Three Mothers

This story I had composed about three families and the role of three mothers particularly.... 

The plot starts with the mother lives alone in housing colony of a suburb close to Kolkata, tree lined ..Avenue trees..park close by ..streets  milkman shouting ..vegetable vendor's trade calls as old as her age, rope and a small bucket to collect her daily needs from the street below. Dear Readers, I'm sure you will like this story... (This is already published in a reputed UGC recognized magazine) 

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Geeta prefers the south-east corner-bench of the well-blossomed park quite near to her residence. By chance, if she finds the same secluded one is occupied, she would sedately move to the other corner. This 'park-time' every afternoon was her 'me-time' in true sense. She isn't a prattler. She prefers to absorb the ambience of the vibrating-children and young-mothers around. Quietly sitting on the bench, at times she would fondly travel down memory lanes of her sweet recollections. Her evenings in that park, she spends, sinking in happiness.

Happiness though would often play the game of 'hide-n-seek' with her but she would seldom get perturbed. Frail albeit physically but she smilingly accepted every challenge of life. Incidents good or bad, she was taught in her childhood, would always teach the realities of life. Learn and move ahead, why complain? That's what her motto is.

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Her only son is an engineer. Her endearing son, an alumnus of a well reputed IIT, was taught by her till his high school graduation. Living in an apartment building quite far from her home and her in-law's home as well, she got minimal help from her near-relatives, while raising her son. Her husband was too simple and never had high ambition in life. Her apprehension was father may instill that sombre contentment in his son.

Thank God, her son imbibed the maternal instinct of high aspiration and successfully completed his advanced degree in engineering from a premier institution. And then, on account of his bright results, he was offered an enviable job abroad. He is working in the states. Out there, with him, her daughter-in-law also stays. She was born and raised there and most importantly possessing the covetable green card. Now the new 'parent's role' is carried out by her son and daughter-in-law. They are raising their only daughter, Rosie, single-handedly without any help from their near-relatives.

Her days during those afternoon-years were literally monotonous. But she would always remain in an everlasting aspiration of finding one or the other small good happenings and look forward to those. She loves listening traditional songs, in which her thoughts and emotions would soak in literally. And she would also like 'jibonmukhi' songs too for she is life-oriented in true sense. The twittering birds, perching on the close-by roadside avenue-trees, would solemnly announce her eviternal mornings.

From the street below, the milkman, as old as her son or the vegetable vendor, may be a few years younger to her fondly shouts. She would sedately lower a small plastic pail, in response. The bucket, a means of her aide, tied with a long rope that awkwardly dangles. She would fulfill her limited wants-of-sustenance and avoid some unnecessary physical movements in and around the quiet building lacking vigour.

Her sunken-but-sparkling-eyes would vacantly notice life throbbing all around her in that park. At times flashing short-spanning smiles while meeting those unacquainted but often-seen-faces. Sights, sounds and smells would soak her-feelings up inwardly in that earthly place filled with caring bubbly-young-mothers, and stumbling carefree-kids.

One evening looking at them playing and talking to each other in sheer joy, she remembered how her son would also run within the park. As a small boy, he was very much restless. She and her husband would allow him to play with other children till he got completely tired. She, a young mother then, was also carefree and bubbly. She knew pretty little about cooking. All she gathered actually learned from others. One fine day for executing a newly found recipe, she stumbled upon, recognizing the difference between fennel and cumin seeds. Recollecting that incident, she smiled inwardly.

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She dislikes the winter for pain in her knee-joints aggravates. Firmly holding the walking-stick that 'he' left for her uses, she trudges back towards 'home', 'the empty 2BHK' within the neatly maintained housing colony adorned with streets and avenue trees. She is the sole occupant currently. Sometimes malaise would drip into in the form of fever, cough, and joint-pains. But during those embittered moments she would wrap herself in shawls and listen to her favourite songs.

Occasionally, they, her son and daughter-in-law make video-calls using Wi-Fi at early mornings for that's the convenient time of their minimal-talks. Often Rosie sleeps at that time. However, she would occasionally get a chance to talk to her beloved grand-daughter. Her spoken words having unique accent infuse the blissful experience that exhilarates her at every turn.

She didn't get an opportunity to hold her grand-daughter on her lap, when she was just a tiny baby. Out of those brief conversations she would gather and reconstruct the divine face etching out of her mind. Hairs like fine silk, protruded forehead, bulged out back of the head and of course dimples on the chin. They visited her place when she has already turned into a toddler. After her birth when they showed their baby, one misty day-break, in a video-call, she remained speechless for a few moments.

Looking at the blurring-image of the face inwardly her desires turned maudlin. But she pacified her-self in the very next-moment solemnly. She never displays a state of disconsolate and fussing before them. She understands very well, they live very far away, practically on the other side of the globe. They were highly educated and keep relations as earthly-etiquette demands. Seeing the blurred images on laptop screen, she overwhelms.

The other day, after a scheduled video-call, she neatly kept all those gadgets in respective places and shut down the laptop. Slowly she gets up. She moves to the small balcony behind. Reminiscing those ever-busy days in her youth, she has been caressing unmindfully 'his' favourite overgrown money-plant leaves as if she is fondling 'his' dear dimpled-chins for quite a few minutes. She would fondly recollect his school-days, combing and parting his wet-hairs while preparing him for the school. Her son's childhood smile would often flash the dimples prominently. At times, she desires, and she knows very well, the cravings and urges weaken the mind.

Her in-law's home and her father's home as well both are around a hundred kilometers away. In course of her life in that building, she got acquainted with the neighbours and their relatives too. Her neighbour, Jasmeet often visits her. Jasmeet's daughter used to study with her son in the same school. Quite a number of times she would borrow one or the other notebook of her son for her daughter would scribble very badly in her own notebooks during class hours.

The other day, Jasmeet shared a brief talk with her. It was about the odd challenges one of her relative's son and daughter-in-law, named Nisha, faced in Bangalore, their place of work far away from her home and her in-law's home as well. She told Geeta that Nisha would call in her mobile-phone and talk about many experiences. At times her prattling turns too lively and Jasmeet would laugh. She would ask Jasmeet about how to handle and care the baby well.

Once she shared the anecdote of two 'amulets', which would ward against the evil eye, was parceled by her in-laws. The young mother had to call her mother-in-law a number of times to make sure the kind of threads are to be used to tie those amulets around the baby's waist. Once she jovially commented about, how some auspicious stones adorned her husband's fingers. And at the same time, she would smile and cautiously apprise Jasmeet aunty, she wouldn't broach about this topic to her husband for he may not like it. Often she shares pic and text messages with Jasmeet-aunty using WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger etc.

Sometimes, Geeta would contemplate, "Are we slowly evolving to a sort of weird-state when we may not have the permanent-address, street number, pin number and so on. Our email-id or social media profiles have overshadowed the physical-address of ours. She would smile inwardly."

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The other day, Jasmeet shared with her an anecdote. One fine morning the calling-bell of their Bangalore flat rings. Hearing the door-bell, Nisha holds the latch and slides. Upon opening the door, the chatterbox, young mom 'bewildered'. A lady neatly dressed, well-mannered, adorned with silvery hair appeared before. A typical 'next door granny', she is. She is Sita. She would never flash annoyance ever.

Wiping his forehead, Nisha's better-half trotted behind. "You remember, she is the lady about whom our neighbour apprised", from the back he whispered. Nisha later came to know few details about her and her family. Her husband's meagre-income, a chauffeur by profession, plus she has a physically challenged son. To make both ends meet, the earthly-struggle's on. Sita realized very well that 'Life's not about just complaining on-and-on'.

Looking at her bewildered face, Sita breaks the uncomfortable silence, and addressed Nisha, "Hope you're keeping well, dear. Where's your baby's room? Please show me, the massage oil, and other paraphernalia. I'm sure, for your little angel, you kept those with care." Nisha immediately regained normalcy, politely called her inside. And Sita followed her sedately at her heels. Hearing that little anecdote, Geeta praised the bold struggle-of-life with dignity of that unknown-soul far away from her place somewhere in Bangalore.

Geeta would visit an ashram at times when Jasmeet accompanies her. It would give both of them an opportunity to share some moments of life with them, the abandoned souls. There she met Aarati. All her near and dear ones would call her 'Aaru'. She is pretty old now. Even during the 'Lockdown-days', her daily chores were unaltered. She used to get up early in the morning religiously before the sun rises. Having taken ablution, she would fetch a few flowers from the nearby plants. Frail albeit physically but she would happily walk with a support of a stick independently. She treads within, the cluster of houses and the surrounding courtyards.

There were rows of modest houses flanked by small mounds on the outskirts of the city. Watchmen would guard 24x7, every nook and cranny, taking frequent rounds. It's a tiny colony, almost like a nondescript hamlet. Geeta and Jasmeet had never lived in a village. Both of them had only seen those in TV serials and films. Out there in that ashram each one knows every other occupant. Most people would address her as 'Aaru kaaki' lovingly, whether adults, youth or children, all and sundry.

Pragmatic and life-oriented 'Aaru kaaki' loves both Geeta and Jasmeet. She would accompany them to meet all the occupants of the ashram. And they would share some moments with them, the abandoned members of families, long lost in the ravages of situations and the sheer connivance from their so-called blood-relations. Some of them hardly flash a smile, as if they forgot to do so. Deprived souls would look for kindred bonding.

Her husband worked here long back. Now the new 'manager's role' is her son's work. With smiles on her wrinkled face all over, she wends her way all around here. She's there to pacify the little one's tantrum and cries, looking after her son's granddaughter, as a matter of fact, she remains really busy.

Jasmeet received a call through WhatsApp. From the other end, bubbly Nisha exuberantly said, "How are you Jasmeet aunty? We're all fine here." During this conversation she shared an amusing thought of her husband. By word of mouth, he commented, "Nisha, you're indeed proud of your two bold and life-oriented aunties, Sita aur Geeta." After some time, while relaxing in the porch of Aaru kaki's house, Jasmeet text-messaged her, "my dear; it isn't just two but three, Sita Aaru Geeta. I'll share with you much more about the third aunty later."

Sedately Geeta came forward and raising her both hands she took the baby on her lap. The baby immediately lifted her little hands and tried to hold the mottled skin of Geeta's hand. Looking at her wrinkled face, she smiled flashing her dimples prominently. Geeta too smiled in sheer exhilaration. She thought, "My own granddaughter, little Rosie, might have smiled exactly this way in those days. I missed that."

The lady who was with them for some time moving from one part of the ashram to the other said, "Aaru kaaki never sits lazily. She adopted this little one's grandpa years ago, since her husband joined the newly established 'orphanage' and 'old-age-home' within this same ashram."

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Hope you have enjoyed it. Please do write a comment.