Ramesh was sitting in the balcony, reading the Sunday Times. A retired school teacher, he filled his time with the morning walk, temples, the newspaper and an occasional visit to the market. Hourly tea-breaks and the spice of his wife’s regular rants made his day. His wife, Saranya despised Sundays as most of the time he was glued either to the newspaper or the television.
Just then, Vikram, Ramesh's son walked in, “Good morning Dad! What news?”
“Oh! The usual run-of-the-mill stories of scams and politics,” replied Ramesh casually as he pointed at the paper.
Vikram, in his early thirties was a highly opinionated man with strong work ethics, worked as a Manager in a reputed firm. Busy throughout the week with meetings and target deadlines, he made it a point to keep his Sundays free of the official clutter, so he could spend time with his family. Vikram grinned at his Dad’s casual comment and settled down on a chair. Suddenly they could hear loud voices. They looked at each other. Putting a hand over his forehead, “Damn! It’s no different here either. The usual grind over petty issues,” lamented Vikram.
“A dash of homemade made baji with national news,” smirked Ramesh.
“How can you be so cool?"
“Will losing my temper fetch me any peace of mind? It’s a blame-game; a time-pass, nothing more than crossword puzzle is to me. By the way did you have your morning tea?” asked Ramesh.
He persuaded his son to get some tea for himself, to lighten his spirits. But Vikram refused to step into the house, as he thought the volcano had erupted and feared that the lava was spread throughout. Finally, Ramesh decided to get a cup of tea for his son and a second cup for himself. He didn’t bother the volcano as long as he got to gulp the steaming, hot liquid.
Vikram sighed and thought, ‘Hat’s off to Dad’s patience, a go-getter, I can never be like him.’
Just then, Vikram, Ramesh's son walked in, “Good morning Dad! What news?”
“Oh! The usual run-of-the-mill stories of scams and politics,” replied Ramesh casually as he pointed at the paper.
Vikram, in his early thirties was a highly opinionated man with strong work ethics, worked as a Manager in a reputed firm. Busy throughout the week with meetings and target deadlines, he made it a point to keep his Sundays free of the official clutter, so he could spend time with his family. Vikram grinned at his Dad’s casual comment and settled down on a chair. Suddenly they could hear loud voices. They looked at each other. Putting a hand over his forehead, “Damn! It’s no different here either. The usual grind over petty issues,” lamented Vikram.
“A dash of homemade made baji with national news,” smirked Ramesh.
“How can you be so cool?"
“Will losing my temper fetch me any peace of mind? It’s a blame-game; a time-pass, nothing more than crossword puzzle is to me. By the way did you have your morning tea?” asked Ramesh.
He persuaded his son to get some tea for himself, to lighten his spirits. But Vikram refused to step into the house, as he thought the volcano had erupted and feared that the lava was spread throughout. Finally, Ramesh decided to get a cup of tea for his son and a second cup for himself. He didn’t bother the volcano as long as he got to gulp the steaming, hot liquid.
Vikram sighed and thought, ‘Hat’s off to Dad’s patience, a go-getter, I can never be like him.’
Vikram and Namratha, his wife, enjoyed the crisp, cool breeze that caressed their cheeks and tickled their senses. They walked along the length of the beach, kicked sand and let the surf wet their feet. They shared a plate of hot molaga baji and munched on hot roasted peanuts. They made their way to a lone bench, where there was little noise, except for the waves hitting the sand front.
He had been married just a year ago to Namratha, a bubbly, carefree corporate girl. She was candid and outspoken in her views. A novice in home-making, she had regular confronts with her rather forgetful mother-in-law, Sarnaya. She was still learning to manage her full time job with her house hold chores.
“You know what happened in the morning,” spoke Namratha coinciding with a large wave that hit their knees.
She didn’t wait for him to answer and blurted out, “Last night the milk had to be heated and set for curd, which usually your mom does. She forgot and left the milk out. Today morning, it got spoiled and two liters of milk got wasted. She holds me responsible for her forgetfulness. I work through out the week and its only in the weekend i can have some peaceful time.”
“If she forgot, you could have either reminded her or it’s a simple task which you could have done,” added Vikram.
“I dare not interfere in her work, she complains about everything. It doesn’t matter, whatever I do, she just has to argue. You know it’s a daily charade,” complained an irritated Namratha.
“You always take the side of your mom, no matter what she does. It looks like you don’t care for me.”
Vikram tried to pacify her, “It’s just that I was trying to make things easier for you.”
‘How could he take any one side? Both of them are dear to him, but they behave like two parallel roads which never meet. He is in a ‘Catch-22’ situation, which they will never understand. It is he who is most hurt in their squabbles.
Monday morning.
As he left the house for his office, when the cost was clear.
Vikram was busy throughout the day. At about seven in the evening, he got a call. For a moment he was in shock, he left office immediately.
To his chagrin, the heavy traffic tested his nerves. He yelled at the driver to drive fast. Anger and anxiousness brewed within, he ran to the reception, as soon as he reached the ‘Lifeline Hospital’. Namratha waited for him. He looked at her with pain in his eyes, ‘How’s he?’
“He is out of danger, still in the ICU. They have done a procedure called Coronary Ansgioplasty to remove the blocks in his arteries. Now he is under sedation. You can go in and have a look,” explained Namratha.
Vikram went in to see his dad. Ramesh was sleeping peacefully; he was surrounded by wires and digital meters which monitored his condition constantly. The duty doctor assured him that his dad would be fine in a couple of days.
As soon as he came out, his eyes searched for his mom. She sat in one corner of the waiting lounge with Namratha, who was holding his mother’s hand, an oddity. He sat beside them, “What happened, Mom?”
With tears in her eyes, “He had pain in his chest since two days, but he didn’t tell us. He was watching TV, and was drinking his tea. Namratha had just returned from office. He babbled something, the tea cup fell from his hand and he held his chest. Thank god, Namratha was quick enough to summon a taxi and bring him here. The doctors told us ‘more delay would have been fatal’. She was the one who had been handling everything since we brought him in. If it wouldn’t have been for her, I would have been helpless,” said his mom
“Why didn’t you ring me up?” demanded Vikram looking at Namratha.
“We did, but the network was not reachable. We obviously couldn’t have waited for you,” shot back his mother defending Namratha.
‘True,’ he had been at the site today, where signals waver. It was strange that his mother was all praises for Namratha, a volte-face. The way they spoke and comforted each other was new to him. A defiant Namratha was now the caregiver. They had proven him wrong. He was privy to their innate qualities of love and care, especially in need.
The next weekend, his dad was discharged from the hospital with a list of do’s and don’ts. Namratha took charge and both mother-in-law and daughter-in-law worked in tandem.
His dad looked at him, meaning to say, ‘Didn’t I say?’ Yes, a blame-game of sorts that did no harm.
