A Man of Few Words
It is 9.45 PM, Ajja has carefully made his bed and Amma’s too (even after she’s told him a thousand times that she would rather do it herself). He has laid down the pillow and the blanket while folding it evenly at the top and he’s patiently sitting on the sofa with everyone now.
Coincidentally (not) he was always positioned in a way where he could steal glances at the clock without being obvious. He was waiting for it to be 10.00 PM so he could finally go to sleep.
Everyday, he would wake up exactly at 6.00 am, exercise for a bit then go stand near the window to survey the weather. Did the weather influence his decision to go for a walk? No. But did he still check nevertheless? Absolutely.
By the time he would come back from the walk, Amma would have his chai ready for him. He would have exactly 3 Parle-G biscuits with it. Mind you, he never dipped it in the chai. It was always a bite of the biscuit and then a sip of chai. Another bite and then another sip. Repeat.
Whenever my brother or I would come home from outside, he’d just nonchalantly ask us two words — “Kelsa aata?” Which translates to — “Is the work done? What work? We didn’t know. And to be honest, it didn’t matter to him why we had gone, for what, and where. But what did matter to him was— Did we do what we set out to do?. Did we do what needed to be done?
I always wondered what difference would it make if he ate 4 chapatis instead of his usual 3, or if he slept an hour late (or early) for once? To the extent where once my brother and I once set the clock half an hour early just to disrupt his routine. Did he notice? No, he didn’t.
“Do what needs to be done” probably signified his larger outlook towards life. He didn’t overcomplicate or unnecessarily question things. He would go about his day (and life) abiding by a self crafted personal rulebook — It felt like there a rhythm to his life which only he could make sense of (or maybe which we were deaf to) and that’s all that mattered.
Since Amma passed away in 2017, the man of few words was left with fewer words. He didn’t express himself ever nor did he particularly have any hobbies or interests left. The last few years entailed of him sitting on the sofa and staring at the wall for most of the day.
Again, I would often wonder if he ever felt bored or what kept his mind active? Should I happen to ask him that — I would be met with a pair of glistening marble grey eyes before his face erupted with a coy smile as he answered — “I’m thinking what YOU are thinking”
Day before yesterday when he breathed his last, I concluded to myself that maybe this was his 10.00 PM and he can now finally rest (in peace)❤️
