A MUM AND A DAUGHTER
"I hope Maniben has fed her", she thought to herself as she opened the lift doors. She had been working late that day and even through the closed door she could hear the comic voice of Daya from the tele serial 'Tarak Mehta'.
A sign which meant she was atleast an hour late today.
She fumbled through her large beige purse, already overflowing with office documents. From one corner of the bag 3 drum sticks stuck out, her market purchase for tomorrow's dinner, but she couldnt find the silver keys to her apartment. With one hand still rummaging the depths of her purse, she knocked on her door with the other hand.
But Daya's voice loomed larger than her knocks.
Getting increasingly frustrated, her knocks became louder. She pulled out the green drum sticks and then she found the keys, tangled at their lower end.
As she was turning the key through the keyhole, Maniben opened the door.
For a second both looked at each other. She was about to give her piece of mind to Maniben and tell her to concentrate on doing her job properly,
Of looking after the one who meant the world to her,
the one who was the centre of her universe..
But she decided against. She realised how difficult it would be to find Maniben's replacement.
Even before she asked, Maniben recited the itenary of her days chores, from cleaning the house to cooking, from feeding to washing her.
" She likes to watch Asoka! She had an extra vati of yogurt today whilst watching it", Maniben said triumphantly.
It was as much my achievement too, in feeding her more, she seemed to imply.
" She slept about 15 minutes ago.
Tai, put on some hair dye. A few grey hair are sticking out over your ears.", Maniben commented on her way out.
With a weary sigh, she thanked Maniben, as her fingers flicked back the few twirls of hair which were fluttering over her cheek .
She poured a cold glass of water from the fridge and walked gingerly through the half open bedroom door.
She was glad to hear the slow gentle breathing from underneath the rhythmic up and down motion of the pink chaddar with each breath.
She quickly checked the bedding.
It was fresh and dry.
As she took a gentle kiss of her forehead, she seemed troubled.
The forehead felt a little warm. She pulled down the chaddar slightly to let in some fresh air.
She woke up with a start. Apart from the occasional stutter of an auto rickshaw starting in the bylanes, there was silence all around.
She sat upright wondering what had woken her up.
As she calmed herself, she quickly checked on the pink chaddar. The breathing seemed more rapid and laborious. She checked the forehead with the back of her
forefingers and immediately cursed herself for falling off into a deep slumber. The pink chaddar too felt hot, let alone it's occupant.
She pulled herself out of the bed, found the bottle of crocin in the bed side cabinet .
She slipped 2 teaspoons of crocin into her mouth.
Infections were getting common in her now, she realised.
Her bed side cabinet always had the emergency medicines she needed.
As she was placing the water soaked kerchief for the 7th time on her forehead, she could hear the sound of the local train.
Must be nearly 4 am, she remembered thinking to herself.
She put on a new diaper and changed the bedding which was soiled.
" Is she still asleep?", Maniben seemed surprised the next morning.
"She was running high temperature last night.
I have called Dr Cecil to come and visit. He will be coming shortly". Maniben sensed the anxiety in her voice and went to fetch the broom and get on with her duties.
" She has caught a chest infection. I have prescribed her the antibiotics. Please start them as soon as possible. Continue with tepid sponging and paracetamol atleast 4 times a day,"
Dr Cecil was the corner stone of her faith.
He had been visiting that household for the past 40 years. People of his age played with their grandchildren and were comforted watching the little ones prance around them and speak in babyish tones.
But Dr Cecil's comfort lay in getting his patients back to normal.
But he knew, this one was never going to be normal,
Ever...
" Has there been anyone around her, who has had infection? I have warned you, she will be susceptible to germs, if you are not careful", he paused for his words to take effect.
Dr Cecil looked at her.
She looked at Maniben.
"Yes, Tai. I remember. Samidha Tai from downstairs came with her 5 year old niece on Friday to ask for the terrace keys. Her niece had been coughing a lot . Must be the same infection!.", Maniben seemed pleased with herself having made the diagnosis.
She and Dr Cecil looked at each other in exasperation.
Maniben quickly vanished into the kitchen.
She went inside to get the doctor his fees.
Dr Cecil stood there, upright, even at 75, his posture was like an army jawan.
As he turned around his gaze fell upon a photo frame than adorned the space next to the tele.
It was a 8 x10 inch frame, the golden lining had chipped at the corners.
The smile of both Mum and daughter, was well captured by the photographer.
Mum had her baby daughter on her lap, both faced at each other, their foreheads almost touching each other, as mum bend down to kiss her daughters cheeks.
A lovely natural element of the most natural relationship one sees on earth, Dr Cecil thought to himself.
He remembered the day when calamity had struck these two.
The frantic phone call, the anguish in her voice was all still booming in his ears.
2 years had now elapsed.
2 years when that clot in mums heart valves had broken free and lodged in the brain vessels, cutting off all nourishment to the left side of her brain.
2 years since mum had suffered paralysis and had been bed bound, mute, unable to feed herself or look after herself.
2 years since the roles had been reversed in that household.
2 years since the daughter was now the Mum. ..
Himself a movie buff, the doctor remembered Dilip Kumar in Mashaal, giving an analagy of football;
" The game is still the same.
The players are still the same .
But the goals have reversed.
The direction of play had changed..."
His thoughts were interrupted as she brought the doctor his fees and thanked him.
She had decided to take casual leave that day.
As she placed the water soaked kerchief on her mum's head, her eyes felt heavy. The strain of many sleepless nights was telling.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table.
She was half asleep, half stuporous, so she chose to ignore it.
If she had bothered to check, she would have found 1547 messages from 6 different whattsap group chats.
Most of them were wishing their own Mothers ,
'A happy Mothers day', reminding each other to look after mothers sentiments and value her importance and contribution in their life.
But she was an outcast in those groups.
For being less responsive to comments.
Her hand rested on her mother's forehead, hoping that the temperature had settled down,
As Maniben closed the gas after the third whistle of cooker.. ..