An afternoon with Bhagya athhai

My wife's Bhagya athhai in Salem retains a certain charm that comes with graceful ageing. She is 78, confined to bed because of problem with her hip and knee-joints. Moving about within her own house is a strain; she can't get into a car or auto-rickshaw on her own.
With such severe cramp on mobility she feels penalised by the very gods she worships. Sociable by temperament and a lively conersationlist Bhagya athhai feels she is condemned to lead a life of loneliness. Pushing days without anyone to talk to is a problem. Folks in her household - son,daughter-in-law and their children - can't be faulted. They have lives of their own; and umpteen things to attend to. They couldn't be expected to spend much time chatting with a 78-year-old who lives in her past. They have their future to take care of.

Athhai could do with visitors, particularly relatives with whom she could relate her past. As for her kith and kin, athhai wasn't complaining. If anything, Bhagya athhai was all praise for her daughter-in-law, who is athhai's prime care-giver. This, apart from cooking, doing domestic chores, and tailoring clothes for ladies in her neighbourhood. The daughter-in-law does it all with a smile
Like most widows, Bhagya athhai curses herself for having to outlive her husband for so long - he died in 1996. Her memory is phenomenal. She was the one who reminded me of my last visit to her place,1971. "Do you remember that Subbu and you came here soon after your wedding", she asked, reminding me of the context of our visit. We were on our way from Bangalore to Pollachi; and had a few hours' wait at Salem, where we changed trains. We visited Bhagya athhai,instead of killing time at the station.
Athhai rubbed this in when my wife and her sisters - Baby and Chitra - visited her in Salem recently. Her complaint with Chitra was that she and Babu (of SBI in Salem) didn't look her up often enough, even though they stayed in Salem. Athhai kept count of the number of their visits and she even recalled the dates of their previous visits.
Her way of putting it - 'slipping a needle into a banana', as a Tamil saying goes - was so charming and light-hearted that you can't take offence to her words. Besides, she has a rapport with nieces that cut across their age-gap. But then the eldest of her nieces, Paddu, was barely a few years younger. She recalled how they went to school together in Kadaiyanallur, where Paddu's father and Athhai's eldest brother was posted as a forest official.
Athhai recalled how she felt intimidated in the presence of her brother; and had her chinna-chinna aasais conveyed to him through Meenakshi manni.