“Better Late Than Never”

Mr. Dileep had been our next-door neighbor for over a year and we knew about him-------- almost nothing. He lived in the one RK flat next to ours and was something of a loner. Every morning at 8 sharp we could hear the door of the next flat open and close, quick active steps run down the staircase and the tall gaunt form of Mr. Dileep walk down the street with sprightly steps, hail a taxi, and there, he was gone. But it was a different Mr. Dileep who was seen daily at the end of our street, returning home at 8 o’clock. Dragging his feet, emanating alcohol fumes, an unsteady gait and bloodshot eyes had their own tales to tell. His dye-blackened hair spoke of an effort to look young and presentable, maybe a hopeful future, but the creases on his brow spoke louder- of the whiplashes of fate that he had received in the past. Mr. Dileep was a bachelor in his early 40s. Why he had not entered the bonds of matrimony was something that we did not know but why he continued to be a bachelor was a matter of common knowledge and a source of gossip among neighbors. His reputation preceded him. He was rarely seen outside the home except in the evenings in a drunken stupor. The loud puking sounds from his flat told the rest of the tale. Who would want to get involved with a person like him, much less offer a daughter or a sister as a bride? The world is not concerned with the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ of a situation. It does not have the time. It is interested only in the ‘what’. So Mr. Dileep carried on, friendless in a crowded overpopulated world.

One day my father casually remarked, “The puking sounds have not been coming anymore. Has Mr. Dileep left the flat I wonder?”

“No,” replied my brother, “I saw that uncle last evening. He was coming home-but walking straight like everyone, not as if he was going to fall.” Just then there was a knock at the door. We opened the door and there stood Mr. Dileep. “My visit to your house is long overdue,” he said with a slightly embarrassed smile.

 “Well, but you have come now, haven’t you. So let us make the most of it. What will you have tea or coffee?” replied my father with a laugh trying to make him feel comfortable.

Mr. Dileep took out a card from the packet he was carrying. “I am getting married next week- going to Chennai for it,” he said as if trying to get it off his chest. My father couldn’t conceal his surprise. “Yes Sir, I don’t blame you for looking shocked. 42 is not an age to get married. But I have decided to take the plunge.” At the door, he turned and said, “And I have taken a divorce from my first wife- my drinking habit” and he was gone.

A fortnight passed and we started hearing sounds of pots and pans, moving of furniture from Mr. Dileep’s house. So he has come back with his bride. But my young uncle came breezing in and exclaimed to my mother, “Didi, our neighbor has come back with his mother.” “What! Are you mad? He went to get married. His wife must be there inside somewhere.”

“Their door was open and there was only one lady there- his mother” replied my uncle gravely. My uncle was like that. He would make a joke out of anything around but there was always an element of truth in his jokes. My mother grew restless. She needed to know the truth- but how? That afternoon Bose Aunty (Mrs. Bose, our landlord’s wife) who stayed upstairs dropped in for a chat and she took up the topic.

“Mr. Dileep has got married, you know. Did you meet his wife?”

Before my mother could reply she continued- “I spoke to her today. She’s nice, but, Bhabhi, she has grey hair- just imagine- a new bride. She looks older than Dileep. But then, why did she remain unmarried till this age?”

My mother’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. That point has not occurred to her.

“She must be a widow or a divorcee. There must be more to it” commented Bose Aunty with a final flourish.

Widow? Divorcee? Well, what else can Dileep hope for?

Yes, there was more to it, as we discovered later.

“Why don’t you go and meet Mrs. Dileep? She is a newcomer. You should offer some help in settling down. And besides, she must be of your age group. She might turn out to be a nice person, you never know” remarked my father.

My mother went to visit Mrs. Dileep with me tagging along behind. She welcomed us warmly and with confidence. What struck us most was her self-assurance and, of course, her salt-and-pepper hair.

“I am Deepa and I am 39,” she said laughingly when she saw my mother’s eyes straying repeatedly to her hair. I am not what you expect of a typical bride.”

“But why did you wait so long?” the question came out before my mother could stop.

Deepa was quiet for a moment or two. Then she told us her story. Hers was a large family- Four sisters and two brothers, Deepa being the youngest. Her eldest sister was married with a six-month-old son and stayed close to her place. So, at 12 Deepa had a nephew who was exactly 12 years her junior. He was the apple of her eye. Rajkumar- Raju- in fact, she had selected the name for him. The two of them, aunt and nephew, behaved like two crazy puppies whenever her sister visited them. They were a pair that grew up together.

But one day tragedy struck. Her sister left the child with the family as she had to attend a wedding reception with her husband.

“Wow, Didi, you look like an apsara on her way to heaven,” remarked Deepa full of admiration for her beautiful sister bedecked in her fineries. The statement proved to be ominous. Their car collided with a truck- Instant death! But the husband and wife stood by their marriage vows of being together now and forever.

What about little Raju? He continued in the happy cozy nest of his grandparents with three aunts and two uncles, lavishing love and affection. It was mini heaven for him. Time flitted by. Soon his eldest aunt Gita’s marriage was announced. It was one whirl of excitement for little Raju. Endless shopping sessions, going out with his grandparents for distributing cards, a perennial stream of guests and well-wishers, and then finally the D-day with its colorful crowds, the music, sweet aroma of sandalwood, incense and jasmine emitting an aura of peace and serenity, and in the end the woeful wails of the ladies at the time of “vidai” when the bride leaves her paternal roof to set up a home of her own.

A few months on… Gita Aunty visited them with her husband. Raju was so excited -but… somehow… she seemed a different Gita Aunty now. She had endless tall stories about her grand in-laws. But when he showed her his drawings, she casually glanced over them and then remarked- “You know my sister-in-law’s son, Golu, he is a born artist. Paints so beautifully. I’ll take you with me to meet him, Raju. Both of you can be friends. But you must behave well there, Okay.”

Raju kept mum trying hard not to feel bad. This was his Gita Aunty who used to cuddle him calling him her Prince Charming. And who is this new Golu? Raju made up his mind – he would definitely not go with Gita Aunty to meet her Golu. But surprisingly Gita Aunty did not repeat her invitation. Through a veil of unshed tears, he could see his Deepa Aunty watching him steadily. When he came home after playing in the park, he saw Deepa Aunty going through his drawing. “Raju you must make a beautiful drawing for me – the one you normally make- with mountains and sunrise and trees. I want to give it to my friend as a gift. She loves drawings of little children.” Raju ran and gave Deepa Aunty a hug. What a poor liar she was!

Soon Gita Aunty was the proud mother of a brat who seemed to draw the entire family around him and bask in their attention. And slowly his baby dresses, his toys, his crayons passed on to the newcomer. Once even his grandma- his own grandma- coolly offered his toy train set to the little fellow. “He is your little brother” was her short explanation. Sure enough, Deepa Aunty came to the bedside that night with a packet- a new toy train set. And Raju realized that he had half expected it.

One by one the uncles and aunts who used to cuddle him, carry him on their shoulders, tell him stories, wipe his tears got married, and left. They used to visit often, but in new avatars, as changed people, interested only in their lives. It was clear that Raju had no place in their lives. So when his Manorama Aunty who came just before Deepa, got married he cried bitterly hugging Deepa Aunty- “Now you will also get married and go and I will have no one.”

That was the moment when Deepa took her “Bheeshma Pratigya” (oath of Bheeshma)- not to get married ever. One does not have to belong to a noble family and be endowed with superhuman qualities to do great things. Sometimes great deeds are performed by small people.

Life carried on as usual, but it was ever-changing. Deepa Aunty got more and more engrossed with her studies, Grandpa and Grandma were slowing down. Age was catching up with them. One day Grandpa came back earlier from his walk complaining of breathlessness. Deepa with the help of neighbors took him to the hospital. But at the end of the day, it was all over. Cardiac arrest. “Why is God so cruel? Why did He take Grandpa away?” sobbed Raju. Deepa Aunty patted him, her eyes brimming, but voice steady as ever- “Maybe He needed him more.” But neither knew that there was more to come. Soon the entire brood of uncles and aunts landed there. The eldest, Manoj uncle made his decision clear. “I am taking mother with me, Deepa. You will find it difficult to manage her and Raju and take care of the house. Besides, you have your exams coming. And mother is still in a state of shock.” Truly a dutiful son, taking care of his mother. But none thought of the 25-year-old girl and her 13-year-old ward. What about their security? “You are right, Brother” replied Deepa with quiet dignity.

And finally, the house which used to shake with noise and laughter, argument and commotion housed just the two of them- aunt and nephew- Deepa and Raju.

Deepa soon got a job with the Post and Telegraph as her father had retired from the same. Raju turned out to be a hardworking and serious student. His young mind was forming its own impressions and somewhere he realized that Deepa Aunty was as alone as he was. Soon he topped the Board exam, got into a good Engineering College, and eventually got a job in the same town. Deepa could ill-conceal her pride and sense of achievement. One day while dusting Raju’s books, she found the photograph of a young beautiful girl in them. Her lips arched in a mischievous smile. So, my Raju has been doubly busy in his Engineering College. That evening she spoke to Raju about it, “I want to meet my future daughter-in-law and her people.”

“But I have to speak to Shruti about it. And maybe give her an iron armor too before she comes to meet you!” he laughed.

“What! Are you trying to be funny?”

Raju had already told Shruti all about his Deepa Aunty. But this time it was Shruti’s turn to speak- “Look Raju, I admire your Aunty a lot. She is a great lady. But just imagine, when we get married, don’t you think she may feel left out? After all, she is not old- just 38. She deserves something better. Why not ask her if she is willing to get married. After all her duty is done- you are one your own. She too should have a life of her own.”

And so Raju and Shruti got busy with matrimonial ads, matrimonial agencies, and what not and finally came across Mr. Dileep. As for Dileep, he had remained unmarried because his childhood sweetheart on whom he used to dote, had decided to give him up for a person settled in the USA. And he refused to forget her, sinking deeper and deeper into melancholy. But good sense prevailed and he too decided to give life another chance

Mrs. Deepa Dileep stopped and my mother wiped the corner of her eyes with her pallu- for the girl with a heart of gold, for the happy ending of the story of the deserving two. This Deepa was no jittery new bride with jingling anklets and bangles and shy giggly laughter. There was no excitement of trying out new dishes, running the house for the first time. Those were all things she had done all her life. What replaced it was a sense of contentment, a sense of belonging, and a quiet sense of satisfaction at having reached a destination that was long overdue.