Death Bytes

I had yet another foot in mouth moment this morning .We had gone to the church graveyard to clean Granma’s grave ahead of her death anniversary next week. Crossing the church yard , I saw what I thought was a horse carriage and immediately wanted to give my toddler Rhea a ride in it. My tummy lurched painfully when my angry hubby informed me that it was a funeral carriage.I was terrified at my own suggestion. Looking at the glass covered carriage again , I thought I could see the evil spirits grinning inside .Was it a bad omen? Inspite of my excuse of being a Hindu and thus it being my first close up of the coffin carrier, how could I ever say something so stupid?
Shaken, we entered the graveyard and walked over to Anne Mamma’s grave and started clearing up the weeds. “Why is Anne Mamma sleeping there? Has she become Mar Gaya? Is she happy? ”, came the series of questions from Rhea which I knew would be repeated at increasing volume until replied to. “People, when they become very old, die (become mar gaya )” , I explained , “and sleep in God’s house . Remember I told you that before you came in Mamma’s tummy, you used to be in God’s house? Well, when you become very old and die, you will go back to God’s house. Understood? ” “Okay Mamma”, came the simple acceptance of a two year old.
If life and death were so simple, then why do we fear death so? Why is that the mere idea of a ride in the funeral carriage strikes terror in our hearts? Why is it that we do not like to even think of the death of our dear ones- our spouse, our parents, even worse - ourselves? As we grow older and closer to our final destination, we do everything we can to prolong the journey-even if it means torturing ourselves on the way through ‘healthy fat (and fun) free diets and boring fitness schedules. We apply age defying anti – wrinkle creams on our face lest we are reminded of our upcoming appointment with our creator, when we happen to look at the mirror. We lie about our age and wear clothes that would look silly even on a teenager!
Leaving Albert and my BIL to do the menial job, I sat on the tank nearby with Rhea and Nadia. There was a funeral going on in the corner .As the body was lowered into their grave, relatives sobbed and friends held their hands, trying to come to terms with the loss. The funeral service came to an end, and people started drifting away .The children looked relieved, as they were released from the restraining grip of their parents and could once again run amok- full of life, full of the years ahead. The middle aged had a forced strut in their walk and pasted smiles of confidence as if to prove to themselves that they still had a long way to go.
There was one old woman who looked very sad. “Maybe she’s a close relative”, I thought. But as she crossed me, at the gate she cast a last look at the graveyard and that’s when I recognized the look. It was naked fear. “Was it going to be her turn next”?
Pulling up handfuls of happy and healthy looking grass Albert said,” Imagine the kind of manure these lucky buggers get! And the earthworms and the bacteria must be having a ball down there.” Looking at the funeral crowd over at the corner he remarked, “Cheers guys! There’s some fresh maal there for you”. Fresh Bites or Death Bytes?

MID LIFE CRISIS

Walking down the Willington Island Marina pushing our kids in their prams last Saturday , my husband and I  were suddenly shaken out of our reverie by hoots and catcalls. Turning around, I saw a group of men cycle by. Well into their late 50s , they were all carousing out together to prove to the world that they were still alive and kicking. Clad in tight jeans and loud T-shirts stretched across their protruding midriffs , each one wanted to show the other one how to enjoy life, with decibel level being a direct proportional. While one tried a wheelie, another pulled out a flashy camera and clicked a third ones instant mid air split. ‘Midlife crisis’, I remarked to Albert with a knowing grin.We had been flinging this term at each other quite often lately.

Some of us are attacked early, and some of us a little late , but all of us go through this phase where life seems to be in a limbo. Everything we’ve done so far feels inadequate, and there is a need re-invent.

‘I think I want to be a wildlife photographer’ , said Albert one day. Apparently his job in the Navy was not fulfilling enough  and a dashing young Navy Officer was not ‘what he wanted to be’ . Coming right after his passionate but shortlived stint as a future painter, I didn’t take this very seriously. But what followed was extensive googling about DSLRs, and a serious dent in our fast diminishing bank balance. The much coveted Canon DSLR came into our lives finally on his birthday- an extravagant gift from his loving wife. But little did I guess that it was a part of a bigger plan-A plan to break free.

‘I am going out’, he declared next Sunday morning. ‘Where to?’ ‘To the beach , to photograph the Chinese nets’. ‘What about us?’, I tried to keep the whine out of voice while he looked at me uncomfortably looking for words to soothe a seething wife who  had grumbled through the boring week, and whose wretched complaints he had first feared and then decided to overlook. A long break in my career , two babies under two and my recent thirty second birthday had me struggling with a colourful mélange of postnatal depression and associated melancholy.

The diagnosis spewed out accidentally in a fit of anger, ‘Ok, go’, I said bitterly, looking at the two sleeping children who I couldn’t leave behind to join him in this morning adventure. The hiatus in my life made me feel that the whole world was zipping by me in top gear while I gawked at them helplessly. ‘Enjoy your mid- life crisis’.

That evening, strumming his guitar, one of his other new ‘passions’ ,Albert looked strangely thoughtful, a very unlikely expression for him. ‘What’s up?’, I asked enjoying the rare opportunity of a conversation with him alone. ‘Well, wondering how to get both of us to actually enjoy this mid- life crisis. To suffer is a bore.’ I agreed whole heartedly. Life was playing this game with us and to beat it at its own game would give us the thrill we were missing so much.

A new Facebook account, bright green Adidas trainers, Ponds Age Miracle cream and dancing in Zumba lessons with college girls are the tools I have collected in my arsenal. My husband cruises the roads on his newly done up Yamaha RX 100(another dent in our account) ,his new American Tourister backpack stashed with his camera, photography magazines and tripod. Just yesterday he got beaten hollow (9-0,9-4,9-2) by his boss in a squash open match he decided to join last minute overlooking the fact that he hadn’t touched a racquet for year and for which I turned up with both kids to cheer.

We have a long list of holidays planned for the entire year,camping in the Wyanad jungles with the kids and scuba diving in Portblair being top on priority. Short term plans include dumping the kids with grandparents and catching at least 2 movies a week.

Tried a glass of wine last night. Wanted to try riding the new RX 100 right after that, but then thought the better of it. After all , am a mother of two little babies, and need to have my head firmly planted on my shoulders. No silliness, no hanky – panky.

By the way , was wondering whether dark maroon or pink would be a better colour to streak my  my hair, any ideas?

The Woman in the mirror

I was running late. It was the first day of my Zumba Dance workout session, an advertisement which I had chanced upon the previous week in the newspaper. It had come as a welcome relief for me as I had some kilos of my post pregnancy weight to lose.

Jumping out of the auto, and taking the stairs two at a time like an overenthusiastic kindergarten kid, I barged in. The class was already in progress. It was an air-conditioned hall with a mirror for a wall. All the dancers danced facing the wall. The instructor waved to me to join in. Discarding my handbag on the floor, I took my place in the second row and tried to match her steps earning an encouraging look from her in the mirror.

All that dancing I had done in school came into play and soon I had picked up the beat and was easily imitating her tantalizing moves. A furtive glance revealed five women all in various degrees of corpulence clad in tights, T-shirts and canvas shoes as was instructed to us. The two on the extreme right looked fit and young, maybe college students, joining a hip dance class to be a part of the ‘happening crowd’. The rest seemed to be housewives like me, there to regain their own confidence, or the love of their husbands, whichever of the two, or both had diminished.

There was one lady who suddenly caught my eye. Wearing black tights and a flowered red and black top, she seemed to be covering the entire left panel of the mirror. She, with her beginner’s overzealousness and ample frame threatened to crack the wooden floors. Suppressing a chortle that threatened to escape, I observed her antics .Whilst we all emulated the instructors sexy expressions and lithe movements, this woman in the mirror seemed to be dancing a mishmash of Bharatnatyam and Red Indian war dance. Each matka and jhatka sent tremors across her beefy midriff and bosom causing the rolls of flesh to jiggle and resettle urgently as if to beat each other to find a more comfortable space in her overcrowded frame.

After the first twenty minutes, we were all a little out of breath, but were immensely enjoying ourselves. The choreography was amazing, a mix of hip hop and salsa.As Kalpana, our instructor moved seductively to the beats of ‘Kaun hai Ajnabi ‘ from the latest Abhishek Bachan thriller ‘Game’, we all struggled to maintain posture, timing and expression.Feeling the fast beats of the music get the better of me, I decided to check out our lady in the mirror.There she was, still upto her hilarious tricks, twisting and turning and grinning foolishly from ear to ear in an effort to copy the cool smile on Kalpana’s face.But she had an air of determination, a belief that she could beat the odds. She seemed to know that she was going to win ultimately. She knew the rolls of fat would jiggle less and less and finally disappear. Unmindful of the beads of sweat glistening on her brow, she toiled away , a warrior in her own rights.Finally , Kalpana signalled that time was up and we gladly packed up to rush back to our real lives after the brief romance with our reflections.

Thinking of her,after I got back home in evening,  I was proud of the woman in the mirror. I was going to make her disappear slowly, and at the end of three months, there would a slim, pretty, confidant reflection of me who would replace her in the left panel of the mirror.After a shower as I put away my black tights and flowered red and black top I thought,' Just you wait, you woman in the mirror, a metamorphosis is due'!