The little white flowers

Ashokan put down his pen, closed the diary partly and gazed up at the ceiling trying to recollect things from the past. He had been wanting to write a diary for so long since he retired. It was Kamali who dug up this unused diary which had a picture of Thirupathi Lord Venkateshwara all shiny in his brightest attire. Even during her sickness and failing memory she frequently asked if he had started with his diary. Venkateshwara was a little yellowed and damp now but the letters in bold black ink shone like the black crystals in Kamali’s chain.

Usually Ashokan would sense the paper boy even as he was entering their street and wait at the door. He hated making people wait. Years of waiting around for lethargic Ministers and officials had finally ended with his retirement. But today was different. Selva rang the doorbell twice. Ashokan’s cloud of thoughts burst and he came back to reality. He walked up to the door in a quick stride

“ Thank God” He said thrusting the newspaper in Ashokan’s hand.

“Why do you look so worried?” Ashokan asked with fake curiosity. He knew very well he was asking a question for which he already knew the answer.

“I was scared sir! “ Selva hesitated and his eyes widened. It gave out that he was hiding something

“You always stand at the door” He was afraid Ashokan would scold him for thinking he was dead.

Ashokan laughed aloud. Selva was a little startled but he put down his bag of papers and wiped off the sweat from his brow without asking him the reason for his untimely laugh.

“Are you well Sir? You seem very tired! “He pointed to the bags under his eyes

“It’s nothing Selva! I was writing some letters. Personal ones”

“Letters? “ He exclaimed as if Ashokan mentioned a nuclear bomb.

“Who writes letters in this day and age? Didn’t Roshan sir buy you an ipad when he visited last time? Just send it through whatsapp sir! Even I have whatsapp” He flashed his small red coloured cell phone proudly!

“These are not messages to be sent Selva! They are for people far far away”

His words were suddenly cut-off by the sound of a purple sun bird pecking at its own reflection on the opaque window. He was suddenly reminded of the peacock blue sari that kamali wore at their wedding. Roshan had framed a picture from their wedding in a glimmering silver frame for their 25th anniversary. It now hung in the living room wall right between Roshan’s childhood picture and a picture of Ananya their granddaughter. His gaze was nailed to the bird for a few minutes. His mouth curved in to a gentle smile.

Like a punctured tyre, his serenity was pierced by Selva’s frantic measures to get attention. He had that worried look on his face again. Ashokan gave him a smile and a pat on his back. He helped place the newspaper bag on the cycle and strapped it safely with the cord. Selva continues on his paper route.

He proceeded to the living room and put on his shirt. It was 8 a.m. Ashokan’s day usually beginned much earlier. He woke up at 6 a.m sharp without an alarm. Put on his scarf and went for a walk that ended at his usual breakfast place Kamakshi mess for black tea and flat unshapely idlies. Today as he walked out to the door he found the mailbox overflowing with unopened mail. Most of them were promotional but one yellow envelope stood out. It was a greeting card for Kamali’s birthday. He bit his tongue in embarrassment like every other year while she was alive. Years back Kamali had signed up for them to make an annual donation to a children’s orphanage. In return they got greeting cards made by the children for each of their birthdays. They had stopped donating a long time ago when they shifted their residence. But the cards kept coming every year. Sort of made kamali guilty but somehow he never found the time to go to the orphanage. Kamali would sigh every year on Roshan’s birthday and give a whole lecture about karma and who charity can even save your life sometimes. Ashokan a staunch atheist would shrug her off saying, find a karma place that is nearby. I can’t travel to and fro to that area.

Roshan usually reminded him of Amma’s birthday and Ashokan would cheekily ask her “What is the special menu today?” with a twinkle in his eye.

That was Kamali’s cue to make Carrot Kheer. They never exchanged birthday wishes in their 29 years of married life. Carrot kheer on birthdays was the fixed menu in the household though in the later years it became a sugar free version sans ghee.

He read the envelope out aloud even though there was nobody around.  “Happy birthday Mrs Kamali Ashokan. We at Aradhana illam wish you good health and prosperity on this occasion.

With love

The children

Ashokan sighed. He re-read the letter. He was slightly angry at fate or god or whoever ran this world for taking away kamali. He tucked the letter in the pocket his loose shirt and walked down to the end of the street. Kamakshi mess had been his only solace after kamali’s demise. After breakfast, he usually stayed back at the makeshift tea shop in the front up until late morning. The tea master would bring him a black tea with a dash of lemon at frequent intervals. Ashokan would spend his mornings flipping through every single of those newspapers and only went home at time for lunch.

He went inside the mess. He smiled mechanically at Chandru on the cash register and walked to his spot on the left corner. The mess was unusually packed. A bus carrying sabarimala devotees had stooped for breakfast at the mess. He looked across the table to chandru. He was busy tallying the bills due to the overflow of customers. Ashokan didn’t want to bother him, so he took a single seat, the table wasn’t cleaned up yet but he didn’t want to complain. The server boys were overworked as it is. An old couple entered the hotel, they were also on their way for sabarimala. They were looking around for a space to sit. They had heavy beddings and bags which they lunged with difficulty. The husband quickly scanned the place for any seats. There was one next to Ashokan. He asked his wife to sit there and took the bags from here while searching for another seat. Ashokan felt a lump in his throat.  Ashokan offered his seat for the husband and walked to the standing area. The couple was elated to finally sit down after a long tiring travel.  The wife beamed with happiness and gratitude for his gesture. He couldn’t be more amazed at the coincidence of events today. Kamali had pestered him for so long to take Pilgrimage to badrinath and Kedarnath. Ashokan’s permanent reply was “which idiot would go willingly in to a snow storm? “He would quote statistics of people dying during pilgrimages from newspapers and go on to lecture about how god if he really existed is omnipotent.

“If he’s really there. Going to the temple is also a waste of time. Pray to the things at home. Your God will be listening. Isn’t he there in pillars and even in specks of dust?”

Ashokan would smile proudly at this perfect logical explanations. Kamali was fedup and soon she stopped asking.

Ashokan was perplexed with his sudden string of epiphanies. He was no more in the mood to have breakfast. His own thoughts suffocated him He wanted to go out and get some air. Chandru was still busy collecting money and issuing change. He was buried within a huge crowd of people standing around the cash register. The entrance was blocked but some of the boys made way for Ashokan. The entire place smelled of garlands and sandal paste, it reminded him of the temples that his mother forced him to visit during his youth. He couldn’t correctly place the memory though. He couldn’t remember what the last time he had visited one was. Chandru caught a glimpse of Ashokan leaving and called out for him. But his voice died down in the chaos of the customers

He was feeling faint but wanted to do something meaningful for Kamali. He fished his pocket for change. He wasn’t sure how much bus tickets costed now. It has been quite a while since he ventured out of Kasturi Nagar. He walked to the bus stop. Ashokan’s had forgotten how the sun blazed in the month of april. The wrinkles in on his hands sizzled and sweat began to peak out. The bus thalted a few feet before the bus stop. It was mildly crowded but Ashokan was determined to get in. Roshan would be really angry if he came to know he was travelling alone in the sun. But Ashokan felt this was something he had to do alone. The conductor asked one of the kids to offer him a seat.

“If they put on headphones. These kids will forget the entire world.  Get up and give him the seat. Don’t make an old man stand”

Ashokan asked for a ticket to Karna Market. The conductor was doused in sweat but he didn’t have time to wipe the sweat of his brow. The conductor was happy Ashokan paid for the ticket with exact change. 9 rupees. His conductor bag jingled with the happiness of new found change.

The guy got up reluctantly but smiled fakely at Ashokan and asked him to sit down. Ashokan patted him on the back.

“Just few more stops to my destination. You sit down”

The guy asked a few more times as he felt guilty about not offering the seat immediately.

Ashokan assured him that he had no issues with standing and forced him to sit down.

Ashokan’s memory was a little faded but he looked out through the window to see if the bus stops were still the same. There were 6 stops before karna market. He mentally repeated each one of the names as the conductor announced them. Then he moved towards the exit as the destination was nearing. The bus jerked a little and threw him off balance but he got down safely. His legs still shivered from the possibility of an accident as he walked. He was beginning to think this guilt trip was a mistake.  A hot gust of wind, showered a whole lot of dust into his eyes. He finally remembered what he hated so much about this place. Karna market was their earlier residence. It was a rented house but their first home in the city. Kamali and Ashokan started their life at this place 29 years ago. A cramped little apartment right in the middle of the market. Water scarcity, garbage, power outages- the place was nothing short of a nightmare. But Kamali loved it here. She was like a creeper plant. Even in a dark place she always managed to find her sunshine. He wanted to go visit their old house but he wasn’t like kamali. He hardly knew any of the neighbours back then. He carried on with the purpose he came for. His eyes began to look for Aradhana orphanage which used to be right next to the government school for girls. The place had changed a lot. The market was still a shabby mess but tiny and large buildings had cropped up everywhere. It was Sunday, the entire market was flooded with people and produce. All sorts of makeshift shops from banana leaves to sugarcanes and an array of meat shops had cropped up blocking the entire road.  He walked up to a vendor who was busy chopping up the banana stem.

“ Aradhana orphanage”

“What?” He was reluctant to help people other than customers to his shop

Anadhai Illam (orphanage)… children home. It used to be here right next to a statue of Gandhi.

But Ashokan stressed once again and he was obliged to help.

“Gandhi statue was removed . Must be a year ago. I don’t know about the home. Wait. Let me ask around..

“ Velu Anna.. Where’s the children home here?? Do you know about it?”

“It got shut down Thambi! Few years back. Some property dispute between the owner and the trust. They moved to another place near Thirupuram. That’s what Viji told me. He used to work as a night watchman there.

Ashokan was distraught. It was the one thing he wanted to do for her.

“Wouldn’t it have been a poetic ending to our relationship?” He thought. By then the sun was at its harshest and Ashokan began to feel very weak both physically and mentally

His eyes began to swoon and his legs faltered a little. He caught hold of a pillar for support. His legs began to feel like squishy jelly and he suddenly put all his body weight on the pillar. The bamboo pillar of the makeshift shop couldn’t support him and it began to collapse the entire structure. Two of the guys in the shop came forward and helped him up on a chair. He was drenched in sweat within a matter of few seconds. One of the ladies from the bunk shop got him a glass of sherbet. A little lad began to fan him with an old calendar sheet. He drank the sherbet, as the sweet tangy syrup flowed down his throats. He began to see much clearly why this place was so close to Kamali’s heart? It was the people. “Despite having been a public relations officer in a government setup for so long. I never really captured people but she did! My wife who never saw the insides of a college was so adept at working her way through people.” His mind began to reminisce

His thoughts were interrupted by a young puny boy. He offered to drop Ashokan at his home on his bike. Ashokan had regained a lot of strength by then. He assured the boy that he would go home safely in an auto.

Ashokan put on his chappals that had come loose and thanked all the people who had helped him. He offered to pay for the sherbet but the lady refused. He began to walk to the bus stop. It was only a few hundred metres away. But a fleeting fragrance shook him up. Tiny hairs on his wrist tingled with the powerful aroma that the wind brought in. It was a very familiar scent. It used to fill their old house in karna market. He followed the scent in to a temple. This used to be Kamali’s happy place. She would not miss one Puja, Bhajan or a chance to help out in the temple. In a corner of the temple was huge Maramalli (Jasmine) Tree and scores of Panneer flowers strewn across the corridor of the temple. Kamali would bring these flowers to decorate the idols at home.  The entire place reeked beautifully of the Panneer flowers. The entire floor was covered with these little white flowers. It was like a cloud had descended on earth.  Ashokan tried hard not to step on the flowers but they were everywhere. People stepping on them only released more fragrance in to the air. It was almost closing time at the temple but ashokan wanted to sit down under the tree for a while. He tried to control his tears but couldn’t.  Maybe it was a divine intervention or the high pollen content in the air. He sobbed until his heart was light. As he tried to get up, a cool wind brought down a shower of Paneer flowers over him. He looked up with gratitude. He knew in his heart that she was looking down on him too!

That night he wrote

“Today would have been her 52nd birthday. The one thing that has surprised me in the past year is that my house has remained the same despite her absence. The pots, pans, her precious porcelain dolls, the washcloth on the window sill. Even the ring of dust on her old tailoring machine hasn’t grown. The wick of the lamp facing east which she believed will bring us good fortune still continues to burn. The mosquitoes still fear the neem oil spray she used to shoo them away. They don't know she hasn't been around. But I know. The emptiness that haunts my house is breaking me down.  I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. But I have to cope with whatever I got and I hope she gives me the strength to continue ahead.

The kids in the neighbourhood still call our house Kamali Aunty's house and every time they refer to her, a warmness spreads in the insides to my stomach. I make up some ritual or Puja at home to invite Kamali’s favourite little helpers at least once a week. They help me understand Kamali in ways I couldn’t have imagined in all these years. They tell me that Kamali aunty used flowers from our garden only for her favorite vinayaka idol. Rest of the flowers were for the girls who wanted to braid it on their hair.

These tiny things that don’t seem like a big deal are the ones that makes everyone miss her.

 The first 3 months after she passed away, every other day I had somebody close to her visiting the house. The postman, the vegetable vendor who used to have a shop in our locality years ago, our old maid’s daughter who lived in Bangalore.

I never imagined she made so many friends. Maybe I was the only person who she didn’t make friends with.”