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Saturday 3 October 2020

THE FIVE RUPEE NOTE

    Most people think that an inheritance and a legacy are the same thing. In a way they perhaps are because they are bequeathed to us by our parents, but there is a significant difference- an inheritance is the tangible part of what our parents leave us and is soon subsumed into our lives, perhaps improving it a bit, and is soon forgotten. But a legacy is the intangible- the "soft"- bequest and stays  with us forever. It connects us with our departed parents till we too go to join them. It consists of memories and regrets, it is both sweet and painful, and the proportion of each depends on us.

   I am a bit of a minimalist, a frugal consumer of resources (nowadays known as a "nonsumer"), and continue to wear, or use, something till it falls apart in despair. And so it was that the other day I had to buy a new wallet because the old one had padded my posterior for thirty years and could no longer contain the dozen or so testimonials an Indian citizen needs to carry these days lest he be locked up under the NSA (National Security Act) or UAPA (Unlawful Activities Prevention Act)- the cash itself Mr. Modi had taken away long ago. Emptying the deceased wallet in the manner of a fisherman gutting a shark, I came upon a crumpled, faded five rupee note nestled in one of the leathery folds. It took me a half second to recognise it for what it was, a memory from 26 years ago. It was both an inheritance and a legacy from my mother.

   She passed away in 1994, to the end a simple, God believing woman for whom her family was the universe of choice. She was content to live in a dilapidated old bungalow in Kanpur which my dad had bought in 1964, and which his meagre pension did not allow him to renovate. He valiantly tried to sell it (it was valuable real estate by the 80's) but my mother would have none of it, the one subject on which she steadfastly opposed my father.  But she did keep one secret from my Dad: she would save a few rupees every month from her shopping budget, a rupee at a time, and give it to her children when we visited her. Nothing substantial, you understand, maybe ten or twenty rupees, but it was HER money, to do with as she wished. When we checked her cupboard after she left us, I found that five rupee note beneath a saree. I have kept it with me ever since, I dare not spend it because for me it is both a precious inheritance and a legacy.

                                  


                                      [ The five rupee note I found in my mother's cupboard ]

   Unlike inheritances, legacies come with memories and regrets attached. And the memories here are of a woman with simple wants and no interests beyond her family. My mother had only two indulgences: cheap Hindi detective novels which invariably began with a woman shrieking in some dark alley, and  "zarda supari". As long as my Dad could fund these minor vices, she had no use for money: her two sons were well settled, her only daughter was married, she had her extended family in Kanpur: what did she need money for? She had set the bar of life quite low and saw no need to raise it- an instinctive piece of wisdom, long before COVID 19 reminded us of it.

   That humble five rupee note is my continuing bond with my mother, every time I touch it I touch her, sometimes I like to think that I can even smell the fragrance of her perfume on it, nothing expensive or new fangled, just the time- tested eau de cologne of yesteryears. It is also a vicarious repository of fond memories of her: how she would bring me innumerable cups of coffee when I was preparing for my IAS exams, her staunch belief that one day more people would know of me from my writings than for my administrative skills, the honest and trusting warmth with which she embraced Neerja into her household without the usual mother-in-law type of sparring. In any argument between my wife and me she always took Neerja's side, not on the merits of the case,  but on the unflinching principle that a girl who leaves her own mother to join another family is entitled to unquestioning support from her mother-in-law! She was an ailing woman from her thirties, with multiple medical conditions, but never imposed them on us: she and my dad handled her condition quietly by themselves. She never complained, she trusted everyone to the point of gullibility, her life was an understatement.

   But these memories come with a whole baggage of regrets, too. Could I have spent more time with her? She refused to move out of Kanpur and I was all over the place in Himachal and could visit my parents only once a year on my annual leave. But (I now ask myself) was this just an excuse to console myself, or could I have made more of an effort? Should I have brought her to AIIMS (when I was posted in Delhi) for better treatment, even though she was unwilling to be subjected to the rigors of a sarkari hospital? In the early 1990's I was travelling all over the world, but never took her with me because these were official visits. Could I not have tempered my code of ethics a bit and taken her to just a couple of countries, shown her a little bit of the world beyond Civil Lines of Kanpur? Why did I not make it to her bedside two days before she went into a coma and passed away, unable even to say good bye to the person who had given so much of herself to her family, unquestioning and always believing in us? I can't even remember when was the last time I told her that I loved her. Of course, I have a rational explanation for all these doubts but of an evening, when I am sitting alone with a drink in my hands, they sound hollow. But not to her, I'm sure, because for her I could do no wrong. 

   I know that all mothers are special and I'm not stating anything new or unique, but sometimes it has to be said, for all too often we leave it till it's too late, as in my case, and have to live with the consequences of the silence.

   In her last years my mother had only two wishes. One, that when the time came she be spared the traumatic hospitalisation that is the fate of so many in their final days. Two, that her mortal remains be taken for the last rites from the house she clung to so fiercely, which my dad had named after her and which was her only fiefdom. God likes short bucket lists, because he granted both the wishes.

   There is a lot of data embedded in that faded five rupee note, you know. It's not just a piece of legal tender, it's worth a fortune to me in remembrances and remorse, a legacy which keeps renewing itself every day, a reminder of what I had and what I've lost.

36 comments:

  1. It was so vivid. Loved it. Very well written.

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  2. Shuks this is so very different from your usual posts. Totally identified with the sentiments expressed here. Wonder what legacy we shall leave behind.

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  3. A wonderful collage of simple and true emotions, strung together beautifully. God bless your pen and visualisation!

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  4. As a long gone friend of college years would have said, "Fickers Not" beloved son.
    One day you will catch up and hold her and she will hold you and you will rave and rant to her about your selfishness and try to say sorry and she will hush you and run her fingers through your hair and you will know that you've returned home, which is eternity. And your legacy.
    Till then kindly make sure there's good stuff in that precious glass because who knows what swill a place like Mashobra passes off as good malt. And invite an old friend (26 years and counting) to share it.
    And till then wait, like the best of good bureaucrats. And keep her conviction very much alive and growing as you transport us poor sufferers by writing about the sorry state of a scorched world you have had the privilege to see up close. And we but to peep about your gigantic if skinny legs.
    Much love and affection. For once.

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  5. Excellent eulogy, Avay. To be able to hold, and touch, a memory is the greatest gift one can get. You are lucky to have something that evokes such fond memories of a loved one ...

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  6. Avay, It was so eerie that you have so uncannily echoed my own feelings about not having spent enough time with my mother, not having indulged in very simple desires of hers ( ice cream and movies), not having had the time to listen to her wonderful life as I always was so 'busy' with my make believe official importance, and the so called upright stance of having to separate 'work' from 'family'. Now, when all is done, like you I haven only regrets and the legacies to console myself with.

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  7. Left me with moist eyes and a sniffle, you old dog! Yes, mothers are special and irreplaceable. I have my Parents ancient, wooden almirah in Shillong. I touch my mother's clothes and look at Dad's .... and I am one with them.

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  8. Heartfelt and beautiful. And as someone else noted, not like your typical writings.

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  9. A beautiful piece, reminiscent of precious, little legacies and big regrets we all hold of our mother and how much more of our love we could have shown.

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  10. Beautiful... Know that your Mother smiles down on you with love and pride.

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  11. The story made eyes moist. You painted the picture of a universal mother, always loving and undemanding.

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  12. A magical mirror to reminiscent ones lost memoirs in remorse

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  13. Your blog moved me to tears. Thank you, for your candour. You certainly are a gifted writer. Your blog evoked a storehouse of cherished memories of my own mother...and the legacy she left me. Thank you Mr Shukla for sharing this reflection with the world; for reminding us once again of what is truly essential in life and challenging us to act upon that reminder.

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  14. Great. I could connect with all the beautiful emotiona you penned down.

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  15. I am quite overwhelmed by the comments on this blog by friends, batchmates, colleagues, people I don't know and the "Unknowns". It is more than evident that I have touched a chord somewhere, evoking both memories and regrets. As Tolstoy would no doubt have said in a different context, all mothers are similar and yet different in their own ways, but precious to their children. What I have written is a tribute to all of them. And also a timely caution, I hope, to those still fortunate enough to have them present in their lives- treasure them, spend time with them, indulge them, so that when they go-as they inevitably shall- you are left with a preponderance of memories rather than regrets. It is easier to live with the former.

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  16. a reminder of what we had and what we've lost.... Touching.....

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  17. Avay, what a beautiful article and tribute to your dear mother! My beloved mother passed away 16 years ago, but not a day goes by without my thinking of her, her love and concern, her advice and her great sense of humour. God rest her dear soul.

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  19. So beautifully written!
    My mum passed away before I had the means to buy her pretty saris or take her on holidays or.....,but she knew I loved her and I try very hard to make that the only thing that matters when I think about her.

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  20. Pure Excellence and a dilligent reminiscence!

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  21. Absolutely beautiful, and vivid. I could see the Author's mother in her Kanpur home. Mother's ask for so little, so I guess the author need have no regrets. For such is life...

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  22. Strikes a chord in all of us. Thank you for echoing our collective sentiments in this sublime eulogy.

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  23. Lovely.
    Understated, yet deeply felt emotions. Unfortunately these only surface on the sea of nostalgia, never with this intensity when we are living those moments.

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  24. Thank you for sharing such moving memories of your mom. Very touching and beautifully expressed. The piece evokes memories of my own mother who left us at the age of 95 after living with me and my family for 25 years. Our parents’ generation grew up with little in pre-partition India and they demanded nothing material in their later years. They loved us without limit to their last days. They taught us values which built our character and humanity. We are blessed to be the sons and daughters of such parents. Thank you for sharing your story.

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  25. Straight from the heart and so moving. Thanks for writing and sharing this. It will make most of the readers reflective,if not moist eyed, or both.

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  26. Always love reading your blog. This was so much from the heart, simply a pleasure reading. Thanks a million for putting into words what most of us feel about our mothers...

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  27. Touching and made go back in time. Keep writing.
    Arvind

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  28. Dear Sir,
    Beautiful piece of writing. It brought tears to my eyes and made me realize the importance of my parents who live with me much more and made me feel lucky to have them with me.
    Your this particular piece of writing has reminded me of great R.K.Narayan as it created a picture of your beloved mother for the reader. This is the best homage a son can pay to his mother.
    Keep writing till you have strengthin your fingers to hold pen and the strength in your fingers should rrmain forever.

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