Recalling the father in comatose……

Again ,he feels the same pungent ammoniacal smell in his nostrils, and, some indistinct words hit his ears like buzzing of drone. The ammoniac smell, too brings him back to his childhood memoirs, when for the first time in his life he visited the civil hospital of the city. This ammonia smell, at once had entered his nostrils, the moment he put his steps inside the spacious corridor of the civil hospital. There, it got registered permanently in the memory bank, intermingled with odor of other medicines.

        Hospital

The smell sent him a message, rather a suggestion that made him think, he was in a hospital. He tries to put some pressure on his mind about all this, but unable to cope with and shortly gives up. It seems to him, No, he is confident about the fact, he is  in some hospital either. Again, he recalls the incidence indistinctly. He recalls, in hurry he tried to cross the busy road, meanwhile some vehicle hit him hard. He remembers his own painful cry, then noise of people gathering round him. As if, everyone is running towards the  site of the accident. He stretched there subconsciously, people carrying him in hands to one side of the road.

He had emitted a painful cry, for a  severe, unbearable pang he felt ran whole through his senses. That wave of pain, suggested multiple fracture in his body parts. after that, he was heading to unconscious stage. Before reaching to stable unconscious stage, a voice he remembered clearly, “summon some ambulance! He is hit hard, bleeding profusely.” On this, he began to feel some stickiness of his own warm blood, and then plunged deep into unconscious stage. A surge of acute pain he feels now, that overpowers the ammoniacal pungent smell. Now again,  he is diving deep in some darkness. But No… It,s not that.  He is travelling past into the memoir of his first visit to the hospital.

Recount

It recounts to him, for the first time in life, he visited the hospital with his father when his right side eye got injured in the childhood. Why for, it feels to him that he is again in the hospital with father….Yes father….Father. Perhaps, father fetched him to the hospital, carrying in arms from the site of the accident. But how could that be…. He is confused by recalling, long ago father had passed away. Again the sharp smell of medicines pervades in his nostrils, now the smell soothes him. But the existence of father, no perhaps the memoirs of father is taking hold of his mind. Now he is down the memory lane appertained to the father.

Memories of father

Though, so many memoirs of father of that infant age, he already got stored in his memory bank. But, one so placid and vivid occurs to him now. But why so? Oh yes! By virtue he had learnt to peruse the script  ,at a very early age.  Perhaps, he got skilled to peruse books at the nascent age of five years, when other children of his age were busied in alpha bet learning. In that tender age, going through the short stories related to children were his favorite time pass. Rather, all children in childhood,  prefer to go through  such stories. It often happens, as per their  coming of the age of comprehension, and, stories  relate them to their own innocent world.

With the reminiscences of father , the big house where family dwelt at that period of time, too appeared in his memory. It was located in a busy bazaar, that remained full of hustle and dins of daily activities of the market in the day time. At the night, in the dismal dark, got en – wrapped into an awkward silence. The big, old house was a double storied one, the entire upper floor was in the possession of the family. It was a rental one with minimal rent. Since, it was allotted in the name of father, under the prevailing Rent  control  Act of the the Province.

 House of childhood

The ground floor contained shops exclusively, in the possession of various shop keepers. The tread worn stairs,  climbed down the side door of the stair case. that opened in the veranda of the wood cutter shop. Although, the main door of the stair case opened in the front of the main road of the market. But that was kept shut permanently, and the side door was in use only. Never ever, in his memory, he found it in use. Down at the ground floor, he ever found the wood cutter busy in cutting and cleaving the logs of dry fuel woods into small pieces. That he happened to do with the help of his various kinds of axes and wedges.

A big size weighing ‘iron balance apparatus’ remained hung there,  with a chain attached to the ceiling of the shop. Customers to buy the fuel woods happened to visit thinly in numbers. He recalls, his mother too used to buy the fuel woods from the same shop, and it was handy as well. In his memory lane, he found himself stood there smiling and watching woodcutter vending fuel woods to customers. That was the old time and kitchen hearth kindled with the fuel wood in general.  Though, some upper class people used kerosene oil stove to cook the food. He recalls, family too was in possession of such a stove, but that was lit occasionally.

With the falling of night, wood cutter would begin to collect his fuel woods and kept them in the back room along with the big size iron balance by detaching it from the ceiling. Then he would shut and lock the back room doors, and leave for his home. Veranda had no any such locking system. So it remained opened vacantly. As if, it was an understanding, so the side door of the stair case be used round the clock. This was a sort of pact with tacit consent, which existed since long. The stair case was on one side of the building, and the other adjacent buildings had the somewhat same sort of arrangement Meant thereby, the dwelling facility on the upper floor, and shops on the ground floor.

Bazaar

Adjacent to wood cutter shop, next shop owned rather possessed as a renter by some “brass band master.” At that period of time, for the marriage ceremonies, to accompany the marriage procession the “brass band party” were booked from such shop. An another ‘brass band’ shop was across the road, just in front of this one. And then, another brass band shop next to the previous one. Next to the ‘brass band shop’ of this side, was a big shop of “dairy products” owner. The dairy shop owner, who along with the dairy products, used to sell tea and other sweat meats item. The shop did the business prosperously.  With the dairy milk shop the precincts of the house building ended.

The shops of wood cutter and brass band party  were owned by Muslims. Otherwise, rest of the other shops, in the entire ground floor market were owned by Hindus. It was a Hindu majority bazaar. On falling of dark in late evening, all shops got shut down and owners moved back to their homes. Yes, some fruit vendors on hand barrow too were Muslims. The reminiscences of old house of childhood hovering over his memories. Again, traveling in the vista, he recalls, climbing the stair case, he is back in the house at the upper floor. From there, a room then another stair case ascended to the roof top of the ‘old time-worn house.’

Roof top and woman scavenger

Roof having a good span, both in length and width or may be in the childhood every thing looks so spacious. Roof was big but without parapet. The roof at some places was slightly cave down. There, water during the torrential rain, used to gather in shape of small pools. This water then seepage down in rooms and dripped there for long. It was an old building, and its roof was  supported with wooden beams woven with old time kilned brick tiles. On the top of the roof, aside the point where stair case opened, there stood a room though not spacious one. There inside, some small construction in shape of small pieces of walls with  two feet height and one feet wide and two feet in length stood. They were six in numbers. Every such set of two little walls in a pair, with a gap sufficient for a person to squat on and defecate the feces down, on old rusted iron tray kept there to collect such excreta.

It was a room, used as indigenous toilet and it was in vogue abundantly. Perhaps, Western toilets with flush system were rarely used and that too by elite class who could ably afford that. Such toilet was called “Khuddi” in local dialect. At appointed time, a woman from scavenger community happened to visit the toilet and collect the putrid feces into her big bucket.  that load of feces, she reload it down, into her single wheeled barrow, that held a container for the purpose. Such men and women from manual scavenger community were allocated the different localities for such services by local governing body.

Just in the noon time, same woman scavenger again would visit her allotted house to collect the scraps of cooked food.  Such scrap of  food, every family gave for the sweeping services rendered. Often chapatis and other cooked veg preparation were thrown into her basket, on which remained stretched a rag . At the end of the month, she was paid some money depending upon the numbers of family members for her cleansing services. Now, he feels the putrid, malodorous fouling smell, hitting his nostrils. which is coming out from the canister. The same canister, in which scavenger woman collected the feces from the upper room, to reload on her hand barrow.

She is descending the stairs, and that intolerable reek of feces  trail behind her. The intolerable reek, remain stay condensed in the closed, suffocated stair case for long. Again he recalls, all people from other upper castes used to keep  a distance from scavengers. Because, their demeaned occupation made them treat as utterly untouchable. The recurrences appertained to the scavenger woman, who visited house to render services are summoning to him.  He recalls, how badly and contemptuously she was treated by other people. This injustice is creating a painful pressure on his mind.

Excruciating recalling 

He analyses now, entire behaviour with the manual woman scavenger by the society,  was an incessant persecution. An exploitative persecution, that although did not inflict physical pain but how cruelly it manipulated the mental torture. At once, he finds himself, in his  newly built present house in the city, well furnished one with modern toiletries. What a great changes time has shown. A slight jerk and he is again back in the same old house of the childhood, along with vivid memoirs regard his father.

He recalls, a weekly magazine of Hindi Language, named “Saptahik Hindustan” was delivered regularly at the house, by papers’ vendor. This magazine, at the end contained two full page contents, dedicated to children’s choice. At the first opportunity, he happened to lay hand on the magazine. For at that time, a novel for children were being published in the children page, in series. He avidly used to go through the pages, rather anxiously waited for the next issue of the paper. To summon the reminiscences of father, had had the  reasons because of the child’s novel. He tried to concentrate the mind so he may remember the title of the novel of the childhood but the first name as “golden…” could only he recall.

Often, father had a routine to leave the home in the morning time. But, on that very day when weekly magazine got delivered by the vendor, he had decided to stay at the home. The father at once took the magazine into his possession, and with intent to peruse the magazine climbed onto the top roof, with a small mat to sit on and peruse the paper. Father by himself, too was an avid reader. Being a child he followed the father onto the roof.

Sitting at a distance, anxiously awaited father to finish the perusal of the magazine. But, father seemed engrossed in reading. Now vividly he recalls, how for the first time  in the life, how keenly and minutely he inspected, studied and tried to read the features or mien of father in the life as a child.  Although, it was a gesture of disappointment, generated by the situation of not having in possession of the weekly magazine. Not to be able to read his most liking story.

He found father sitting on the piece of mat as a man of middle height, with a heavy body mass with dark complexioned personality. His features too were not attractive at all. Rather, he was in possession of an ugly face.  In particular, his nose that was flattened at the top. Which made him think of a pug nosed puppy, he had recently seen in the lap of some lady in the bazaar. Besides, his hair on the head, too had turned up grey before time. That might be, because of some allergy or attack of severe influenza bout. He kept on staring father from his distant position who was engrossed in perusal of the paper.

He was too little to intervene the father to supplicate and bag for the magazine. He could not dare do that. Father, by nature was very short tempered and furious one. Never he hesitated  to give a thrashing. Direly he longed for the perusal of his favorite story in the magazine, so he could quash  the desire  to know about the the further part of the story in the novel. He remained further there for a while.  Now the gesture of father, keeping the magazine in possession, looked like an animal behavior to him. He vividly remembered that in that fury he tried to compare the person of father with some wild animal. In that efforts, he had pressed his little mind for that.

And suddenly, ugly features plus dark complexion and grey hair conjured the image of a black “baboon” in his mind. It distracted and perplexed him greatly. Father, a baboon and he son of a baboon!!! This troubling idea made him to run down the stair case, and take a shelter in the nestling arms of the mother. In contrast to father, mother was fair complexioned, beauteous and tender looking. The delight and consoling feeling as a five year old infant, only  he could get nestling in the arms of  mother. He now placidly remembers. Looking at the serenity of mother, a question had emphatically arose into his mind, ” how come , my  good mother could live with this baboon?” And answer to this , he too found, but after so many years. Penned by — Vinay Pharasi …..