This is the second part of the story The Wake.
I see someone waving at a distance, coffee in one hand. It’s my outspoken friend Ruchi. She pulls up a chair to sit in our circle. So we listen to what she’s doing and to my surprise she is the Manager of Housekeeping at a 5 star Hotel.
Ruchi is my classmate. She lost her mother to cardiac arrest, when we were in 3rd grade. Her mother had a heart condition that could not be treated at the time. She was an only child and was brought up by her grandmother and father. She was a wild, pampered child. With Ruchi anything that need to be said, will be said and anything that she wants, she will make sure she gets. I remember going to her home and seeing that all the chores that I would normally do in my home was done by a maid in hers. Ruchi didn’t know the first thing about looking after a home; leave alone a 5 star Hotel. Selvi aunty was Ruchi’s paternal aunt. When Ruchi came of age, Selvi aunty became Ruchi’s confidante. Girls that age need a mother and Selvi aunty took on the responsibility. Gradually Ruchi changed, from someone who had no sense of poise to a confident, calm, graceful individual. After 10th grade, I moved to a different town so I didn’t get to meet Ruchi often. We did meet at a School reunion, where she mentioned that she had not yet decided what field she was going to major in. She runs a Soup kitchen for the homeless and displaced people. I could never picture her standing at the stove cooking or for that matter serving food. Now as I see her, I am in awe of the person she has become.
It’s about 4 am and I get up to get another cup of coffee, wondering where Selvi aunty’s husband was. On my way back, I notice a huge picture of him with decorations of flowers, through the doorway, in what used to be Aunty’s bedroom. He had passed on and I didn’t know. For a moment, I stood still at the doorway. Someone pats my back; I turn around to see Shaam, our resident story teller. I ask him how and when “Uncle†died. All I knew about Uncle was that he was a Professor of chemistry at the Bangalore University. He used to help us out with our Chemistry lessons and homework. He was a tall, thin, wry man. Now I know he died of complications from diabetes. Selvi aunty was there at his bedside, everyday. He was in a coma for 3 years before he died. Shaam said “I had gone to visit him the day he died. Each of them spoke to Uncle and that when it was Selvi Aunty’s turn, she said – “Don’t worry, I will follow you soonâ€. That was 1 year ago, yesterday.â€
Shaam was Selvi aunty’s son, Pratam’s Friend. He was sort of a big brother to the kids in our Block. Any trouble that we couldn’t talk to our parents about went to Shaam Bhaiya (brother, in Hindi). It was very easy to talk to Shaam. He never judged us, always said something that could make us feel better and he knew how to accept us, warts and all. He knew of all our infractions, like getting a D in spelling to losing our newly bought watercolors box. Shaam had a sister Nirmala, who was 1 year my senior and had a limp due to polio in childhood. Every time I have been to him for help of some kind, he would be writing. His Father was very strict with Shaam and Nirmala’s education. One day there was lot of yelling emanating from Shaam’s home. It was apparent that Shaam’s father was very angry. Later we know that the reason for that anger was the discovery of a boxful of Shaam’s stories and poems. And it dawns on me, so that’s what he was writing. The Father was disappointed that Shaam would rather spend time writing stories than getting good grades at school. For the next few weeks, we saw a rather melancholy Shaam. Then after a few more weeks we got back our old smiling Shaam Bhaiya. We never knew what happened until now. Selvi aunty saw Shaam’s long face and confronted him about what had happened with his father. Shaam admitted that he had been paying more attention to his stories than studies. So Selvi aunty made a deal with him. She told him that she would listen to one story a month no more than 3 pages or 3000 words provided he never neglects his studies. So Selvi aunty’s home became Shaam’s writing paradise. He left his work there and read his stories to aunty every month. He kept his end of the deal and majored in Literature and has 5 best sellers to his name. One of the books is a collection of short stories that he dedicated to Selvi Aunty. He is now a professor of literature at the Local College. He volunteers as a counselor in a home for Battered women. He runs a small scale industry for handicrafts made by these women to help them get back on their feet.
I became aware of Selvi Aunty’s existence when I was about 11 years old. I was very opinionated, idealistic and very naïve. I used to visit her home on some evenings to talk to her youngest daughter, Preeta, who was 1 year my senior. I could relate to her very well and thought of her as elder sister. On this particular day, I was very disappointed with a friend of mine. I had made her a beaded purse as a gift for her birthday. I had spent hours sewing on the colored beads to make the purse as beautiful as I could, only to realize that she so hated the gift that she had given it to her maid who works in her home. I was hurt that my careful work was of no value to someone I thought was my friend. Selvi aunty was sitting with us at the dining table preparing the vegetable for dinner and listening as I narrated the incident to Preeta. I sat there quietly, with tears in my eyes. Selvi aunty said, “What you give to others becomes theirs after they accept it. What they do with it, is up to them. It is good to Give and Forget but when you Receive, always Remember.†That was the first piece of wisdom I received from Aunty. It made complete sense to my 11 year old brain. In a few words she told me that she understood how I felt, that my friend was wrong to have done what she did, but that I could always view the incident differently. I still carry a small note in my purse with the words “Give without remembering, and Receive without Forgetting.†That is the motto of the Volunteer organization that Ranjani, Rahul and I have started, seven years ago. It is an organization that works for the all round growth of individuals within our communities. We have people who either volunteer time, money or both. We have after school programs for kids, where yoga, chess, dance forms, arts, crafts, cricket, hockey, football, help with homework and story times are conducted by volunteers. The volunteers work on a rotation basis, with a commitment of seeing a particular class through to the end of the course. It is a droplet of water in the mighty ocean, but Selvi aunty was very pleased when she heard about it. Especially when I told her that she was the reason for me choosing this path. She said she was glad that we were paying it forward.
It’s about 6 am. In the east, the sun beams light the sky with beautiful hues. I see all the faces in the make shift shelter outside and realize we have all been passing on to others, what we got from Selvi aunty in our own miniscule ways. She has been our guide without the label or the accolades, helping us live and become who we are. Not everyone made it the way she thought they would but each of us was forever changed because of her. She has lived an obscurely rich life by mining precious potential out of each of our lives. The people gathered there, were all family through her. I smile at the realization of - How truly blessed we were to have had her in our lives. The wake was truly awakening.
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