“I want to go home!” the father, a redoubtable looking old man,
around seventy, shouts emphatically at his son.
“Please Baba. Don’t create a scene, ”the son, an effeminate looking
man in his mid-forties, says softly.
“What do you mean don’t create a scene?” the old man shouts even
louder, waving his walking stick in a menacing manner.
“Pleasecalm down! Everyone is looking at us!” an old woman, in her
mid-sixties, pleads with her husband.
“Let them look! Let everyone see what an ungrateful son is doing to
his poor old parents,” the old man says loudly, looking all around.
“Ungrateful?” the son winces.
“Yes,ungrateful! That’s what you are. We did everything for you;
educated you, brought you up. And now you throw us out of our house
into this bloody choultry.”
“Choultry! You call this a choultry! Please Baba. This is a luxury
township for senior citizens,” the son says.
“It’s okay,” the old woman consoles her husband, “we’ll manage in
this old age home.”
“Mama, please!” the son implores in exasperation, “how many times
have I told you. This is not an old age home. It’s such a beautiful
exclusive township for senior citizens to enjoy a happy and active
life. And I’ve booked you a premium cottage – the best available
here.”
The mother looks at her son, and then at her husband, trapped
between the two, not knowing what to say as both are right in their
own way. So she says gently to her husband, “Try to understand.
We’ll adjust here. See how scenic and green this place is. See there
– what a lovely garden.”
“I prefer Nana-Nani park. My friends are there,” the old man says.
“You’ll make friends here too,” she says.
“Friends! With these half-dead highbrow snobs?” the old man says
mockingly.
“Okay,”the son intervenes, “you both can take long walks. The air is
so pure and refreshing at this hill station.”
“Listen you! Don’t try all this on me. I’ve been walking for the
last fifty years on Marine Drive and that’s where I intend walking
the rest of my life.” He turns to his wife and says peremptorily to
her, “You pack our bags and let’s go back to Mumbai. We are not
staying here!”
“Try and adjust,” his wife beseeches him, “you’ll like the place.
Look at the facilities here –there’s a modern health club, gym,
library, recreation; everything is here.”
“Gym? You want me to do body building at this age? Library? You know
after my cataract I can hardly read the newspaper! And I can get all
the recreation I need watching the sea at the Chowpatty.”
“Please Baba, don’t be obstinate,” begs his son. “Thisplace is so
good for your health. They give you such delicious nourishing food
here.”
“Delicious? Nourishing? The bloody sterile stuff tastes like
hospital food. I can’t stand it – where will I get Sardar’s Pav
Bhaji, Kyani’s Kheema Pav, Vinay’s Misal, Satam’s
Vada Pav, Delhi Durbar’s Biryani, Sarvi’s Boti
kababs, Fish in Anantashram in Khotachi wadi next door…”
“Please Baba! All you can think of is horrible oily spicy
street-food which you should not eat at your age! With your
cholesterol and sugar levels, you’ll die if you continue eating that
stuff.”
“I’d rather die of a heart attack in Mumbai enjoying the good food I
like rather than suffer a slow death here trying to eat this insipid
tasteless nonsense.” The old man looks at his wife and commands,
“Listen. Just pack up. We are not staying here like glorified slaves
in this golden cage. One month here in this godforsaken place has
made me almost mad. We are going right back to our house in Girgaum
to live with dignity!”
“Please Baba. Don’t be difficult. I have to leave for the states
tonight,” the son pleads desperately. “I’m trying to do the best
possible for you. You know the huge amount I’ve paid as advance to
book this place for you?”
“You go back to your family in America. I’m going back to my house
in Girgaum! That’s final!” the old man affirms to his son. He looks
at his wife and says, “You want to come along? Or should I go back
alone?”
“Mama, please tell him,” the son looks at his mother.
The old woman looks lovingly at her husband, puts her hand on his
arm and says softly, “Please try to understand. We have to live
here. There’s no house in Girgaum. Our chawl has been sold to a
builder. They are building a commercial complex there.”
“What?” the old man looks at his wife as if he is pole-axed, “you
too!” And suddenly his defenses crumble and he disintegrates; the
metamorphosis in his personality is unbelievable as he meekly holds
his wife’s hand for support and obediently walks with her towards
their cottage.
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