85 Visits the 90s

Padmanabha Iyer was past 90, but the Kanakabhishekam ceremony associated with it could be solemnized only in February. It was a gala function in their Jakkur villa with around 150 guests. The Airshow that week in Jakkur airport and the attendant traffic restrictions denied us the privilege to attend the ceremony. They understood our predicament and agreed to our visiting them later. And so we did - last month. 

Ramya, daughter in law was waiting at the main gate to escort us to their home – a lovely place made doubly beautiful by son Harish. “It was a near total re-modelling,” he confided, accepting our compliments. The sofas and other furniture were made to his specifications. Simple, elegant and tastefully done. 

Mama has not changed a bit since we saw him a year or two ago, except that we need to raise our voice to be heard. (In strict confidence, this has set in for us as well – for watching TV, for now). He dons the same grace, takes care of things himself, unaided. The baton that he used to carry for walk (which reminded me always of my father in law in his Calcutta days), has yielded place to a walker, purely as a matter of caution. Firm ‘No’ to sweets except when his son is not around. Yes, Harish was yet to return with his daughter Kanchana after tennis practice. Both Mama and Harish are good conversationalists. We had a good time both at the breakfast table and then at the drawing room recapitulating the times we spent together, living not very far from one another. Exchange of health bulletin is given - how some body components need to be goaded to listen to our commands, the tally of medicines… 

“Devanahalli, Brigade Paradise Retirement Home, please” we directed Manjunath as we got into the car, the present abode of Radhakrishnan mama and Raji mami.  We had spent several years together in the same apartment complex in Hebbal.  We moved in to Sobha here in 2016 and they to Devanahalli in 2017. Apparently, a fine morning, Mami then in her late 70s, raised her hands and announced, “No more kitchen work - enough of it.” And that prompted their move.

Both Mama and Mami are worth a thesis for a Ph D. I would call Mama a Mr Know-all, very disciplined, and a regular flute-player. Unwavering in his decisions, he gets up at four in the morning, runs around the complex for quite some time. He irons his clothes himself, the blade-sharpness of the crease very often an envy of the onlooker. At past 90, he still drives his car, of course respects Mami’s plea to do so within a radius of 5 km. He is thorough with Apartment bye laws and is now busy helping his co-residents to prevail upon Administration to levy charges for medical services on per person, and not on per square foot. “You give service to individuals, not to the area,” he argues. On the few occasions the couple decide to prepare food at home, he buys vegetables, cleans them, and cuts them to perfection. He washes clothes, dry them, fold them and keep in their respective almirahs at the designated places, as I watched him do so with precision. Perfection is his watch word. We had food in the dining hall – a four-star setting. Back in their apartment, we chatted recalling our ‘Srishti’ days. 

Time to return home – the 8-hour driver-time was ticking, also we wanted to get home before the rush hour.  “I will prepare some hot coffee for you. You seem too tired,” said my wife as she shook me from sleep in the car on arrival. A little later I heard, “I say, coffee ready, where are you?” “I am de-cluttering my wardrobe,” I said extricating my neck out of the deep shelf into which it had gone, in a bid to keep the full-sleeve shirts at the deep end, half-sleeves next and then T-shirts - an immediate impact to emulate Radhakrishnan mama, be it short-lived. 

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