Chapter One
Shush. Squeeze. Scowl. Salute.
And then again after 10 minutes,
Shush. Squeeze. Scowl. Salute.
I wearily sat up and stretched my legs. The timer for my next eye drop would start ringing in exactly 50 minutes. Enough time for me to pick up the newspaper along with the breakfast placed at the doorstep and pop my ‘before food’ pills. I could have my breakfast in peace as the next drop squeeze was only at 10 am.
It was a toss-up between a full-time, living breathing nuisance and a round-the-clock inert observer. Either way it was a violation of my privacy. But Sheila Rosemary Hitler would not leave unless I picked one of the two abominable options. You see, I had just undergone a cataract surgery in my right eye. The post-surgery eye drops regimen was designed by an ophthalmologist who was surely borderline psychotic. Who in their right mind would prescribe 18 drops per day at different times of the day from four different bottles? And this was just for week one. It became 14 drops in the second week, 9 drops in the third week…you get the drift? This drops saga was to go on for eight long weeks. I’m sure this regimen made the statistician in Sheila happy for she loved drawing charts and tables. She had meticulously charted it out for each week and set up multiple daily alarms on my mobile phone for each drop. Week one was over now and as her leave was exhausted, she had to depart to her home in another continent. So, while she trusted me enough to put the drops by myself, she explained that she needed a reassurance of some sort that I wasn’t playing truant. Which
translates to her explaining, in a benevolent, paternalistic way that she didn’t trust me! If Hitler were reborn as a well-mannered, well-meaning woman, it was as my daughter, Sheila.
I finally chose the CCTV camera over the full-time household help. The cameras were definitely an added security and were linked to Hitler’s mobile. I would shush the alarm, squeeze the drop in my eye, mutter a bit and then with a scowl, salute at the camera for Hitler. Catching sight of my face on the bulging lens of the CCTV always put me in a bad mood. It reminded me that my hair was a bird’s nest, and I could hardly wear anything other than a nightie these days. I had always prided myself on dressing well in my youth, even if my mother thought bell bottom pants were unbecoming for a woman. “Chinnu! Again this?!” she would mutter whenever she caught sight of me. But I had always ignored her, poor woman.
Twice a day, I left my perch at the window to hobble to the front door to collect home cooked meals which were dropped at my doorstep by a home chef, an arrangement that Sheila took care of. At the dot of two, my trusty part-time help would let herself in with her spare backdoor key, clean up the house, help me with my bath, do the dishes and leave by four. Dinner was always oats, which was prepared and kept ready on the table for me.The most fulfilling part of my morning was solving the Wordle word of the day in the minimal number of tries and triumphantly posting it in the family WhatsApp group. So, you wouldn’t be too surprised to know that I was delighted to see some activity in the old house next door. The ‘for sale’ board was uprooted and tossed by the wayside and a group of able-bodied men were painstakingly doing up the garden and fixing the roof. The house was named ‘Brooklyn.’ Nobody really knew the reason why as none of the original inhabitants
had any ties to the US. But it sounded stylish and somehow suited the quaint red brick house with its tiled sloping roof , located in a quiet suburb of Trivandrum city.
A day later, a young couple and a small kid with a curly mop of hair tied up with a pink scrunchie moved in to ‘Brooklyn.’ The man was tall, bespectacled and every bit a hands-on father. The woman was pretty and had a domesticated air about her. In any case, she looked like she could do with a wardrobe makeover for sure. Her kurta was as shapeless as a pillow cover. What was it with some young girls these days? Simply no sense of style. What was the word for it? Yes… Frumpy! From my prime position at my perch, I could see that the young parents fussed over the child a lot. The next morning, a lady wearing a pale green cotton sari turned up at their door. She must be the child-minder, I thought. Ah yes, I was right. After two days of getting the lady acquainted with the child, the couple would leave for work together on their bike. My days were busier and happier now, for what can be more enjoyable than watching the antics of a chubby little baby girl.
Shush. Squeeze. Scowl. Salute.
Was now,
Shush. Squeeze. Smile. Salute.
Chapter Two
It was 4:30 am in Phoenix and my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. There was a series of missed calls and frantic messages from Mama.
‘A mad dog jumped across the wall and bit the baby girl next door.’
I groaned and put my mobile on silent mode and continued to sleep.
Mama’s relationship with her neighbours was contentious, to say the least. The house on our right belonged to the Venugopals. They were a couple busy running their own restaurant with no time to exchange pleasantries. The fact that Mama kept phoning them to remind them that they needed to prune the branches of the mango tree which was shedding leaves into our compound had them now disregarding her phone calls.
To our left lived a family which also pointedly ignored her after she called up the lady of the house to report that just outside their gate, their college-going daughter was hugging a classmate who had come to drop her home one evening. Instead of being thanked for the sighting, she was ridiculed for being a mouldy old nutcase. I tried reasoning with Mama, “It’s not that they don’t believe you, they just don’t care!” Times had changed and making a big deal of a hug and a kiss between friends was passé, but Mama simply couldn’t stomach it. She kept a steady vigil at her window on the goings-on next door, much to their discomfort.
Matters came to a boiling point when Mama once called up the Nair family who lived diagonally opposite our house to warn them that their house had caught fire. Apparently, it hadn’t (they were sneakily burning household waste in their backyard), and they in turn insinuated that Mama had imagined it all in her head.
I really wished Mama would agree to relocate to Phoenix with me. It was so much easier to care for a parent at close quarters than across the seven seas. There was a system in place here for elderly care. In India, even a simple thing like a motorized wheelchair became a ridiculous proposition if one were to take a look at the roads riddled with potholes. Old age homes had started popping up, but the amenities they offered were woefully inadequate in comparison to anything in the West. But I had to agree with Mama that she was better off in the comfort of familiar surroundings in the house that she and Papa had so lovingly built.
Mama had friends nearby, but they were as old and sadly disconnected with reality as she was. Every morning, as soon as she got the newspaper, the first thing Mama would do was scan the obituary page to see if any familiar friends or foes had kicked the bucket. Her closest friend was Chandrika aunty who lived in ‘Brooklyn.’ The old woman was the worst of the lot. They used to call each other every single day and gossip about their neighbourhood, for hours together. I honestly thought Mama would finally agree to come away with me when Chandrika aunty passed away and her son sold the house, but that was not to be. She was now fascinated with the young family that had bought the house and come to stay. They were naturally friendly and compassionate to the cantankerous old lady who lived across the road. But at some point, this fascination would grow into an obsession and they would realise it was safer to stay clear of Mama. This may have happened sooner than expected now with this imaginary mad dog story.
Mama did have my cousin brother to call if I was unreachable in an emergency for there was a 12 hour 30 minute time difference between Phoenix and Trivandrum. But even with him, I had to define clearly to Mama what entailed an emergency by writing it down in black and white. It constituted only anything that directly affected her. Not her neighbours’ house. He was not to be dragged out from the middle of a movie in the theatre simply because Mama had spotted the neighbour’s rooftop flying off in a gust of wind.
And for all of this, Mama now cheekily called me Hitler. I replied, tongue-in-cheek, “Remember how strict you were with me when I was a kid? Well now, it’s payback time.” She whined in protest as I firmly said, “As you sow, so you reap.” Now I hadn’t sown anything, figuratively speaking, as I never wanted kids. Mama was filling that void now with her antics in what seemed like her second childhood.
An hour later, when I called Mama as I always did at 5:30 am while jogging on my treadmill, she still sounded upset.
“Molle, I swear I saw it with my own eyes! A stray dog jumped across the wall and bit the baby.”
“Did anyone other than you see it?”
“The nanny did. She panicked and rushed in with the baby and the dog ran away. I tried calling Mrs. Venugopal but she wouldn’t take the call. Neither would Mrs. Nair.”
“Mama, the nanny would have called and informed the parents.”
“The nanny just handed over the kid and went home and they haven’t rushed the child to the hospital for the anti-rabies shots.”
“Mama, maybe you are just imagining it. You love that child. You see me in her. Your memory is playing tricks with you. It’s only natural to fear the worst, when you are alone.”
“Sheila! You had better phone somebody and raise the alarm or I will,” her voice was shaking with anger now.
“Mama you aren’t calling anyone. Please calm down.”
And then Mama slammed the phone on me. It was in frustrating moments like this that it became all the more apparent to me why I would never relocate back to Kerala. It wasn’t because I was reluctant to give up my post as Associate Dean in Statistics at the University of Arizona. It was because I too would be old and batty one day. Like Chandrika aunty’s son, I too was selfish. I did not want to grow old in a country which did not adequately provide for its senior citizens.
As I sat and sipped my lime water infused with chia seeds, I thought of taking a look at the CCTV footage of the camera placed outside just to be sure that there was no mad dog running amok. And then I glanced at my smartwatch. I didn’t have much time as I had to join the others for a run. I decided to rush through the videos after taking a shower. My gang of girls and I were running for an important cause. Today’s marathon was organised by the society for canine support, an organisation I often volunteered for on my free days. I loved dogs, majestic and loving creatures that they were, but never owned one, as it was too much of a responsibility looking after and caring for one on a daily basis. As Mama had wryly observed, “It’s always easier to care for your neighbour’s dog.”
Chapter Three
Many years later, Ayesha and Salim would remember that it all began just like any other another weekday evening. Salim was rolling out the chapatis, Ayesha was clearing up the kitchen, deftly keeping everything in its right place, while the baby was sitting in her high back chair playing with a piece of dough. Ayesha’s eyes fell on a thin gold chain lying on the countertop. She exclaimed impatiently, “Uffo! Chechi has forgotten her gold chain here. She didn’t seem quite her usual self when she left today. I hope she is okay.”
“Really?” mumbled Salim. Such fine changes in the mood of their help slipped his notice. For, it didn’t really affect him. If chechi didn’t turn up for work the next day, it was invariably Ayesha who had to take the day off. Ayesha continued rambling, “You know, the dress she made mollu wear today, it’s so frightfully long and oversized for her. Full sleeves and buttoned up, she looks a lot like Ammi in it.” Salim looked up and smiled. Mollu was looking very prim and proper in that dress. Ah yes, she did look like Ammi in it. He also felt a bit relieved as it was finally possible for Ayesha to speak of his mother with some affection, now that the two women did not share the same roof.
And then suddenly something unusual caught his eye. In the house next door, the living room light was being switched on and off, on and off. It didn’t seem like a random bulb flickering. It was more erratic, as if someone was signalling for help. He washed his hands, carefully removing the dough stuck to his ring and stepped out. He walked slowly across the road and watched the lights go off and on again. It seemed more frantic now. As he reached the gate, he noticed the silhouette of his elderly neighbour at the front door, waving her walking stick at him.
“Aunty, is anything the matter?” he called out hesitantly. He looked at her with some trepidation for he had an inborn dread of cranky old ladies for no logical reason.
“Oh Mr Saleeeem,” said Chinnamma. “A dog jumped over your wall and I saw it biting your baby girl. Please check her for any bite marks.”
Salim’s face crumpled like used tissue paper. “What? When did this happen?”
“4’ o clock. I’ve been trying to call and inform someone but nobody believes me anymore, you see,” she said in a quavering voice. Salim shook his head and started saying, “But aunty….” And then froze. He looked as if a thunderbolt had struck him. He scrambled back, vaulting across the low wall, for he realised at once that his elderly neighbour was right. It all made sense now. Why chechi had dressed her up in that long, oversized frock. He frantically explained what he feared to Ayesha and they quickly removed the frock. On her chubby right forearm was a deep scratch. It had been cleaned and some ointment applied and well covered with the full sleeved frock. Ayesha gave a loud shriek and mollu started bawling. They immediately picked up a few things and hurried to the nearest hospital. As they rushed out, Ayesha waved at Chinnamma and Salim gesticulated that she was right and that they were going with mollu for her shots now.
Chinnamma happily closed the front door and rushed in as her alarm had started ringing. She shushed it, squeezed the drop, smiled and saluted the camera. A few minutes later, Sheila’s call came through.
“Oh Mama! I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“Why molle? Oh! How did you know?”
“I saw everything, Mama! How you bravely signalled to Salim and alerted him. That was very kind and thoughtful of you. And what made you think of the lights? Such an ingenuous idea!”
Chinnamma grinned. That was secret signal that she and the late Chandrika exchanged between their windows, whenever they wanted to alert the other person that some scurrilous activity was happening in the neighbourhood. It could be something mundane like Mrs Nair setting out for her pre-dawn jog wearing that hideous, bright orange, body-hugging tracksuit. “Doesn’t she look like she has just stepped out of one of those fancy American jails…” Chandrika would say, to cackling laughter from Chinnamma. Or it could be something that piqued their curiosity a lot more, like Mr Venugopal stepping out into his garden and speaking to someone in a hushed voice. From the tone and the body language, it was a lover perhaps? Oh, she and Chandrika had had so much fun tearing their neighbours to pieces. Those were the good old days!
“Oh dear, I just thought of it at the spur of the moment. They had come over once and said hello, but I never did note down their phone numbers.”
“You never cease to amaze, Mama! I wonder if they will sack the nanny now? I saw the dog and what happened is exactly as you described. It’s been captured well on the CCTV camera placed in the porch.”
Chinnamma was intrigued. “CCTV cameras placed in the porch? I thought there were only two, that too inside the house.”
“Mama, in addition to those two I had five more placed outside our house for security reasons. I didn’t tell you as I didn’t want you to worry about it…”
Chinnamma’s mind was racing fast now. “So, you can see everything that I can see from my perch and more, all through the CCTV cameras connected to your mobile phone?”
“Yes,” replied Sheila, wondering where this was leading to.
“And are the images grainy? Like it’s snowing while it happened?”
“Oh, that’s only in old movies. In the CCTV cameras nowadays, the videos are crystal clear.”
Chinnamma smiled softly, “You know molle, I’ve been thinking about what you said about coming and living with you and… I think I’m ready for the plunge now.”
There was a moment of silence and then a stifled sob.
“I …. I can’t believe my ears Mama. I’m sooooo… happy.”
“I know. All this long-distance parent-sitting is too much stress for you. I’ve made up my mind now. You can start with the paperwork and come and get me once you are ready.”
Sheila smiled happily. This was just too good to be true.
“And molle, let’s keep this house as it is. We can get the help to come and dust it once a week.”
“Of course, Mama! I would never dream of selling the house you and Papa so lovingly built.”
Chinnamma cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure if Sheila would buy this. But then, there was no harm in giving it a shot. Sheila was like a horse with blinkers when it came to her father. She spoke, her voice smooth as silk. “One more thing, molle. Keep the CCTV cameras too. And once I come there, do connect them to my mobile phone.” That way, I can sit in the comfort of your house and still keep an eagle eye on my next-door neighbours. She paused, but not too long for Sheila to connect the dots. “That way, I won’t feel I’m so far away from where Papa breathed his last.”
Sheila frowned. Mama never came across as the sentimental wife type. For while Papa was a brilliant father, it was no secret that he was an indifferent husband. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Done, Mama!” And then, Chinnamma smiled. A smug smile of the cat who has licked clean a full bowl of cream. She could continue with her vicarious pursuits from across the seven seas.
The End
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