30 December 2011
He always picks up the phone though he remembers nothing. May be he is hoping that he will remember. The undying love for his children in a way too makes him attack the phone on the first ring. Fortunately all his children call him every day. Anyway here is a general conversation:
‘Hello, my Dadoo,’ I say excitedly.
‘Haan, mere bachhoo [yes, my child],’ he says laughingly.
‘What are you doing, Dadoo?’ as I say this I know he will get confused so I quickly add, ‘has the newspaper come?’
‘Is there some news?’ he asks curiously.
‘No, I am just asking.’
‘It has not come yet,’ he says sadly.
‘Do not worry it will come soon.’
‘What is your programme?’ he asks, ‘When are you coming?’
With a heavy heart, I lie, knowing that he will forget, ‘Day after tomorrow.’
He laughs and happily says, ‘Very good, did Rohit get leave?’
I lie again, ‘Yes, Dadoo.’
‘This is very good, I feel so lonely and I miss you a lot.’
‘Yes, Dadoo,’ I mumble. My heart cringes and squeezes with a sadness that comes from deep inside me.
‘Jaldi-jaldi darshan de diya karo [you must come to visit me more often].’
I get a jolt – ‘darshan’! Oh how very sad it is that your parents now request you in this way but then I have to be brave and practical and I try to ignore his statement.
‘Go to the market in the afternoon, you will feel good.’
‘It is no use I do not meet anyone I know, I don’t know where they have all gone?’ he says pathetically. Before I reply he asks, ‘When are you coming?’
‘Dadoo, day after tomorrow.’
He laughs, ‘Very good, did you get leave?’
I say, ‘Yes, Dadoo, where is Mamma?’ I ask.
‘She must be here only.’
I am about to ask him to call Mamma when he says, ‘When are you coming?’ And I repeat patiently my mind raking to change the track of conversation.
But it is too late, now he is focused on this topic.
It is as if he is stuck there and in less than one minute he asks me the same thing five times. How quickly he has started forgetting.