IDHAR UDHAR KI BAAT 59- HELPLESSNESS Brig PS Gothra (Retd)

"Don’t go out, just watch," said my father’s Tamilian  friend, who was in his early nineties. His attendant had arrived to change his diaper, and he wanted me to witness the process. In that moment, I suddenly realized that such helplessness could one day happen to me too. It felt like he had made me stay to drive home that very point. As I twitched my nose a little to block out the smell, he added, "Now, maybe you'll understand why I said it’s good your father passed away in his sixties. He was spared this shame, pain, and inconvenience."

I remembered his utterance when my father died and fond him to be illogical and strange. I reflected on how this man, once the pillar of strength for the entire village, was now so vulnerable. Sensing my thoughts, he said, "I’m still better off than many others."

I admired his positive attitude and couldn’t resist asking, "How is that, Uncle?"

He explained, "I receive a pension, so I can afford help for my care. My cousin, one year older than me, has lost his memory. Though he's physically well, he can’t enjoy his surroundings or the company of loved ones. Another neighbour’s wife also suffers from memory loss. Out of love, she gives the neighbour boiled milk, which he enjoyed in his younger days, but she forgets and gives him four or five glasses a day. Every time she insists on him to drink it all."

I found myself wondering which fate would be worse: losing my memory or becoming immobile like Uncle. Seeing my gloomy expression, he continued, "I’ve faced tough situations before."

"When?" I asked.

"When I was sixteen. One dark night, I sneaked into a girl’s house to meet her. I climbed into her cot, only to discover I’d slipped into the wrong bed and alarmed another woman. I jumped into their neighbour’s yard to escape, but found myself trapped in a compound with nine-foot walls and a vicious dog. As I tried to climb out, the dog had a field day biting me—one bite after another. By morning, my backside was swollen like fermented dosa batter, and I was in so much pain that my grandmother found out. I hope you Punjabi can visualise what a fermented dosa batter looks like.”

“Yes Uncle. But, did your grandmother come to know what you were up to?”

“In the village, everyone knows your misdeeds, even if they don’t talk about them. When grandmother went to the dog owner’s house to check whether the dog was alive. The dog owner told him that the dog is very much intact but if her grandson doesn’t mend his ways he would be dead very soon,” said the old man with a smile.

"Did you get the anti-rabies shots?" I asked.

"Yes, and that was another nightmare," he said, "The girl’s ex-boyfriend worked at the hospital as a peon. I don’t know what he told the doctor, but they gave me fourteen injections around my belly button, and they did it with as much cruelty as they could muster. For three weeks, I couldn’t stand, I couldn't sleep, or I couldn't sit. The worst was when I had to relieve myself. I never thought I’d be in such a predicament again, but here I am. Thank God the Chinese made diapers so affordable."

I couldn’t help but silently laugh at the absurdity of his story, though I only smiled outwardly. "Did you end up marrying the girl?" I asked.

"No," he chuckled. "I was just a time-pass for her; she was two years older than me."

"Then you should’ve stayed on and told the truth. Maybe you would’ve only gotten a few slaps."

"Illai, thambi! The girl had four rogue, criminal brothers. The last time they caught a thief in their house, they cut off his thumb and a finger. I shudder to think what they would’ve chopped off, if they found out the purpose I went to their house!"

 

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