The ebb and flow of life in elderly domesticity

After thrashing about on the bed for a good half an hour, I take one last peep through the gap in the window curtains. Dawn is giving way to the day. I arise and groggily plod my way to the door that opens on the balcony. As I ensconce myself in my time-worn cane chair, older than my son, my gaze naturally falls on the bungalow just across the road. 

The house is already up . Soon the middling statured ,stockily built, swarthy fellow with a slight paunch , in shorts and T-shirt, an attire as unchanging as his grim, frozen visage, will open the big black gate. One by one he will drive out the two cars in the compound and park them alongside the boundary wall, one on either side of the gate. Always the same cars at the same spot. This done, he will coolly walk back to the gate, put the latch on and look up. Our eyes will meet giving me a glimpse of the perennial scowl playing on his face. Out of sheer curiosity I will keep my gaze fixed on him, who knows, someday, he will honour me with a knowing smile. But he can’t afford to scowl me down, other daily chores need to be attended to. So he turns around and walks out of sight. 

My day has begun, an unfailing denouement of the days in three years past superannuation that  I have stayed in Patna. One has the luxury to watch time pass by before picking up the morning papers, that is, to slow down the tempo of life at will. Today my wife’s bed tea is WhatsApp.  So, my craving for the real one must wait out till she has read all that was posted while she slept .And the wait is a bit longish. Yet nothing insidious should be read into it, many adjustments wriggle into life styles of retired people. No point dwelling upon it. 

But that’s not how it was supposed to go for me .With the daily grind of office-going behind me for good everyday held promise of being as different as I wanted to . I always dreamt of a long long road trip across India to discover India and then settling down to write my very own magnum opus ‘ Discovery of India’ . Nehru’s ‘Discovery of India’  delved into the past, mine would describe, dissect and analyse the present. Nehru’s was a product of a ‘mind game’ played within the confines of a prison, mine would present snapshots of a ‘live’ exploration. Greatness beckoned me . Alas , no sponsor could be found and my wife sawed through my woolly headedness . Ah, she knows my true worth. Moreover she likes to live in cotton wool - orderliness, certainty and caution being her hallmark.

So, till we next go parenting ( not our own children, but their children, the grandchildren ) at our children’s places, like other normal folks we are cocooned into blissful domesticity. Life will perambulate about myriad recurrent activities.  The glum fellow will open the gates and that black cow after a leisurely recce will settle its hinds in any vacant space under the shade of that tree across the road and wait to be feted by the faithful with crumbs of roti. Come noon and the black horse harnessed to a cart will give her company, while its owner takes a siesta. 

Yet this humdrum rhythm of life is oft interrupted by real life happenings that amuse ,bewilder and even stupify our senses . It’s not all that mundane an existence, after all. 

Take for instance that horse driven cart. Once the power nap is over, the owner will cart off to the main road, a taped announcement blaring at full blast calling the faithful to buy the assured protection afforded by a horse shoe or sundry articles like rings, kadaa, bicchia etc made from horse shoe of a black horse. All items at a fixed price of ten rupees a piece, except the horse shoe proper . That costs ₹250. Protection from all evils , not mere indemnity, never came so cheap. 

Once sheer curiosity led me to watch the fellow glib talk a sceptic into buying the protective shield. The conversation went something like this.  

‘Are you sure nothing will happen to me if I wear it.”

“Absolutely nothing . No buri nazar, no family discord, no accidents, good luck in exams, business , careers ,in fact all that you wished for will come to you “ 

“Not even accidents ? “ 

“ not likely , but what can one do if the accident occurs due to a fellow who doesn’t wear one ?  Still , rest assured ,those who wear the ring are never grievously hurt.” 

I didn’t need to hear any more . In deference to the sheer brilliancy of his sophistry, I slunk away quietly. They don’t teach such earthy wisdom in salesmanship even in Harvard. What in effect he meant was that in an accident where ‘heretics’ get both legs broken ,a ‘faithful’ gets away with just one broken leg. Not bad ,but I still am a ‘kale ghore ka naal’ infidel . Not having iron in my heart ,how could iron adorn my fingers ? 

One good thing about a retired existence is that it gives ample time to observe and digest the goings on around you, discovering new angles in things old. The art of story telling is a heavenly endowment to a privileged few and it summons loads of creativity, imagination and literary facility. Not for lesser souls. But real life anecdotes too can be fantabulously entertaining. And who better have resources than retired ones to share it ? Following up on this train of thought I hope, in due course, to share amusing happenings that may cross my path.