Mother’s 80th Birthday
April 2018, for spring break, I made an insanely short weeklong trip to India. It takes that long to recover from jet lag when you go halfway around the world, and I don’t care for travel much — hence insane. On prior visits, my mother who had moved to Pune from London three years prior, had expressed a wish to visit her siblings in Delhi. I brushed it off firmly every time, reminding her that I was not going to be taking any more flights with her. It had already been memorably hard for me to have travelled with her from London, via Delhi, to Pune. I was not upto any more flights with her even if she felt more ready for travel than I was even for my solo trips. I told her I need help with my trips now and I don’t have the same luxury of her extended family, so she was welcome to go with any of her other relatives.
The staff at the airports had helped with giving her a wheelchair ride every-time but I still had to manage luggage for two, and direct the wheelchair helpers, as mom could no longer be relied on to remember the flight or gate numbers. The wheelchair passengers get separated from their helpers as they get to ride in the golf carts to cover the mile long distances between the check in and flight gate. But as they go last, I had only a few minutes to race the distance with two carry on bags. The helpers are meant to be fitter and faster than I was, and I am pretty good at airports.
The world is just not designed for the elderly and their challenges are only visible to those who provide the care closely. On the flight, she could no longer bolt the tiny latch on the bathroom door. Her fingers didn’t have the dexterity for such a small bolt. This meant the lights inside would not turn on either as the bolt has the built in light switch. I was helpless as it’s too tiny a space for me to go inside and bolt it for her too. Trying to show and teach her even if I am patient is also a bad option as she is unable to control an urgent urge.
Being citizens of different countries, we also had different queues for immigration. Coaching her to answer questions was worthless for my mom had a mind of her own and knew best what she wanted to say or do in all situations. When I was cleared for customs but could see that she was detained and a supervisor was sent for, I spend a very stressful quarter of an hour, that felt like an eternity. I was praying silently to avoid the thoughts of who and how I will call, to find immigration experts in a foreign country, if they decide to make a fuss about something, and decide to detain her. While I was waiting anxiously at a spot where everyone gets excited to arrive and grabs the last duty free treats they can, the friendly salespeople were offering me deals. They were lucky that I was not screaming out my anxiety like the crazy people who shout at strangers in public spaces, who I suddenly felt an overload of empathy for. I finally understood their reaction to this insane world. Screaming at these absurdities seemed like a very reasonable response and I wished I could yell and scream too. She didn’t have her old passport that they needed to see for some reason but the newer one was in order. She charmed her way out of that one. It helped that she was only returning to the home country and didn’t really need a visa for that arrival clearance. I have never been happier than when the officer waved her out finally. Huge sigh of relief and Thank God! Bedo paar. Arrived safely, finally.
At another airport, the flight is delayed. The wheelchair helper leaves us by the gate promising to return when the flight time comes. She, exhausted, falls asleep in her chair. I have no way to go to the bathroom myself now unless a kind stranger agrees to watch over the bags. Not an easy ask when loudspeakers are reminding everyone to not leave bags unattended and report those who do. This is the world today people. The flight is announced but there is no wheelchair fellow yet and I don’t have a way to find him either. Be patient Jyoti — we will make it one way or another I tell an already very patient me that is feeling a extra not-needed-now topping on my travel anxiety.
While each of these by itself is a minor thing that can be brushed off, and handled, with a steady barrage of them, together, they accumulate to wear one out. They take a toll that no one else can see unless they have walked in the exact same shoes. There is no way to even understand it as one is constantly just coping, and certainly no way to explain it to someone else. When the moment is done, the memory also is erased, as the next challenge is ready and right there for coping with. It’s invisible, like erosion, and just as devastating. They say, why don’t you take your mom if she wants to travel? I cannot explain it so I simply respond with a “please take her if you can, I can’t.”
And then it happened. They agreed to take her. How wonderful to have younger cousins who are willing to help. Shivangi agreed to bring mom to Delhi, Girish helped to bring her back to Pune. Ravi, Meenu, Himanshu, Ram, Shabnam and Sameer and others were probably amongst the airport crew. I could make the insane weeklong trip as the harder and time consuming domestic travel between Delhi and Pune was eliminated for me just for this special visit. Jitu, Kapil and Nitin helped with the plans and arrangements for the party for mom’s 80th birthday celebrations. Maasis helped make the phone calls to spread the invitations to everyone on my behalf. All my mother’s siblings in Delhi could attend, including Mohan mama who never left his house.
My childhood friend and neighbour, Sameer, who was her presumed son whenever we went on outings together, because they both were good looking, provided the home away from home for three days while the other three were with Umli maasi and Ramesh uncle. Manisha pampered us. She spent an entire day letting my mother try out her party clothes to gently persuade my very stubborn mother that she needed to dress up for celebrating her special birthday, even if she didn’t want to let me buy her new clothes for it. She patiently saved my mother’s ugly and tattered old gown to win her over. She helped me find the hairdresser and shops to buy the dress. She even sent her sister with me to buy it at the local Meena Bazaar. The plan was that I would text her photos of the dresses and she would show them to my mom, who could choose what she liked from the comfort of her home. Mom was certain I would buy the wrong thing and needlessly waste money. She wanted to go to the mall with us. I refused firmly, again, as even I need help to survive a mall outing.
Shortly after we left — Manisha too finally caved in to my mother’s relentless insistence on going shopping herself. She sent her driver and a helper with my mother to bring her to the Meena Bazaar. By the time mom had climbed up the ramp from the driveway of the mall and cleared the security check point, she was exhausted. She seemed shocked by the mere sight of the crowds there. I had already paid for the dresses and met her on my way out at the mall entrance. Having made it this far, I offered to take her to the shop to look around and pick whatever she wanted. By then, reality hit her hard, and she said ‘no baba! This is enough. Why do they make the mall so hard? I am ready to go home!’ I was raised to be kind and not hit someone when they are down, so I didn’t say ‘I told you to stay home for a reason’. But I thought that for sure in my moment of frustrated exhaustion. Now looking back from a safe distance, I can salute her life force and strong spirit. She came there of her own volition demanding to be helped on her mission, while I went reluctantly with help and support to get things done. I pitied Manisha, a fellow care giver, with far more patience than me, who too had finally reached her limit, to have enlisted the two men she sent her with. Thank God for hired staff, one of whom, the driver, was still patiently waiting by the car, to take us all back, while the other one had walked back home. I think I opted to walk the short distance back, just to release my stress.
We had a memorable celebration. Her birthday with her siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, and many of my childhood friends, whom I had not met in decades. It all went smoothly because of the many helping hands. After sending her off to Pune with Girish, I stayed the night at Sameer’s again. My flight was the following day, around noon. Manisha fed me the methi alloo, bharta and roti I wanted for breakfast and also packed me a homemade comfort meal to take for the long flight home. I made a quick run to the local Halwai in sector 14 market for the famous Dhodha and spent a few minutes with a sidewalk mehndiwala right outside it to get henna tattoo on my feet, around my sandals. It made me feel grounded for the rushed days had been too much for me. He was clearly amused and curious. He doesn’t usually expect grey haired customers, wearing pants, wanting henna on feet, at that early hour of 10am, who ask for it being applied without taking their sandals off, and don’t make any fuss over the pattern he chooses, which is all the wrong things from his usual experience of younger evening customers who argue and fuss over patterns and are very patient and typically get it on their hands. We traded our opposite energies leaving temporary marks beyond the henna tattoo — for each other.
As another journey was ending, and I went to say farewell to Sameer, in the other part of his big house, we found ourselves, purely by chance, to be dressed in matching shirts. He greeted and sent me off joyfully with an old long forgotten childhood phrase ‘same pinch’!
It makes me happy to be pinched awake to appreciate what stays the same in this ever changing human race. Birds who easily fly great distances still keep the same migration patterns.
