Slice of Life #13 — Unpacking Mother’s Suitcase

My mother was a very meticulous woman and raised us as such. She was particular about how a bed should be made. In those days, we had mats that we had to roll them to perfection. Folding of clothes was another of her demands. Folded to perfection, putting many a launderer out of work. It was more of her need to have us believe mundane work needed more attention than we paid attention to. Her credo was – ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ My dad happily borrowed it and made it his. She did not claim any patent rights to it. A liberal she was, yes.

We all grow old and as did she. One day, we persuaded her to come and stay with us for good. She loved a patch of green at our place. Insisted on tulasi or basil, flowering plants and banana saplings. She used to go to the small garden and plucked every single flower for her ‘Gods’. I even chided her once that she must leave some on the plants for us to enjoy them. She was adamant. Slowly she stopped going to the garden as she was unable to climb the few steps without assistance.

As for her room, the things in her life were all over the room. They were in full cry to anyone walking past. A bit of an eyesore. I had to close the door of her room when we had visitors. One day she asked for the ‘blue’ trolley bag that I used. All the items she needed were on several side tables and when I asked about it, she said that they needed to be visible and within easy reach. She said that the chest of drawers was useless as she did not know what was in them. Come Diwali, I decided to clean her room and put things in place, tucked away neatly and told her about it.

She said nothing. I did see a fleeting shadow of sadness in her eyes. She veered away not wanting to meet my eyes. She was far too much in love with us. As for the suitcase, I got her sarees in them into the cabinet took away the trolley bag she did not need anymore. The room looked spick and span. There was an overhang of a heaviness of heart that I did not notice. Amma passed away a month later.

A couple of months later, I used the blue trolley bag and found that its zip had given up. She did not want me to use it and hence asked for it. And did not want to tell me. These days, the room looks clean, and each time I go in, I feel it was better off with the odds strewn around within easy reach of the only person who loved me unconditionally – my mother. I realized that old people needed an understanding beyond cleanliness. A sensitivity beyond compare. The blue trolley bag was unpacked and tucked away, the emotions were not. They are alive and each time I look at the trolley, it reminds me of her and my spectacles mists up again.

Of Deep Desires and a (S)pot of Luck

Flash back to four years ago. He loved Hyderabad and wanted to buy a house and settle down here. He had said the same thing when he was in Bangalore a few years ago, but this time it was different. It was serious. So, he and his wife went house hunting.

First, he went to Taj Krishna, a very nice hotel which was hosting a real estate jamboree infested with upper class people. “What the heck, let me try to blend in,” he said to himself. He met a young man from a leading builder and asked for a brochure, and he reluctantly gave him one. “I should have dressed better for the occasion. Brochure prospecting is a serious business, and I should have known,” he thought to himself.  With a casual air, he asked for the price of a villa that they seemed to like.  The realtor quoted a figure that he thought was steep for a clutch of such villas. But he did not flinch. Instead, he asked him if he had anything better. Never let your guard down when buying a house.

He then picked out another bigger brochure and his amusement showed in his eyes. Now, this house was terrific. He fell in love with one that was available, that overlooked a park and had some really good frontage. When asked for the price, and it was like a blow to the solar plexus. Whew! But he held my ground, asked him to show him the booking chart and in his own hand, marked it off, and said, “I will return, keep this one for me.” His wife thought he was mad. This was way beyond any budget. “Anyways, I scored over the sales guy, didn't I?” he thought.

Life moved on. He could not afford that house. He opted for an apartment that overlooked the golf links. Life was going to be good.  He was steadily paying up for the apartment for a couple of years. Bad luck smiled.  The housing board played spoilsport and the flat went into litigation — for me and many more. He was in deep trouble. Life was at its ebb. He had paid up too much for an apartment that went into litigation!

His wife asked him to ‘perk up’ and buy a house. He loved advice. This was the best!  So, they went house hunting — again. Innumerous Saturdays were spent hunting for a place that they could call their own.  Six months of searching … and almost all properties and projects of the city were seen. None would come close to the house of his dreams, the one that he had liked.  His agent was getting tired of him.  Patience was running thin. And he asked him to see one last house, after which he wished to part ways.

The house was lovely, exactly the way he wanted, the park in front, good environs, nice façade. He wanted to close the deal and went to the builder. He was in trepidation as the prices were all too high. But the saving grace was that the prices had fallen by almost 40% owed to some regional politics (bless them!). The price was finalized. He would have to a fat loan from the bank and would now be working for many years for ICICI bank (to pay off his mortgage).

The builder asked for the booking chart to seal the deal. And as the page turned to the booking chart — lo behold, there was in his very own tick mark on the brochure — the one that he had marked off some four years ago. The dream house finally did come back to him!

I am touched by the power of deep desire and a (s)pot of luck. If you really want something, in a miraculous way, it does come to you. Not all the time, but when it does, it makes life worth living for something you deeply desire. It can happen to relationships, to jobs, and careers. Life does hold out its magic wand of goodness in all its seemingly endless road of pain and conflicts. Where there is a desire, there is hope, and where there is hope, there is life and miracles.

I welcome you to my new home and partake in our humble offering of fine humor, food for mortals and spirits of the Gods, for it is I, with that big fat dream! J