tales of Suchita

“There she is, my entertainment provider,” said Swarup to his granddaughter.

He didn’t remember anymore that she was his granddaughter but he remembered, vaguely, that when she came to his room, she brought gifts along.

She smiled as she handed him a book. “Don’t use your oily comb as a bookmark. Use this,” she said, showing him a pretty painting.

He nodded, his eyes shining at the prospect of delving into a new book. Both knew the chances of him forgetting to use the bookmark were high but they played this game every time she handed him a book and a new bookmark.

He loved this girl, he remembered that too. But the memory of why he loved her was hazy. It came to him only when she was in front of him and left like an ephemeral cloud as soon as she was out of his line of sight.

Swarup didn’t worry about these things anymore. He knew he was old and forgetting things, important things that had mattered to him before. But these days, he focussed more on reading books, coaxing his daughter to make him some good food and teasing his wife. Now if only he could forget his wife, life would be good, he thought with a laugh, as he opened the book, feeling gleeful.

*

He may not have remembered his granddaughter but he did miss her when she didn’t come to see him after he had finished the book. He got a new one, but she didn’t come to give it to him.

When the third book was also so mysteriously given to him, without the presence of his entertainment provider, he finally asked his daughter, “Anu, that girl that used to come here with the books…where is she?”

Anu said, “Papa, she has gone back to her hostel. She’s studying to be a journalist.”

He heard the pride in her voice. He had had similar pride in his children. He had tried to understand why some memories were sharp and he could trace their source with ease, some were dull while some, non-existent. But unfortunately, there was no method to this madness. It was what it was and he had learnt to live with the gaps, clarity and muddiness.

He knew it bothered some of his visitors when he looked at them blankly every time they asked him the dreaded question, “Remember me?” He didn’t know why they tried. Did they think he was faking his memory loss?

“What’s her name? I keep forgetting.”

Anu rubbed her father’s hands. She knew how angry her siblings got every time he asked that question but she didn’t mind. She took it to mean it was important. He wouldn’t ask otherwise.

“Her name is Ruhi. She’s my eldest.”

“Eldest? How many children do you have?”

“Two. There is Anvi and she is in school.”

At this, he smiled. “The choti si person who comes to my room to change my water bottles.”

Anu laughed. It was a joke in her household how obsessed Anvi was with filling and distributing water bottles. “Yes that one,” she said.

He nodded. “But when will she come back? She has to bring me my books. How will I pass the time?”

“She’ll be here soon papa,” said Anu.

Last time, she had said three months and Swarup had not liked that answer. He had thrown a tantrum until he had forgotten why he was angry. And then, he had been recalcitrant for two days, not knowing why he was upset. Since then, she had started answering the question as vaguely as she could.

“Humph,” he said, seeing through her.

Anu didn’t say anything. She had learnt through bitter experience that it was better to let him sulk than to coax him out of them.

*

Time had passed. Swarup knew it because he was wearing a sweater when he saw his entertainment provider next. He tried to be angry with her, for coming after such a long time. But since he couldn’t remember if he had seen her two days ago or two months, he didn’t hold it against her.

And when she handed him not just a book but also a katori of gajar ka halwa, all was forgiven.

---

Song: Remember me by Miguel
PS: I don’t know Spanish but Google translate says the title line translates to – Only with your love I can exist.

Check out the other posts for 2023 here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z