I heard someone banging my door. It was a desperate attempt by someone to try and wake me up. I was reluctant to get up, as it had been just three odd hours since I slept. After a ten minute long conflict between my heart and brain, I was prepared to listen to my mind.
I was more perplexed than frustrated to see Gautam standing at the other end of the door. I had a few reasons for it. Firstly, no one who knows Gautam would have dreamt of seeing him awake at five in the morning; considering the fact that it was Sunday, it was more baffling. Secondly, he was the reason for making me sleep that late; we were watching together, an appalling movie of his choice, last night.
He did not speak a word to me. He just gave his mobile phone and went to sleep without even bothering to look at my face. It was my dad on the other end of the phone. After he hung the phone, I stared at my mobile phone to see his 12 calls missed. I went to Gautam’s room. He was half asleep. I gave him back his phone and said, “I got to go to Madurai”. He bobbed his head and turned aside to sleep.
It was about five in the morning. There was no soul walking in the college except for me and the security guards. I was waiting for the bus. The wait that never seemed to end was broken by a horn. After I got into the almost empty bus, there were just two sentences persisting in my mind.
“What made him say that?”
“What was he thinking when he said that?”
I was pretty sure that, I can no longer get answers from any of my external sources in this mundane world. And I, by no stretch of anybody’s imagination, am capable of answering it, as well. So, where do I search for it? As most people believe, I trusted time, this time.
It was about six thirty when I reached Trichy. I knew it would take approximately four more hours to reach my destination. I did not feel like satisfying my stomach then. I wanted to reach Madurai as soon as possible. I was roving hither and thither pointlessly, inside the bus-stand; before I finally boarded a bus.
Luckily, the bus I boarded did not try to distract me or rather, tire me with those merely mediocre flicks with the worst sound effects possible. I had the privilege to sit down and sink into a world of my own. I was trying hard to recollect when he had made that sentence. That sentence, the causative to the two most incommodious questions that keep lingering in my mind.
I began to unravel reminiscences from my brain cells. I remember!!! I found it out!!!! It was the same day last year. Damn, it was the same day last year. We had a family function in Kiron aunt’s home. There were relatives pouring in. It was really long since we all met.
I had a fair amount of joy the first day. All the close relatives planned to stay together that night in Kiron aunt’s home. After long discussions and extended hours in card games with cousins, I hardly slept. Or, did I never sleep?
Next morning, suddenly everyone came to a consensus of invoking and communicating to our ancestors. It was very weird to me in the past. But, as years went on, I became fairly used to it. I even started to believe it, and became curious about the next schedule, as it is not often that this is done. There are two of my aunts, Sukanya and Seema, who act as medium of communication, to the ancestors. They live in the far ends of the state, so it is only when they meet we get to see this effort happening.
For those of you, who don’t comprehend it, here is a concise. There are two human mediums. The mediums move a coin with a combined effort of the energy they obtain from the spirit. The coin moves across a board which has English alphabets written over it in a specific set-up. There is one more person who writes down all the letters touched by the coin.
That job was previously done by Sundar uncle. He nicknamed that part as the Ghost Writer. As the legacy passes on, I’m doing this, off late. And, I did that, that day as well. I interrogated too much within myself to counter these beliefs.
The summons did not work that day. There were frantic efforts to call any of our grand fathers and forefathers, but no one of them really obliged to the calls. Suddenly Dhama aatchi* came with a suggestion. She said everyone including the place is tainted, and she wanted all clean. Dhama aatchi has for long been the first woman, the invoker, the requester. She has always been a sanitation freak, a beloved aunt to my first generation and lovely grandma to my generation. And, when things were cleaned up, the spirits, almost immediately started conveying their messages through the medium.
Then there were the usual array of questions, to which the ancestors replied in their own slang, their own language, their own dialect, the replies do contain the usual words they speak. I wanted to know what I would do for my higher studies, so did my cousins. As, the ancestors are not technically sound and they don’t know about technical advancements, engineering, management studies etc., they weren’t able to say something and nail it in particular. So, Deepa aunty suddenly thought of calling her mom. It has been seven or eight years since she was dead. And Deepa aunty never did call her mother to the ghost writing.
Deepa aunty thought of calling her this time because, she felt her mom was the best person to answer these types of questions. Because, she had an inclination towards education, she was integral in choosing the careers for her daughters and grand children. More importantly, it was her mom’s death anniversary the next day. All these convinced her mind to she grew courage to ask to call her mother. Jhujhu thatha* walked across the hall.
Jhujhu thatha and Dhama aatchi is the sweetest couple you could ever find. The adoration they had for each other, the love they shared between each other, was just unrivaled. He would always be an important part of ghost writing. It was not a serious presence, but a presence which I enjoyed the most. He would make witty, sarcastic remarks about the spirit. He would make the very depressive questions and statements lighter with the right kind of humour. I was wondering why was he not sitting here. He passed across; he just had a sarcastically developed laugh and said the statement. That very statement that I had been thinking about.
All heads turned towards him; there was a fleeting silence, before Dhama aatchi decided to grow courage to break it. I hardly remember what she said.
Apparently, she might have said,”What’s with your horrible jokes? Why do you want to speak this way?”
Everyone either nodded their head or sighed to express their support to Dhama aatchi’s words. She made all of them look back and continue the ghost writing. Every body became more eager about invoking Deepa auntie’s mother. Meanwhile, Deepa auntie had developed enough guts and more excitement and little nervousness.
I was with the pen and paper, Dhama called the soul of Deepa auntie’s mom. It was almost immediate that a reply came to our call. All of a sudden the guts she developed was shattered like a piece of glass thrown down from Eiffel tower. She started crying, lamenting non stop for about 10 minutes. It was a cry which signified love, anticipation, disturbance, emotion. Sundar uncle and others tried hard to console her. But, no one at that point of time knew, that it would be a reply about her daughter from her mother herself, which will make her back to her normal all-smiles-and-talks self. There was a momentary pause.
(This episode in itself would make terrific reading, I hope I write my version of this incident alone asap)
It seemed no one else other than me was thinking about what Jhujhu thatha said. All were engrossed by the melodramatic scene which was talking place. I was still wondering what must have been in his mind. It appeared weirder to me. And those two questions embarked on me. Jhujhu thatha left the place; may be to hurt his lung with a smoke!
The bus had reached Madurai. I got down and took one of those intra city buses to see Dhama aatchi. I was thinking how hard the life was for Jhujhu thatha for the last six months or so. He had complicated medical discrepancies. He was living with tubes and equipments; perhaps living for Dhama aatchi.
I walked into the roof which was built with dried coconut leaves. There were chairs all over the place. Most of the men had their faces dropped down. The others either looked at the newspaper, whispered something to the adjacent gentlemen, or had a sip of the coffee. I took the stairs.
Jhujhu thatha had cotton inserted into his nostrils; first finger of both the legs tied together; a one rupee coin on his fore head; a rose garland around his neck. The agarbathi was burning near his head; there were huge cries all over the room.
I went straight to Dhama aatchi. This was the first time I ever saw her without the bid red bindhi she used to wear. And, it was awful, to say the least to think I would be seeing her without this for the rest of my life. She hugged and cried.
She lamented before she got some breath to say to me, “Cry, cry, cry your heart out!”
I did not know what to say. I did not feel like crying. I resolutely believed crying was not the only way to express my grief. Moreover, it was not just sorrow. I had a variety of emotions mixed with it. I did neither have the words to explain that to her nor the strength to speak a word to her. I was annoyed with those hindu rituals (I did not want her to lose her bindi which was her birth right to someone who became a part of her after twenty odd years). I was still astounded, thinking of what he had in his mind when he said that. I was sad to lose the wit, the spontaneous comments Jhujhu thatha had in offer. I missed him. I was a little, very little, happy about the fact that I did not have to see him struggle with his body and tubes! And I was also accompanied with the men don’t cry attitude.
Oh…didn’t I say what the statement was?
…… He passed across; he just had a sarcastically developed laugh and said the statement. That very statement that I had been thinking about.
“Next year, you all might have to speak to me like this”.
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*thatha - Tamil equivalent for Grandpa
*aatchi – Tamil equivalent for Grandma
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P.S: Today was his first death anniversary, and it went on serenely.
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