Magazines and My motherIn

 

This turned out longer than expected, as it happens often with me. Also, I started with something and reached un-intended places. They say the writing gets longer when one is not sure of what one wants to write. That is exactly the case. I keep going wherever my mind takes me. Bear with me. 

One of my cousins, who is a resident of the US, was recently on a visit to her home country, yet again. As is her practice whenever she visits India, she bought Jewels, trinkets, clothes, eatables, artefacts and what not - keeping in mind her son, daughter, husband, friends and relatives who are in the US. Her mother in law, who is 90+, didn’t need anything. She had only one requirement - all the available kannada magazines. I had the privilege of fulfilling her requirement - my gift to her. 

Years back, in every street corner, we used to have a shop selling these magazines along with ‘beedi’ & cigarettes, spiced groundnut, banana, mysore pak, coconut burfi, ‘chikki’ and such other items. Magazines were hung on strings tied to the low roof of the shop, a big bunch of bananas hung in a corner on a rope, cigarettes stacked on a side shelf and sweets displayed enticingly in big glass jars. One oil lamp would be burning all day on a shelf outside and strips cut from the empty cigarette packets would be placed in a box next to the lamp - for the benefit of smokers who wanted to light their cigarettes. 

These shops have dwindled in recent years but some of them still exist. While they sell some of the products named above and other packed snacks, only a few of them keep magazines. One such shop exists opposite the jain temple at fourth block Jayanagar, and from there I could procure all the magazines shown above.  

The last time I bought kannada magazines was about seven years ago. Just before my mother died. My mother was a voracious reader and was always in need of new books and magazines. She had only two requirements. Her medicines and books. I usually purchased her medicines once every fifteen days. On the thirteenth day I would get the first reminder “ಔಷಧಿ ಆಗೋಯ್ತಪ್ಪ. ಇನ್ನೆರಡು ದಿನಕ್ಕೆ ಉಳಿದಿದೆ”. (medicines are over, I have just enough for the next two days) If I failed to buy them, there would be another reminder the next morning. 

I bought Kannada books for her whenever I visited Bengaluru and purchased the weekly magazines at Ponda every Tuesday. We had only one shop selling Kannada, Tamil and Malayalam magazines in Ponda - Goa, and he would get them usually on tuesdays. Sometimes they would be sold out before I reached there and sometimes the magazines did not arrive. On such occasions I got them through my son who attended college at Panaji (capital of Goa) or obtained them from friends who visited Margao, a bigger city twenty kilometers away.  But I did manage to get her magazines for her. 

Apart from the above, my mother did not ask for anything. She had given up wearing jewelry and she did not even go out to buy her clothes.  Either my sister or my wife attended to her necessities. She wasn’t interested in going anywhere or getting involved in anything. Her travel was restricted to Pune, Goa and Chennai where her three children lived. Irrespective of where she was, her routine and lifestyle remained the same. Most of the time she sat by the side of a large window looking at the birds playing on the bushes outside. She chanted her ‘stotras’ in the morning, was reading most of the time and dozed now and then. 

Now, with me nearing seventy, whenever I think of my mother, my thoughts invariably turn towards my future life. What would I do when my body no longer listened to me ? How am I going to cope with the coming years? My wish is that I should live my later years like my mother. With detachment and equanimity.  And if I am lucky, die like her. 

My mother’s death, I mean the way it came about, has left a strong imprint on my mind.  She died not because she had to die, but because she willed herself to die. 

In one of my favorite verses from his Mankutimmana kagga, Sri DVG says  

ಒಂದಗುಳು ಹೆಚ್ಚಿರದು, ಒಂದಗುಳು ಕೊರೆಯಿರದು, ತಿಂದು ನಿನ್ನನ್ನಋಣ, ತೀರುತಲೆ ಪಯಣ 

ಒಂದು ಚಣ ಹಿಂದಿರದು, ಕಾದಿರದು ಮುಂದಕುಂ, ಸಂದಲೆಕ್ಕವದೆಲ್ಲ - ಮಂಕುತಿಮ್ಮ 

(Not a grain more, nor a grain less. Eat your share and get going. Not a second more, nor a second less - these are already accounted for ! Predestined.) 

I agree that every death is predestined. But my mother made it look like she was in control of the event and invited it when she wanted ! She fell and fractured her thigh. She was operated on and was fine. But she did not want the long recuperation. She had had enough of this life.  She willed to die and death came to her ! 

I may sound melancholic writing about old age and death but they are facts of life and one can not run away from them.

Jatasya hi dhruvor mrutyu, dhruvam janma mrutasyacha

tasmad apariharyaarthe na twam shochitum arhasi 

“For one who is born - death is a certainty and so is birth for the one who dies. You are not to lament about the inevitable.” -  is the famous quote from Bhagavadgeeta. 

The magazines which I mentioned above, brought up the memories associated with my mother yet again and the other thoughts tagging on with that memory. Memories of the way she lived and the way she died. Her death, in particular. It has been an answer to many of my questions and at the same time a question which has no answer ! 

(If anyone is interested in the details, please go to www.dentaldiaries.blogspot.com and search ‘The last days of my mother”- Sept 4, 2016)