Life, God’s Greatest Gift (2)

Life, God’s Greatest Gift by

I was the last one to arrive at Dumdum Metro where we’d decided to meet for the trip. We’d go to Howrah via Esplanade. 

“Hi, Tanushree Di, what took you so long? Hurry up as we’ve already booked the tickets for the 4.15 Metro..”

And before I could answer her question, she grabbed me by the hand and was pulling me up the accelerator. We had hardly found ourselves a less-crowded spot when the train came trooping in. The door opened and we all tumbled inside, darting to the seats for the senior citizens. It being a Sunday afternoon, the train was not as crowded as it normally is.

The journey was so exciting, so inexplicable! Soon the TV Screens were displaying the movements of the first underwater metro in India. We all were open-mouthed, so glued to the TV we were!

It took 15 minutes to reach Howrah Station.

Oh, I forgot to introduce the members of our organisation, Senior Citizens, to you. There were 12 of us, united by the same purpose and outlook on Life. To stay all by ourselves for the rest of our lives. We were either widows, divorcees or lifelong spinsters.

OK, let me give you a brief intro about myself first. I, Tanushree Ghosh Bhattacharya (I don’t use Ghosh any more after my separation from the man I loved and worshipped not so long ago!) was the oldest at 67. I was a fun-loving lass once. Then I caught my husband, Arik red-handed on that fatal night, the night that was to change my life forever.

I had been suspecting him for some time. His late night arrivals at our apartment; hissing at me at every negligible mistake; leaving the meals untouched – had me worried. He simply didn’t seem to care about my existence any more after a blissful married life of 36 years!  

Anyway, I am grateful to God for those beautiful memories we had of our togetherness, sharing, caring, enjoying life to the utmost. Suparna, at 53, on the other hand, was the youngest of the lot. She was a smart but unfortunate lady. Bespectacled, strikingly attractive and incapacitated by arthritis.

As per the policy and norms of the Senior Citizens, she didn’t qualify to be a member of our group. But she got admitted on special consideration after she had bared her heart to us. She stated in no uncertain terms, how the days of her husband, a brain tumor patient, were numbered. How her only son had joined a private company recently but was not to get any parental benefits. She broke down in front of us, senior members, while speaking of her helplessness. Life, at 53, ceased to be meaningful for her without any hopes of getting any help from anywhere!

As Suparna sat on the bench and looked out of the window with that far away look in her eyes, I, sitting opposite, nodded my head to Nupur, another seasoned campaigner. In the absence of any hard and fast rules in our organisation regarding the qualifying age for membership, we agreed to take her, no matter what!

Suparna’s husband though didn’t survive long despite all our sincerest efforts and succumbed to the dreadful disease soon afterwards.

We did whatever we could at the funeral but Suparna kept herself mostly confined within the walls of her house after the death of her husband.

She changed her mind only recently when she realised that she was turning out to be a pain in the back for her doting son.

 

“You know, Tanushree Di, we simply couldn’t stop praising her son enough when he brought her here at Howrah on his bike. You ought to have seen the way he was requesting us time and again to call him as soon as our trip got over. He personally wanted to come and pick his mother up again. What a son!”

It was Mita speaking. In her early sixties, she was a very lively woman. A widow, Life was treating her fair and square till his only son got married. It was hard to believe that Mita couldn’t get along with the same girl she herself had chosen to be her daughter-in-law! 

Though she didn’t tell us, it was common knowledge amongst the members that she got kicked out of her own house!

By then, we had come out of the Railway Museum and hurried to the Coffee Shop just behind the artificial gardens for a quick coffee. We were back once more in the shining, gigantic passageway of the Metro.

“Come on. Time to hit the dance floor.” It was Nupur, the quietest amongst us, screaming. The woman, who hardly said anything to any of us, then started dancing in the centre of the floor! “Have you noticed how big this place is? We can play football here, right?” She chirped, pulling Mita towards her.

“You can swim here if you feel like, ladies.” A guard, passing by, chuckled jovially.

“Am I really to believe my eyes? Is it really Nupur Di, the lady whose whole life has been one of sacrifice and suffering, dancing?” Someone couldn’t help remarking from behind.

“This is the only way I can manage to get by for the rest of my earthly days, isn’t it?” Nupur, in a colourful churidar kameez, dancing wildly now to a popular Hindi tune, replied.

The song was : Jab koi baat bigar jaye/ Jab Koi mushkil par jaye/ Tum Dena saath mere, O humsafar…. (Never ever leave me, Dearest, when things go wrong and problems beseech our lives.)

I turned my head to find someone dropping the mobile on a side window sill before she came running to grab my hand. It was Suparna, the girl with arthritis!

Soon, we all were holding hands and dancing like you won’t believe! 

Life is God’s greatest gift and we have to enjoy it to the lees as long as it lasts.

The end