Meet the Over-80s

A regular evening stroller, I seldom miss the sight of persons on the same wavelength flock together - near the swimming pool benches, in the gazebos, in the benches surrounding children’s park, or in the comforts of club-house reception. 

One of them is Vasantha Mami, as she is popularly known. Yes, she is Capt. Suresh Padmanabhan’s mother - that endearing lady, with an infectious smile. Aided these days by a wheelchair and a lady to operate it, Vasantha Mami makes it a point to establish eye contact with everyone passing by and halts to greet and chat with them, be it for just a while. 

A running champion, ball-badminton player, good at shot-put, and a host of other feathers in her cap during college days, she is very effective communicating in English. The onset of hearing problems regardless, she unfailingly attended the first batch of Narayaneeyam classes ONLINE years ago. Not just that, she was the first to report to the subsequent practice sessions. Kudos Mami.

Dinakar Mulay, Hemangi’s f-i-l,  has a permanent place ‘reserved’ for him in the bench facing the swimming pool. He is so punctual that you can adjust your watch by time he arrives for his evening quota of fresh air. And he stays there for an exact number of minutes – say 33 or 47 minutes – no more, no less. The conversation in the fully occupied two benches might gather full momentum, but he will leave for home on time. Wondered if he served the army by chance. Yes, I learn he was in Army engineering service. A ripple effect is inevitable. He uses a walker, but if the enthusiasm and vibrance in his conversation is anything to go by, one wonders if he carries the walker more to ensure kahi nazar a lag jaye. So good to see you full of life, Sir.

Then the most loved ‘Gujarati Lady’ – yes, Manoj Makadia’s mother of Maple 3. Her name is Vijaya. At 87, she still gets up at 3 pm (no coffee no tea in her lifetime), reads religious books till day breaks and goes for a walk. Earlier, Madam would visit Madheswara temple morning and evening unfailingly. At the evening Aarti time, she would take charge of the huge temple bell. A year or two ago, she rang our doorbell. We thought she had lost her way (she lives one floor below us) and offered to escort her back home. No, she had come specifically to our flat only. “Lalitha, the other day when we were sitting in the park you recited one sloka from …. Can you write it down for me please?” Amazing. First, she is so alert to remember my wife’s name; two our flat number (never visited us); and three, recollect the sloka she wanted us to write for her. Getting up during brahma muhurtam has its own rewards apparently.  Our pranams Madam.

Here comes my friend, Col Padmanabhan of Oak, walking majestically as though he is on Republic Day parade, the edges of his iconic moustache never failing him to maintain an upright position. Whenever I meet Col a bit of envy overtakes me. He drives his car all the way up to Kochi or Trivandrum, while my record still stands at Whitefield. We were born with only a month difference. Baaten karte karte I learnt another thing. He now owns the very first house as one enters my village. So, now a two-fold salute when I visit village; one my respects to my village that nurtured me; two to my friend in absentia as I pass by his house. Then vacant, his house used to be our (the village children’s) afternoon rendezvous during summer vacation for climbing the mango- or jackfruit tree and play pranks imitating the stories we had heard of a lady clad in white walk past midnight by the rivulet on the opposite side of the road bemoaning the loss of her departed husband…  

Personally, a welcome down-the-memory-lane bonanza for me as I attempt this piece.