MUSES
I looked up at the night sky… the breath-taking view of the stars… the huge moon—beautiful with its starry backdrop.
The night is my best friend, for now. With its silence engulfing me, my mind becomes free.
It has been long since I used my pen, since I wrote anything. But today, all I want to do is feel my pen on the paper, the ink seeping into the paper for all the tonnes of blood and sweat drained out of me over the years.
Sitting in my garden right now, under the night sky, as I put my thoughts onto paper, I see ants scurry past—a few trudging up my wrinkly old legs only to be pushed down. One lucky ant scurries past my pen. The darkness somewhat gets dissolved by my dearest little stars.
Clinging onto my beliefs, I still those stars to be my friends—long gone—looking down onto me.
As I look up, I see the old oil lamp flicker at a distance. It’d been a gift from my mother-in-law, a family heirloom, it seems. Customary as it is, I’d lit it as the sun had gone down. The oil would get over any moment now and I’d have to go take the lamp inside.
I see my granddaughter, Aditi; play with her mobile phone. I’ve never understood the intricacies of this piece of metallic plate, but you wouldn’t fine me complaining. This girl, she does all sorts of things with it. God knows what she does. The extent to which things have changed. It’s just that all this makes me feel older than my age—ancient antiquity, I suppose. A person I respect a lot once told me, this is generation gap, dear. Children can’t wait for and parents can’t keep up… and then grandparents just don’t exist…
When I was young, about 10 or so, I’d been to school. All because of Acchan, who raised me and my sister just as if we were kids and not a bad omen as people considered girls then.
Anyway duty-bound to Acchan, we did learn. We put our heart and soul into it, but only for 5 years, because Amma wanted us to get married as we had reached the age, she said. By that time, we’d learnt enough to read and write. I wrote. My pen was my treasure. My mind, my thoughts, all spoke through my pen rather than my mouth.
A shrill noise shattered the velvety silence, the calm of the night… and of course, the stream of thoughts. That’s Aditi’s, I mean, Ady’s rock-punk music or whatever she calls it. What do teenagers’ get by shredding their beautiful meaningful names into such words… and rock punk music??? Ah! music! Music was what Acchan used to sing at sunrise and what Amma used to make with the veena. What do these youngsters of today know about music! Music is not about breaking nerves; it’s about soothing them.
I’m feeling so distant from everyone in the house. In the humdrum of office and school, both my daughter, Suhasini and my Aditi were never to be seen. They were almost lost to me. The only time we got to see and talk and have fun with each other is during the filling up of our stomachs. I love those certain family times. My son in law, Bhaskar… They were happy, you see. My Suha and Bhaskar. And Aditi stands testimony to that fact. But I can’t help wishing for the times before, when we had evenings to spend together. Our whole family of aunts, uncles, everyone… at the time of dusk… Drinking hot cups of coffee or tea at times. Steamy hot coffee in the chill of the evenings. Aah….
Just the thoughts of an old woman—who cares about her! Just then, surprised I was to feel something on my back. My Aditi had just come near me and covered me with a warm blanket—to protect me from the cold, she said. I felt warm inside. No, not the blanket; it was love. A young innocent heart still worries about an old wretch like me… May God bless the kid!
There’s still love. Maybe it’s just that the way it’s shown is different. My Suha makes the best ginger tea for me, everyday after she comes from work, how much ever tired she is. Does she listen to me when I tell her to rest! No! Aditi, she does such tiny, tiny things that touch my heart ever so much. Bhaskar had passed away. Suha never did re-marry. My stubborn streak is recited in her, I suppose. She’d said she had loved Bhaskar so much that she could never imagine anyone else in his place. She said she could never imagine Aditi calling anyone else father. Well, I never forced her to, for I was too old for that. Thank god, for her job. It was a huge relief. She had become an independent woman. She touched me by saying she wanted me to help her look after Aditi. That made me feel I wasn’t a reject, that I wasn’t a dependent person. I got to bring Aditi up, love her, see her grow up to a frisky adolescent, help my daughter take care of this lovely home and be there for them. I feel as if I wasn’t just furniture for decoration; I gave back as much as I took. At least they made me feel so.
I’ve felt lost in old age, so many times, and she’s always rescued me back. Today, my birthday, she, Suha gave me a beautiful fountain pen. My eyes stung with tears. That was the best present anyone had ever given me and that was the best moment in my life. I don’t have anything to complain about… Now, with my pen back in my hand, I feel as f I’ve reached somewhere—even if it is just the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning… but at least, old age, so dreaded wasn’t so bad, after all. After all, I was happy…
