Silence In That Room

People call it dementia. And some say it’s a disease where the nerves do not cooperate. Meera has been sitting by the window, it seems, for ages, without the willingness to connect to the rest of the world. Her realm is unknown to us. She responds and reciprocates to the memories of a remote past. Life today holds no meaning. Meera is not more than five decades old. The world is leading an active life outside. It is Meera who is left with the meagre choice of either sitting or lying down on her 7/7 inches bed! Yet, she is peaceful. Nothing seems strong enough to permeate through and mar her world of silence.

Mitul, her daughter, would not give up. Every day, she would walk into that room expecting. Expecting her mother to smile, expecting her mother to touch, expecting her mother to spread her arms, expecting her mother to cry, expecting her mother to wait for her! Mitul would give Meera a tight hug, sit for some time and then leave.

This house once used to be so full of Meera. She was everywhere, taking care of every nook and corner. The family was nuclear, Ratul, Meera and Mitul. Meera was that complacent homemaker who would overwhelm everyone with her presence. An extremely charming woman she always had been. It all started with Ratul’s sudden demise when Meera was only 48. Yet, she managed. Mitul always knew she had her mom and she didn’t have to think of the rest. 5 years passed in a whisk and one day, in the midst of a summer afternoon silence, Meera felt uneasy. Her limbs were getting stiff and she was finding it difficult to keep her composure. And gradually the disease set in. It was as if everything was waiting for the detection. Within months, the stubborn limbs, the weak nerves, and disordered brain cells compelled Meera to forget each moment she lived.

Mitul’s initial shock gradually turned into resignation. She took charge…of the house, the usual chores, the monthly needs, the regular hassles. The roles reversed overnight. No, she refused to get tired. Hence, she tried the utmost to reach the milestones in her own way. Yes, she paid heed to every advice uttered by the known people around. She made things happen so that otherwise life would be normal. Suddenly, everyone started interacting with her; the helpers, the grocer at the end of the street, the milkman, Meera’s nurses, doctors, the next-door neighbor, the chemist on the next block. The entire world was reporting to her, was complaining, was confiding. And Mitul was tired. She was reluctant to rule. Hence, the expectation prevailed; she wanted Meera to continue being her mother.

Days passed. Meera would barely find the energy to sit on the bed. Her past and present, her dreams and wishes, her expectations and existence would lie down with her tired and half asleep. It was Mitul who would carry a sense of life. She would walk in and out of the room, bring in some sound with her, make things happen, interact with the world around and assert a sense of life in the midst of an unknown silence that prevailed. Every weekend there would be visitors. And with them trickled in some priceless warnings: "this is the fate of this disease; gradually she will lose her power to recognize". Mitul lent her ears and agreeably nodded. What more could she do! Each day is a learning. She and mom have been living with the sense of this disease without realizing how tiring each day is. The burden unfolds with a sense of decay that is not known and yet overshadowing. 

Meera has always been the mother omnipresent. She has not once left Mitul confused or unattended. People would always come and go into her house. This was a place where the doorbell would ring at intervals and each guest was like a family! The house would buzz with sound...the cups and saucers, the whistle of the pressure cooker, the daily bickerings, the loud laughter, the usual chattering and so much more. At 50, Meera would lie down today looking at the walls and ceilings, sometimes, stretching her neck to look at the Shimul tree beside her window or at the nameless faces walking into her room. Her speechless presence doesn't make much of a difference today. All have accepted her disconnect. All but one. Mitul would still walk in with words bubbling in her mind to share with her mother. And Meera never resisted her daughter's hopes. Her limbs would not allow her to hug, but the pallid, uneven contours of the face still carried a pair of tearful eyes and a faint smile at the corner of her lips. Meera defied the world and built that connect...And so why would Mitul give up!