Ring-A- Ring-A-Rosesby Ramesh Mahadevan
The Ranganathan household was spinning in top gear. “Uh-oh! It's already ten in the morning and I haven't done even half the things I had set out to do.” Lakshmi, Mrs. Ranganathan, was lamenting loudly to no one in particular. Every burner in her kitchen stove was in high flame, with things sizzling and simmering. She was hopping from shelf to shelf, burner to burner, frying and stirring and spicing up the various dishes. “Relax, dear,” piped in Mr. Ranganathan. “We have all day. Let's not kill ourselves. Their Lufthansa flight is coming only at eleven in the night. You will have ample time to make ten more dishes if you wish. What is cooking now? The smell is making me woozy. “ “Carrot halwa.” “What? I thought you already made gulab jamuns. Remember, we are both diabetics. So, don't overdo it.” “It's not for us. It is for them.” She replied as she dumped yet another scoop of ghee into the frothing halwa. “They are coming to India after three years. They must be dying to eat some good home-cooked food. I wonder if they have time to make carrot halwa in the USA.” Visions of their son, daughter-in-law and their one and only grandkid – a charmingly beautiful six-year-old boy – streaked across her mind. Their emerging through the Arrival gate, their initial burst of conversation, grandson's chatter. That would be like a dream come true “Dear, how come the bureau is all open and half a dozen of your sarees are spread across the bed?” “I am trying to decide which saree to wear to the airport. You help me. Should I wear the green one with the black border or the blue one?” “Come on, dear. You are not going to a fashion show. Just wear anything.” “And I don't want you to be hanging around the airport in silly clothes. I have kept aside your shirt and pants. Make sure you put those on. Oh gosh, my halwa !” At the kitchen sink, the maid was furiously washing a thousand dirty dishes. She knew that both the Ranganathan children lived abroad and that one of them was coming home that night. This must have been a sudden visit because it was unlike Lakshmi Amma to keep things under wraps, the maid thought. But then, why would they tell her every bit of their family story? After all, she has been working for them only for the past six months. “Who is coming today Amma, your son or your daughter?” “My son and family, Nagamma. All the way from America. After three long years.” Lakshmi walked up to the sink to dump a couple of more dishes. “You see, Vijay is the oldest of our children and his wife is Usha. All of Usha's family – including her parents – are in America. Vijay himself has been in America for fifteen years. Went there right after college. They got married about eight years ago. Rahul is their son, now six years old. One of the smartest kids you can ever see. He has such an American accent already.” “He is the one in the photos, right?” “Yes, and our daughter is Radhika and her husband is Venkat. They got married three years ago and they too are in America – in another corner of the country, as a matter of fact. When they got married three years ago, Vijay and family were here too, obviously. That was the last time we saw our children.” “I see. So, Vijay and all came for Rahul's wedding.” “No, no, no! Rahul is the little boy. He is Vijay's son. Radhika was the one who got married three years ago. They don't have any children yet...” “Now I get it. So, Rahul, Usha and Venkat are coming today from America…” “Ayyo, Nagamma, you will never get it. My son's family is coming tonight. Now get back to doing the dishes. And before you leave, just make sure you mop the other room. They are going to stay there.” It was mid-afternoon. Ranganathan was sitting in his customary armchair with The Hindu newspaper and Lakshmi was right beside him, rooted firmly in front of the TV, getting a little break from the frenetic, day-long action. Just six more hours to go! “Shhhhhh! This stupid refrigerator.” She started complaining again to her husband. “It makes such a huge noise, it keeps me awake all night. Drrrrr. Drrrrm, like that. I don't know how you manage to sleep through that racket. When Vijay comes, we need to dump this fridge and get a new one…” “Good luck trying to get your son to go with you to an appliance store,” Ranganathan replied. “Remember, this is the music season and they will be rushing in and out of concerts all the time. You have your agenda and they have theirs.” “True, true. It is amazing how our son, of all the people, has discovered Indian classical music, that too in America. It's a pity we people in India are not cultured enough to appreciate such things. I think even Radhika and Venkat are now interested in music…” “…” - Ranganathan, flipping his newspaper around... “You know, dear. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing by marrying our Radhika to that boy Venkat.” Lakshmi broached yet another topic. “Why do you have such ludicrous thoughts?” “God knows what job he has. He is supposed to be an experienced software engineer. But times are so bad in America, he gets laid off every so many months and sits at home without a job. It's only because of Radhika's catering side business they are surviving. Is this any way to live?” “Indeed, true. I tell them all the time to come back to Chennai and grab these fantastic opportunities here. So many software boys come home, except our son-in-law…” “You know, it is my dream to get our little daughter back here in Chennai. To see her have babies. Have their own house and a car. I can't believe I haven't seen my baby in three years!” Lakshmi paused for a few moments and let go a deep sigh. ”In fact, I want Vijay also to move back to India and, this way, we will all live happily.” “Now, now, don't get too emotional. I don't want your blood pressure to shoot up. Did you take your afternoon medications? Now, watch TV or do something to keep those negative thoughts away from your mind. Let me read my Obituary column in peace.” Five O'clock. Lakshmi got busy again. She floated around the guest bedroom inspecting every nook and cranny, straightening out the last wrinkle on the bedspread, removing the clutter from the nightstand and dusting off the flower vase. Govind, the all-purpose handyman of the apartment complex, knocked on the door to deliver milk. “Madam is buying so much extra milk. Are you getting a lot of guests?” “Yes, my son and family are coming from America tonight.” “I see,” Govind said perfunctorily. “Then, will your son take you and Ayya with him to America when he goes back?” “I wish, Govind,” said Lakshmi wistfully. “But how can we go? Ayya and I are both heart patients. On top of that, I have severe arthritis. We can't go anywhere, even though we got our passports made. I wish I left this crummy apartment and boring life and lived with my son. I wish they had a train to America.” Six O'clock in the evening. The energy level at the Ranganathan household was slowly increasing. Lakshmi hung up the phone and wandered into the living room. “You have been talking on the phone for the past two hours, Lakshmi.” ”Yes,” she responded, “but I have to inform people about our son's homecoming.” “You might as well have employed a town crier to walk around this neighborhood. Did you tell everyone or did you forget anyone?” “I haven't told Mrs. Anand yet,” Lakshmi replied. “But then, I am not going to tell her because she never told me about her daughter's visit until two days after they actually arrived.” “You women are crazy!” Lakshmi ignored his remark. “Dear, I think we should make a trip to Tirupathi when they are here.” “Why, Lakshmi? Didn't we go there the last time Vijay came?” “That was three years ago. It will be really great if we all go there as a family." “Your legs can't take that three-hour car ride. Your arthritis will kill you.” “No, it won't. I will manage somehow. Remember the last time, when Rahul got his head shaved off in Tirupathi? He looked so cute without hair on his head.” “He was only three years old then. I hope you are not scheming on having the poor child go through it again this time. He is six now and he will probably kill you if you let anyone lay a finger on his head." “It was so cute. Rahul reciting all those rhymes and shaking his glistening, clean-shaven head.” “Now he is probably reading Harry Potter.” “I still remember those days. Those rhymes. Here, dear, hold my hands. Ring-a-ring-a roses.” Lakshmi quickly grabbed Ranganathan's hands, dragged him to the middle of the room and led him into a pathetic, slow waltz around the room. Ranganathan didn't expect this one bit. “Stop it, Lakshmi!! What are you doing? You are nuts.” “Pocket full of posies. Pocket full of posies. What is the third line dear? Ring-a-ring-a roses. I can't remember the third line. Can you?"” “Stop it right now, I say,” yelled Ranganathan, trying to wriggle himself free. “You are going to get dizzy and faint. What's wrong with you?” Lakshmi wasn't even listening to anything as she clumsily caroused around the room with him – the two of them looking like an idiot dog trying to chase its own tail. “Pocket full of posies. Ring a ring a roses, Pocket full of posies, something something something. And all fall down!” She let go of her husband's hands and collapsed on the bed, right on top of her neatly arranged saree collection – wailing and sobbing hysterically – each sob getting louder and more uncontrollable than the previous one. .Ranganathan inched up to her on the bed and put his hand around her. “I am sorry,” Lakshmi said amid the sobs. “Please forgive me. I just couldn't take it any more. Everybody else's children routinely come back from America. Only ours don't. That's why I wanted to go through this pretend game of their coming here today. This tamasha. Thanks for being so understanding and playing along… I am sorry for dragging you through this charade.” “It's okay, dear. It's okay. I too feel really desperate and unhappy. We worked all our lives to make our sunset years happy. Instead what do we do? Wake up at four in the morning and pump water with the hand pump in this stupid water-starved city. And we sit all day hoping and praying that our children will come back home some day, at least for a visit.” “I really wanted to experience what it feels like to have them come from the USA. I too wanted to have that thrill.” “It's okay, dear. Now go and phone up people and tell them that Rahul got very sick in the plane and they had to rush back to the USA.” Ranganathan was talking in monotones, staring at the wall in front of him. “Who is going to get the halwa, Nagamma or Govind?” “Last year it was SARS, the year before that, it was terrorism. And this year, they say that Rahul cannot get days off from school. How can a six-year-old not get time off?” ”It's alright, dear. The next time I talk to them, I will tell them that you are in the hospital -- sick or something. It will be my turn to fake things – perhaps then, they might come down. Here…” said Ranganathan, sulking cynically. “By the way, the third line is 'Ashes, ashes all stand still.” |