BY THE RIVER PAMPA I
BY THE RIVER PAMPA I
Geeta Abraham Jose
Srishti
Publishers & Distributors
Srishti Publishers & Distributors
N16,C. R. Park
New Delhi 110019
First published by
Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2007
Second impression 2012
Copyright Geeta Abraham Jose, 2007
Typeset in AGaramond 11pt. by Suresh Kumar at Srishti
Printed and bound in India
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.
Dedicated to the two greatest mothers of all times:
My mother, Kunjoo and my godmother, Thankam,
who nurtured me body, mind and soul,
who gave wings to my imagination and creativity;
who taught me to dream big, to soar high,
to reach for the stars..
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It takes the whole world to make a writer. Our thoughts, ideas and creative abilities are influenced by the world around us. This world is a treasure trove of stories waiting to be told. I just picked one from it.
This world intrigues, intoxicates, inspires and influences me. I am thankful to the Creator of this wonderful world in which I am but a tiny speck. A part of this grand creation, nevertheless!
I am indebted to my family, my friends, my teachers and my well-wishers who have made this world a lovely place for me and have influenced my life and my philosophy in one way or the other.
A huge thank-you to my husband Jose who is.also my best friend, my philosopher, my guide, my pillar of strength, my sounding board
I owe everything to our daughter, Mahima Gods gift, Papas pride, Mamas joy. She fills our home with love and laughter.
Contents
1. The First Page (Prologue)
2. Grandmas Tales
3. Daughter Dearest
4. Water Baby
5. Birds of a Feather
6. Magic Keys
7. Arrows in the Quiver
8. Dos and Donts
9. To be or Not to be
10. Of Sinners and Saints
11. Boomerang
12. Home, Sweet Home
13. Lifes Riddles
14. Grandmas Tale
15. A Peek into the Future
16. The Last Page (Epilogue)
You cannot step twice into the same river
for the waters are continually moving on
Hereclitus
Nothing is permanent but change
Hereclitus
1
The First Page
20 April 1997
T he day dawns like any other day.
Except that theres no telephone ringing as on other mornings. This morning, the telephones in our locality went dead. All of a sudden! Not quite an uncommon event, I must say, in a semi rural place like ours, which is about an hours drive from the city of Madras.
The telephone going dead once in a while, is something I look forward to. Now, isnt it a great feeling to be cut off entirely from the rest of the world, be it for a brief period, without this menace that Graham Bell invented, invading the privacy of your home, dictating to you what your plans for the day ought to be?
I make a mental note of the things I can do in peace today. I can cook in peace, sew in peace and sleep in peace.. with no one to enquire as to what I am planning for the weekend; whether Karun is free for a game of cards; whether I could lend my electric oven for a day..
I have all the time in the world to settle down at my writing desk with my Peajay my personal journal in which I record random thoughts. Keeping a personal journal to record thoughts and events has been a habit I developed very early in my childhood. A habit instilled in me by my grandmother.
Over the years, Peajay has become my friend and confidante.
A selfish thought occurs, I sure must confess. With no telephone, I would have Karun all to myself for the rest of the day! There would be no calls from the hospital unless an absolute emergency arose. In which case, the hospital would be quick to send a vehicle to fetch him. I know it is an inhuman and cruel thought, but wives of doctors deserve to be excused occasionally for entertaining such thoughts.
Laya is busy dressing up her Suzy dolls. And she has quite a collection too ranging from princess to vet, ballerina to barrister. Whatever her profession, Suzy is always tall, slim and graceful, with a terrific figure. And the best thing about her is that she never grows old. Nothing changes about her. In a world where nothing is permanent but change. I cant help envying her.
It is ten o clock in the morning. The aroma of sambar wafts out from the kitchen. The cook is humming a Tamil folk song as she stirs masala into the sambar. Menu for lunch is going to be sambar and papad with steamed rice. Layas favourite.
Karun is reading, Laya is playing, I am writing; no telephones ringing and all is well with my world.
Laya looks up and says, Mama, can you tell me a Suzy story? Her imagination revolves around her Suzy the dolls. So I make up all sorts of stories to amuse her. One day its about Suzy the doctor; next day about Suzy the bride... or about Suzy, the barrister....
Do you want me to tell you a story today? Karun volunteers.
No, thanks, Papa, Laya replies within a split second...
I try hard to suppress a chuckle. Karun winks at me.
Karuns story is the same everyday. It goes more or less like this: Once upon a time, there was a lady named Mabel who had a daughter named Suzanna. One day Mabel noticed that her daughter had only paper dolls to play with. So she created a doll out of plastic and named her Suzy after her daughter. That was how the first Suzy was born. Suzy was tall, slim and..... Before Karun could finish his sentence, Laya would say, sexy.
Where did you pick that up from? I asked her the very first time I heard it.
Oh, all my friends say that, she replied casually. I marvelled at the vocabulary of modern day four -year olds.
Karun is a poor story teller. What else could you expect from a doctor who is practical, down-to-earth and professional to the core? Way back, during our courtship days, he had been a romantic person who wrote poetry. But years into this profession, caring for the sick and the suffering, have changed him into a more practical person with hardly any time to let his imagination run wild.
Laya is tugging at my kurta.
Mama, I want a Suzy story.
I put down my pen.
And what shall it be to-day, sweetheart? I ask.
I want a story about Grandma Suzy. Can you make Suzy a grandma to-day? Suzy wearing a mundu-chatta-kavani with a fan shaped tail.
I have an instant vision of my grandmother in her traditional dress.
Very well, here we go, I reply.
I close my journal and pull my legs on to the sofa.
Story session is about to begin.
It is then that the pink telegram arrives.
For the next one hour, it is utter chaos in our household.
I pack my suitcase and bid goodbye to Karun and Laya. Karun has arranged for a cab to take me to Madras Railway Station. Halfway through, I remember that Laya has not had her quota of Suzy stories for the day. She would have to be content with Karuns regular Suzanna and Mabel episode for once. Later, perhaps, I could make up a good story for my daughter about Grandma Suzy...later, when I return.
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