THE BEST RIDE OF HER LIFE - TRIBUTE TO A MOTHER
This story is about my friend Abhay and his mother. Abhay was my best friend when we were doing our post-graduation. We were allotted adjoining rooms by the hostel authorities in the beginning of the year and soon became good friends. We went through the tough hostel life through thick and thin, sharing a thousand funny moments, chasing the same shapeless shadows of bubbling enthusiasm with careless abandon and bursting paper bags of fantasy with phenomenal gusto.
The trait we shared with a pre-ordained grittiness was our gargantuan capacity for humongous heaps of food - mostly the non-vegetarian variety, with occasional concessions to a dozen rasagollas - devoured with devilish determination. When others used to eat, we gave performances. When challengers dared cross our path, we used to crush them, making them scamper like withering worms. The only challenge we used to brook was from each other, but neither of us was a clear winner, the difference between Tweedledum and Twidledee was probably a mere chicken leg or two!
In fact when we met years later after a long separation, the first thing we did was to ask our (respective!) wives to adjudicate whose tummy was bigger. After viewing our not-so-insignificant gastronomical protrusion from different angles (remember the Raj Kapur song Dilka Haal Suney Dilwala - the aagey se dekha, pichheyse dekha, upar se dekha, neechey se dekha part?) they reached the consensus that there is little to choose. The Tweedledum and the Tweedledee had managed to maintain their voluminous proportions without a shadow of change!
Abhay was a topper throughout his career and left for the U.S. soon after his M.Sc. He had lost his father at the tender age of eight and his mother, a gritty woman of daunting courage had brought him up along with his brother, older to Abhay by six years. The elder brother had to give up his studies after high school to look after the land and assist his mother. Abhay went on to get a Ph.D. in U.S. and joined a Computer conglomerate. In due course he rose to become its Vice-President. Apart from dazzling brilliance Abhay had the gift of the gab - he could talk a telephone pole to bend and kiss him on his mouth and straighten up like nothing was given, nothing taken!
But what set Abhay apart was an unwavering devotion to his mother. In fact, devotion is an understatement - it's like saying Sachin Tendulkar is a good player! Abhay could lay down his life for his mother if required. After getting a job he got married to Smita, a doctor from Bhubaneswar. She was his true soul mate - her love for the diminutive but steely mother-in-law was enormous.
Abhay and Smita brought his mother with them to the U.S. during their first visit to India. This was to be repeated at least a dozen times in the next few years. She used to take to the U.S. life like a Swallow to the rains. Not the self-conscious, over-awed, demure dame from Odisha, not Abhay's mother, she gave her views freely and frankly with an accuracy and precision that would shame Tiger Woods!
The first time Abhay's mother visited them was a few months after their marriage, Smita was still the demure bride before her mother in law, speaking in subdued voice, venturing an opinion only when appropriate. The old lady suffered from no jet lag - her overactive mind never allowed to dull itself into sleep. She was ready at 4.30 in the afternoon to go for a walk, dressed in a white saree which ended a good six inches above her ankle. Smita accompanied her.
The mother in law was no doubt quite a spectacle on the sidewalk, taking as huge strides as her small frame would allow. Smita was conscious about the other passers by giving way to the garrulous woman spewing forth in loud Odiya on whatever she saw around her. Yes, she had a comment on everything, the buildings "so weak without a proper roofing", streets so dull without people filling them up, cars so lifeless without honking. And why the town is so unnaturally silent - was there a death in the town, has the Chief Minister or the President died in the morning and everyone was mourning in silence?
When the loud-mouth mother in law and the quiet daughter in law returned home, the old lady was quite excited to find her son back from office. With redoubled energy and enthusiasm, she repeated her views. The son heard her with an indulgent smile, gloating over her keen power of observation. The daughter in law was obviously not impressed. She offered a mild suggestion that her mother in law should at least wear a saree which will cover her legs and not expose the few inches above the ankle. The mother in law heard it in silence and quickly changed the subject.
Next day the same scene was repeated - long walks, loud observations about the roads, the trees and the buildings. On return Smita again suggested to Abhay that Bou (a form of addressing the mother, similar to Maa or Mama) should wear a proper saree while going for a walk. This time the mother in law did not take it lying down. Rising to her full height of four feet ten inches, she gave a stern dressing down to her daughter in law:
-Have you seen how women dress here? So shameless, exposing their legs, thighs and what not! Did you notice, the girl in the red banyan was wearing the white half pant which barely covered her belly? If I had bent down I would have seen her everything! Do you understand what I am saying? At least my saree was up to the ankle. Did you see any woman wearing a dress that decent? You were the only one with a decent salwar kameez on the street. That's because you are an Odiya bahu, not a shameless American woman!
That of course was the end of the argument. Abhay was so impressed, he almost clapped at this great speech, but one look at his hapless and speechless wife warned him that any exhibition of appreciation would bring about unmitigated disaster later. A few days after that Smita joined her Medical course for super specialisation and Abhay had to accompany his mother on her walks. He was a more attentive listener and happily contributed to the discourse on American way of life, with a comparative analysis of his lively village landscape and the dreary lifeless Americn landscape. On one of such historical walks the following conversation took place:
- Abhi, the grass fields are so green here. They are also very full of grass.
- Yes Bou, they water the grass here diligently and put fertilisers to help it grow.
- But the Americans are absolutely stupid!
- Stupid? Why Bou?
- They are cutting so much grass by their machines and just throwing it away? Where are the cows? Why are they not giving all this grass to the cows? Why I don't see any cows on all these green fields?
- Bou, they have lots of cattle in the farms. They can't give this grass to the cows, because they put chemicals and fertilisers on the lawns.
- Oh my God, so much grass going waste! And the poor cows, how much milk can they give without eating grass? Someone told me, here the people eat cow meat! Is it true?
- Yes Bou, here their main meat is from the cow. It is called beef.
- Chhi Chhi, satyanash, how can they eat Gomaataa's meat? What kind of sinners are these Americans? Don't they have a sense of shame?
- Bou, for us Indians, cows are Maataa, the Americans look at them as Mousi! That's why they eat cow meat.
This explanation did not convince Abhay's mother. For rest of the walk she covered her mouth and nose with a handful of Saree and kept ruminating on the sinfulness of the Americans who had found the easy way of converting Gomaataas to Gomousis just to eat their flesh, On another occasion, while taking a walk, she wanted to take a little rest. They found a bench in a small park and proceeded there. At one corner of the bench someone was already sitting, immersed in a book. Abhay's mother, who was in the U.S. on her sixth visit, had become quite confident of people. She sat next to the slim beauty with long hair covering the face. She started a conversation with her in Odiya while Abhay was busy browsing his phone.
-Alo Jhia, to Maa tatey khaibaku dauniki? Emiti Sajana Chhuin bhalia kahinki heichu?
(My dear girl, is your mother not giving you proper food? Why are you so thin like a drumstick?)
The girl slightly turned, gave a faint smile and went back to her book. That did not deter the lionhearted lady. She continued,
-Sabudin gilassey dudha piantu, andaatey khantu, Tebe sina diharey maunsa lagantaa. Emiti kathi heley Chhua kemiti janma karibu?
(You must drink a glass of milk and consume an egg everyday. Then only you will add some flesh to your body. If you continue to be a thin stick like this how will you bear a child?)
The girl was now conscious that she was being asked a question. She turned to the old lady and said, "Excuse me?" Abhay's mother jumped as if a bomb had gone off under the bench. She almost fell on Abhay and shrieked,
-Ilo Boulo, Eitata andiraatey! Ki abeijaa deshaku to matey aanichu Abhi?
(Oh, bless my mother! This is a male!! What kind of weird country is this Abhi?)
Abhay had to run after his nervous mother till they reached home!
Three years back Abhay's mother passed away. We had met briefly when he was returning to U.S. after the ceremonies. Of the many stories he had told us, he recounted one during that brief stay. It was close to his heart.
During one of the stays of his mother in U.S. Abhay bought a new Lexus car, which was the best Toyota used to offer at the time. When he brought it home, Smita had gone for her duties and his mother was alone at home. He took her for a long ride. He was pleased with the car and wanted to show off to his mother. He kept on explaining all the unique features, highlighting the huge cost of the car because of them. She sat back and enjoyed the trip. At one point Abhay asked her whether she liked the car and whether this was the best ride she ever had.
Her mother smiled, kept her hand on his head and blessed him:
- You have become such a big man now. Probably this is the best car available in the market and you made me sit in this car on your first ride. I have really enjoyed it.
Abhay wanted to hear more from his dear mother,
- So Bou, this is the best ride of your life?
The mother again smiled and kept quiet. When Abhay became insistent, she got into one of her rare moments of wistfulness. After a while she said,
- This car is vey good, the best that money can buy. But you want to know which is my best ride?
Abhay looked at her quizzically. Did she ever sit in a better car than this? His mother continued,
-You came away to the U.S. at a young age. It's your elder brother Akhi who stayed at home and took care of me along with his family. About twenty years back, once I was very sick. I had fever which refused to go away with medicines. Everyone told should be taken to the hospital three kilometers away. Those days there was no taxi service. So Akhi put me on the back seat of his bicycle and started riding to the hospital. We had gone a hundred meters when he realised the bumpy road giving me a lot of pain. My waist and back started hurting and he could feel it. So he got down from the bicycle and stated walking with it, slowly, so that I don't feel any pain. He walked like that for three kilometres to the hospital, showed me to the doctor, brought medicines and again walked back with me sitting on the back seat of the bicycle. He must have asked me twenty times if I was comfortable and if the ride was causing me any pain. Abhi, your car is excellent, but that bicycle ride twenty years back was the best ride of my life.
Abhay was sobbing uncontrollably when he narrated this story. I had heard it earlier, but this time it had assumed a new meaning in the absence of his mother. Abhay held my hand and said, Bhai, a part of my soul has been cremated two weeks back along with Bou.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. The ninth collection of his short stories in Odiya will come out soon.
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