Musings of a Delhi Boy

Till the time Daddy left us in the physical form (when he was 87 years young), Mummy, four years his junior, was more or less a novice as far as the use of mobile phones is concerned, specially of smart phones, although at that time she did use a normal, features phone, which Daddy had procured for her, with the specific purpose of taking along when she went on her evening strolls with her long-time neighborhood friends in the park at the rear of our house. After the stroll, the ladies, who knew each other pretty well, and were more or less of the same age, sat in leisure on the benches, to unwind, and indulge in some light hearted banter, before dispersing.

As far as Daddy is concerned, slowly, but steadily, he had mastered the use of technology, even at the cusp of eighty, and was quite proficient in handling the laptop and smartphone which my elder sibling had gifted him. Over time, he became adept and active on various social media platforms, especially Facebook and Whats App, through which he connected to his sundry nieces and nephews spread across cities, countries and continents with elan. This gave him a lot of happiness and satisfaction, as he had always been highly respected and loved within his extended family, which looked up-to him for advice and guidance. 

In the early hours of 8th November 2017, before the Sun had risen from the Eastern horizon and the birds were still snuggled in their nests, his phone fell silent, as he breathed his last.

After a lull of a few days, Mummy, and my brother, started getting messages and calls from our relatives and other acquaintances, asking for Daddy’s number- which had been silent since he left us in the physical form- to be reactivated. And the obvious choice of taking the legacy forward was Mummy. She could have taken the easier path, and ‘put’ Daddy’s sim card in her instrument, which she was quite accustomed to handle by now. But by choice she decided to use the ‘smart’ instrument that was hitherto used by Daddy, although she was not conversant with its functions and modalities. At first , we conjectured that it would be a bit difficult- if not outright impossible- for Mummy to learn the use of ‘smart’ phones. But the challenge to teach her the basics of this phone was willingly accepted by my brother. Not surprisingly, Mummy, who has three masters’ degrees-in History, Commerce and Punjabi- under her belt, and has always nurtured a voracious desire to learn, which made her study for, and earn, her third master’s when she was close to fifty, turned out to be a quick and adroit learner, and within a short span of time was able to use it quite efficiently, at-least to make and receive calls. She had started feeling rather lonely after Daddy departed, so, from now onwards she stayed connected with her colleagues from her teaching days, neighbors, relatives and friends, using her new fancy gadget, the ‘smart’ phone.

The next, and somewhat onerous task, was teaching her the use of what has now become more or less mandatory – the ubiquitous Whats App. Initially, she did find it a bit difficult to grasp, but over time she took to it like fish to water. With her formidable network of contacts, she exchanged messages received as forwards, cutting across genres…….religious, motivational, jokes, satire and even political. Our close knit family group became hugely used to getting a fusillade of messages from her, which started as soon as she got up and was over with her morning chores. Within minutes, our inbox was bombarded with a plethora of these messages in quick succession. Sometimes these were repetitions, as her control over her fingers was not that steady any longer. Often we found this a bit irritating, but no one pointed it out to her, not wanting to hurt her sentiments. Even typing messages, small and personal, mostly on the birthdays of her children and grandchildren, and marriage anniversaries of her two children, as well as ‘best wishes’ and ‘blessing’ on sundry occasions, were a laborious, painstaking and time consuming exercise due to her failing eyesight and unsteady fingers. Although these left her physically exhausted, she managed it with customary zeal and aplomb, instinctively relishing the connectivity the medium generated.

But then, one day, misfortune struck, as she met with an accident.

While taking a stroll in the living room, with her walking stick in one hand, her slippers got entangled in a corner of the carpet and she tripped head over heels, landing face first, on the marble floor. Her upper lip ruptured, leading to profuse bleeding, which could not be controlled despite the best efforts of my niece and the two domestic helps who were at home at that time. With great effort, she was shifted to the hospital, still bleeding heavily, her right arm completely limp, making it obvious that it had taken a major part of the weight of her body during the fall. The doctors struggled a lot before they could manage to stop the flow of blood from the upper lip, which had to be sutured.  By then, a lot of blood had gone into the stomach, and which, therefore, had to be pumped out. After that the surgeons shifted their attention to the arm, which, it turned out, had multiple fractures, and was put in a cast, in a twisted position. Mummy was hospitalized for a few weeks, first in the ICU, and then in a private room. Due to the excessive bleeding her hemoglobin plummeted, and she was given four units of blood transfusion.

Daddy’s mobile fell silent.

Again!

In the meantime, we started forgetting the messages Mummy so lovingly used to send us before her unfortunate accident.

When she was discharged from hospital, the doctors counselled that the fracture would take a long time to heal due to her advanced age, low bone density and other health issues. Even after that, she would have to undergo extended sessions of physiotherapy before the arm would regain partial strength and movement, but they put in an ominous word of caution- the angle of the arm could not be straightened to the pre-fall level- it would remain curved, severely restricting her movements.

The struggle for recovery started in the right earnest from day one.

Mummy, being a fighter, full of grit and chutzpah, was determined to give it her best shot. She took all the medicines prescribed by the doctors under the hawk like supervision of my brother, who ensured the utmost and best care possible for her, on her long and slow road to recovery, leaving no stone unturned in the process. Gradually, there were signs that she would recuperate, as after a few weeks, the doctors replaced the full plaster with a smaller one, and then, after a further period of a few weeks, removed even that. Thereon, the painful physiotherapy sessions commenced. All of us kept a close track of her progress in the initial period, but as time went by, it was left to my brother to manage her treatment, and the rest of us in the family only made occasional, cursory inquiries. This went on for a considerable time. Mummy’s Whats App messages were now a thing of the past, a distant memory, almost forgotten, relegated to the background.

Till one day, around 8.00 a.m., my mobile phone was thrust into action with  successive beeps, indicating messages on Whats App. Without even caring to look at the screen, I knew that Mummy was back in action.

Love you Mummy! God bless you with a long and healthy life!