It was a starry winter evening, and the world felt full of life; everyone was out walking and enjoying the evening. We arrived at Ranjit’s new tailor shop, which had just opened after his old one was demolished. The new shop had two sides open, letting in the cool night air. The warm lights inside and the smell of fabric welcomed us.
The shop is located directly across from the famous Monginis cake shop. Its speciality is that it is open at the front and on one side completely. Ranjit is usually seen enjoying his evening tea when we pass by. On that particular day, I was sharing a few instructions when I heard my husband calling me from the fruit vendor’s stall. “Jyothi, here’s Varghese ma’am!”
I saw Mrs Varghese leaning against the fruit stall for support. I waved and gently asked Ranjit, “Do you know Varghese ma’am?” He shook his head to indicate that he didn’t, but everyone knew Varghese, ma’am. Although she wasn’t a school teacher, there wasn’t a child in the neighbourhood who hadn’t attended her tutoring sessions.
Mrs Varghese taught the children with love, and they always left her home feeling happy. The children never felt pressured to learn, and there was a genuine joy and satisfaction in Mrs Varghese’s life. I know many of her students who have grown up and established successful careers in Europe and the U.S.
Mrs Varghese lived across the street from Appu Ghar in Pune. She would walk every morning and evening, and her smile was nearly constant. There were rare occasions when her smile would fade as she became lost in her thoughts.
After giving Ranjit instructions about my clothes, I quickly walked to Mrs Varghese by the fruit stall. She greeted me with a warm smile and shook my hand. Holding my hand, she said, “Sunny has received his visa to go to the U.S.”‘
Congratulations, Sunny has been doing well,’ I said,
She smiled, but her eyes revealed mixed feelings. She felt proud of her son and added, “He mostly lives in Bangalore and will be in the U.S. for a few months.”
A few weeks ago, I met Mrs Varghese in the manmade forest during my morning walk. The winter morning was dark yet held a glimmer of hope. It was one of those days when I stood praying to God, admiring the hues of dark pinkish-grey while I anticipated the arrival of the sun. Suddenly, I felt a gloved hand touch me, and I flinched in fear, only to see a familiar smiling face — it was Mrs Varghese. She had begun visiting the forest with her friends. She took my hand and guided me toward the lake, adjusting her neck with her other hand, which seemed to be slipping to the side of her head. She knew I practised silence in the mornings, although my inner thoughts had not yet settled.
She kept asking me, “How are you doing, Jyothi?”
I broke my silence and replied, “Everything is going well, Mrs Varghese.”
She added happily, “Jyothi, Sunny is going to the USA…”
I smiled at her joy and asked, “Is he going for long, or will he be back in India soon?”
She smiled and said, “He will be there for two months.”
“That’s good,” I responded.
As we reached the end of the lake, she caught up with her friend, who was lingering back and said, “Bye Jyothi, we usually sit here in the park for a while before walking back home.”
She smiled again and added, “God bless you with all that you want, Jyothi.”
I smiled and replied, “God bless you, too.”
Mrs Varghese was young and energetic a decade ago. She never missed her morning walks and was a brave lady who regularly walked in the man-made forest. However, a few years back, she developed cervical dystonia, a condition in which the neck muscles contract involuntarily, causing the head to twist, turn, or tilt. She tried everything she could to manage it, and we all hoped things would improve. Over time, she accepted her condition and would gently coax her neck to reach its normal position. While walking, she would often support her neck with one hand and use the other hand to help herself walk steadily alongside her friend.
We would often meet Mrs Varghese thereafter near the new flyover that had just begun construction in its next stretch. The flyover was partially completed, with one side finished and the other side left suspended for many years. We all enjoyed walking there and looking up at the sky to admire the beautiful hues of the sunset. I frequently met Mrs Varghese and her friends. She would always smile and talk about her son, Sunny. Sometimes she would share his financial successes, other times she would discuss the emotional bond when he got married, and sometimes she would mention his education at India’s premier institution. Sunny continually upgraded himself, and Mrs Varghese never hesitated to commend him.
When Sunny enrolled at the IIM, Mrs Varghese mentioned how he was funding his expensive course. Once Sunny joined the IIM, he took the opportunity to express his gratitude to the family that supported his aspirations. He wrote an emotional post thanking his mother, which touched everyone’s hearts. She later shared the beautiful blog post with me. The love and care were mutual; however, at times, I could see a hint of longing in her eyes — she deeply missed Sunny, just like any parent would.
A few days ago, we watched a movie called ‘Tikadam’, which tells the story of a father planning to migrate to the big city. However, his young children embark on an adventurous mission to stop him, employing every trick they can think of. When the father leaves for a few days to explore job opportunities, his 8-year-old daughter struggles to sleep and misses him deeply. The child’s innocence and the pain reminded me of my childhood when my father had taken up a challenging opportunity in Delhi, and when we lost my mother.
We never wanted my father to take on the additional responsibility of setting up a new branch in Hauz Khas, New Delhi. However, he was determined to contribute as a dedicated officer, and we were reluctant to let him go. As the youngest, I felt truly distraught about the situation. My mother shared my feelings but also saw it as a step towards improving our financial situation. Initially, we exchanged lengthy letters. Sometimes we sent my father heavy envelopes filled with our thoughts and emotions, while at other times, we filled out every side of the Inland letters with our feelings.
When my mother left us, the void was so immense that we experienced sleepless nights for many days. Initially, many of our friends stayed with us, but as time passed, we found ourselves alone, and we began to miss my mother more than ever. Time healed us to a large extent, but the pain resurfaced for my father when we all left home for various reasons. He would visit us often and call, but we were so caught up in our own lives that we failed to notice his loneliness.
As we began conversing, I was brought back to the present moment. Mrs Varghese and I talked for quite a while; she smiled warmly while her friends wandered off to explore various shops. Yet, she continued to hold my hand, her gaze filled with sincerity. I understood the depth of Mrs Varghese’s love and empathised with her emotions.
“Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.”― Stephenie Meyer
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