet left with me.

'It is better to sleep in the night than in the afternoon, since night sleep is more deep and refreshing.' I rationalized.

Of course! I can still think rationally and very clearly, irrespective of what people think or what doctors say, or what medical books mention.

So today, I have decided not to take the tablet after lunch, but to save it & have it after dinner only. 

I wanted to inform Kavita that I have exhausted my medicines, but have decided against it. She is already loaded with my responsibilities. Taking care of a 90-year-old man is not easy, especially on your own when your husband is not around, and though I am a fairly non-fussy old man and even appreciative of the little things that she does for me willingly like giving me a bottle of hot water every night to drink or helping me wear my slippers when I go out for an evening walk, I take a lot of care to ensure that she should not feel burdened because of me. Anyway, Mohit will be coming home tomorrow and I will inform him.

Today is the 24th and Mohit was supposed to come home on 25th... Or was he expected on 26th?

I have trouble thinking clearly these days. Has to be that dementia or whatever the doctors say is getting a grip over me!

Kavita is in her early thirties and the almost twenty-year gap between her and Mohit does not seem to bother either of them, so I have decided to never bring it up.

She too does not utter a word to me. Her eyes read my eyes these days. So words are hardly exchanged. And it might have been a few days since I utter more than a few monosyllabic words. There is perfect silence in the house. The silence gets so heavier at times that I get overwhelmed by it and start feeling like an 'unwanted guest' in my son's home? Is that what they want? To kick me out? To get rid of me as soon as possible? Is that the reason they hardly speak to me these days?

Even when Mohit is around, apart from the customary 'Good Morning', and 'Good Night', very few words are exchanged between the two of us. And it is mostly silence between father-son as if he had exhausted all that can be said or should be said to me and apart from the compulsory rituals like 'Hi' and 'Bye', there is nothing more to be said.

No……….again I am judging my children… Colorless to pink, pink to colorless- without even using the mandatory litmus paper for the test…...I chide myself for thinking so and even behaving so much like my late wife. My wife used to speak so much to me (though they were mostly instructions doled out to me or advice churned out with the sole intention of improving me and nothing more) that I used to wish and pray for silence in the house…….and now, I feel blessed with all the silence that I could ever have wish for, I resent my silly wishes and prayers.

Maybe prayers and wishes do come true, after all! I chuckle as I think.

But the point remains, do they bestow the life that we had dreamt of? 

Does the fulfillment of our prayers and wishes guarantee a happy, satisfied life? 

I could have gone on and on thinking about all the philosophical questions in the world endlessly and infinitely had it not been for the sharp pain in my groan which again brought me back to reality………..

The pain in my groan is getting worse and I have to pee. Again. It is 2 pm and hot and humid and since today I have not taken my medicines after lunch, I just cannot sleep.

Slowly I walk towards the sole washroom in the house, crossing the kitchen and through the passage with Mohit and Kavita's bedroom, with a sense of great urgency. My steps are urgent and hurried, of course, as hurried as a 90-year-old man's can be!

I don't want to pee in my …..and even the thought itself has left me shamefaced and I can barely imagine such an appalling situation and the impact that it would have on me, my confidence, my self-worth, and above all my dignity.

The last thing that I want to lose at this age is dignity!

Kavita's bedroom door is partially closed though not locked from inside and she does not see me rush in hurry. Otherwise, I would be so ashamed!

With great haste and caution, so as not to disturb Kavita's routine afternoon nap, I close the washroom door and relive myself. Oh! It's such a huge, huge relief…!

Then suddenly I realize that the *nadi of my pajama is playing hide-and-seek. Once again! Like a naughty child who wants to play hide-and-seek with his mother. Again and Again. Only to trouble his mother.

With quivering, frail and wrinkled hands, I try to grasp it but it always escapes me. That stupid *nadi, that long white piece of pure torture! Wonder who invented the darn thing in the first place! For it loosens more than it binds and half of my time is spent searching for it.

It is then that I hear a soft voice, a murmur….Yes! My ears are still perfect, though my eyes are failing me these days.

And now I can distinctly hear the creaking noise of Kavita's old iron bed. Have I woken up Kavita? I dread to think.

She did not know that I did not take the medicine after lunch, so must be thinking that I am fast asleep, like always. If she finds out that I am awake and am prowling around and disturbing her cherished afternoon nap, she may not like it, I realized.

With age, I realize that I have started worrying too much in thinking whether I am troubling those on whom I am dependent. Well, these have to be the side-effects of being an old man, especially a old dependent man.

Now, all that I want to do is to beat a fast retreat from this washroom. For that of course, I have to first tie my pajamas and flee. If only I could get hold of that ever-escaping *nadi! 

With wobbly hands, I keep on searching for it…….feeling it, trying to find it…. finally, I get it out……..this cursed *nadi and tie up my pajama.

A lot of time must have passed in my effort of searching for the *nadi for I now feel my legs are feeling weaker. 'I better lie down now' I say to myself when I hear some voice from Kavita's bedroom, only this time it is a bit louder.

And yes, there are two voices! 

A male and a female....coming from Mohit's and Kavita's bedroom.

My heart fills with warmth!

Mohit has returned home! 

But wait, Mohit was supposed to return tomorrow, on the 25th.

'Today is 24th, or is it 25th?' I try hard to think but cannot reach any conclusion decisively, for my Dementia is growing and it is definitely getting the better of me.

As I make my way towards my room, I peer through Mohit's ajar bedroom door, hoping to get a glimpse of my dearest Mohit.

Only to find Kavita in a comprising position with another man! 

Another man! 

My heart is beating wildly now. What I have just seen has shaken me to the core and I can feel myself trembling all over……..and this time, this trembling is more out of shock than weakness! 

I am dead sure it is another man, because my Mohit is fair-skinned and slim, while this man on top of …….is huge and dark-skinned.

Mohit was supposed to return on the 25th, then is today the 24th or 25th?

I hate myself for jumbling up.

Then I realize that I might have jumbled up & got confused on the dates, but I cannot confuse my Mohit for anyone else in the world, no matter how poor my eyesight is or how miserable my dementia is! 

He was definitely not my Mohit!

I reach my room in a flurry and panic and slump down on my bed with the most obvious realization.

If only my Dementia had been worse and my eyesight poorer, I would not have seen or understood or remembered anything that I saw and heard today……….and I would have been happier, a much happier man today!

So, is good health in old age, a drawback?

Because people do things in front of your eyes, say offensive or hurtful things in your very presence, thinking that this 90-year-old will not see, hear, understand or remember much.

The knowledge of seeing, hearing, knowing, and understanding things without being able to do much is very hurtful and sheer torture. Is this the reason they say that old age is torture?

What is more torturous, that old age where you cannot do anything or that old age where you can do many things but no one will believe you?

Now that I know the horrible truth about Kavita, how will I face Mohit? Should I tell him or just let it pass?

Will he accept my story or put it down to an old man's Dementia, who is forever hallucinating between imagination and reality, often confusing between the two?

Or better still, should I feign Dementia and keep mum?

And Kavita……what will I think once I face Kavita? Will my expressions give away that I have seen her with another man or should I act as if I don't remember whatever I have seen?

The latter will be a better way out, I realize after much pondering.

For I am sure, Kavita is not aware that I have seen her. She must be under the wrong impression that I am sound asleep like most afternoons due to my tablets and that has to be the only reason why she has called the man to her room…..at this time of the day!

It has been close to an hour and I still cannot get over what I have seen, when again I get this silly urgency to pee, coupled with a sharp pain…..I once more rush to the washroom and I start untying my pajama in a haste.

As I start untying my pajamas in a haste…. I hear and sense someone else is also untying pajamas in a haste.

'Must be that black man in Kavita's bedroom' I say to myself bitterly.

As I untie my pajamas in urgency, I can hear the pajama in the other room also being untied in urgency.

The only difference is, that my urgency is to pee, while his urgency is of passion!

 

 

 

*nadi= a string used to tie a pajama.