A Bonding Through the Years

Indian mythology provocates many sermons on staying away from maya, moh,to lead a nirlipt, detached attitude towards life, as the present is all transient, we have to leave all and go to the world "beyond". We hear such sermons with deep faith and reverence, but, honestly, are we able to follow it? On the contrary, this maya and moh seem to cling to us till our last days. We cannot at all detach ourselves from earthly pleasures and comforts. Leave alone comfort and pleasure, I have seen we get hooked on to things by sentiment and memory too...and find ourselves tagging along many things that are of no meaning in the present, but hold a lot of affectionate memories and stories.

We had to leave our home town and move to another city after my father passed away, Our house, my home , was full of those very things that made up my world since birth. Many things had to be disposed off-----there was no other way than that.. I moved from room to room looking at all the things that had seen me grow up--books, cots, tables, lamps, chairs, racks and so many more. Suddenly, at the far end of the room my eyes fell on a wooden arm chair, quite worn out with the years with its cane work and cushion still intact. This arm chair was with us since years., and I had not given much notice to it; but that day suddenly, the thought that it would be disposed off churned my heart inside out. Sudden sparks of memory took me years back when I was a child and two new easy chairs had come to our house. It was an occasion for us children as we waited in our front veranda looking for the cart to bring in two easy chairs from the show room...father and uncle had purchased them for my grandparents to sit out in the evenings. The picture is vivid to this day also----the cart entered our gate carrying the two chairs covered under sheets of plastic to protect them from the dust of the roads. In our portico, as I stood eagerly to see them, the vendor pulled out the sheets and out stood two shining teak wood brown arm chairs with caned back rest and seat. They looked so majestic and relaxed in their build-up. They were placed in our front veranda and since that evening I had always seen my grandfather and grandmother sit on them in the veranda every evening chatting with each other, we thronging their sides once in a while amidst our play sessions. Rainy evenings, moon lit late evenings, winter sun-bathed warm mornings, on all such days these chairs gave a relaxed comfort to both my grandparents. The chairs had earned a respect and esteem of their own and it never came to my mind as a child that I too could sit on them---they were grandparents' chairs not to be belittled in anyway.

The familiarity with these chairs took a place in the family to be present on every occasion as our grandparents would be wanted in every occasion of the family. In hot summer months of May and June, these chairs would be taken out in our lawns where all our petty cane chairs would be set around them.

How wonderful those gossip hours were when grandmother in her easy chair, my mother and aunts would sit in a circle in the lawn and make such pleasant domestic little talks. At the far end sat grandfather in his chair enjoying the light breeze of his lawn, well watered and cool, while one of my aunts would be rendering a soft Tagore song for him to hear. The easy chairs saw it all through each summer and every winter. In rainy August noons,grandmother would sit in her easy chair in the veranda with eager anticipation, while my mother would finish off her kitchen chores and draw up a cane chair near grandmother and read out poetries and stories of Tagore. What cherished and fond those hours were, which perhaps the easy chair too felt. Time and years moved on. Grandfather, then grandmother passed away, the easy chairs got separated ,one stayed with my father and the other went to my uncle. Slowly I saw my mother using the chair when she would sit to read her books all by herself or would sit to write her diary. Again a familiar sight it became as age slowly started making itself felt over her limbs and hair and physique.

So that day when all furniture was being disposed, I could not muster up courage to to give up this easy chair. With all our things, the single easy chair came to our house in the new city. It slowy became one with my mother--a loving familiar image became a daily picture, seeing my mother sit back on it, facing the advancing handicaps of age. She sat alone for hours in a dreamy state, sometimes looking down intently at the arms of the chair, rubbing her trembling hands along its wooden worn down length, as if to console herself that something was still left to feel and touch of her wonderful lively past and youth. Sometimes she would have her tea while sitting on it, sometimes her meals too, as I fed her while she sat reclined on the chair----that same chair, now so worn, no shine yet every streak of its brown shade had so many stories to tell of years and years gone by, of so many loved ones who sat on it, around whom we clustered to hear tales, to get handfuls of snacky tit- bits amidts our hillarious plays, so many things the chair saw all through. It still rests in my mother's room though she is no more. All those with whom I live now, have no inkling of this wonderful past that remains entwined in the cane and cushions of this easy chair, and often when I hear or am told to get rid of this old fashioned worn-out antique piece, my heart wrenches with fears and pain thinking that will the world really snatch this piece of 'maya' and 'moh' from me? Is it a sin to have this sort of a 'maya' and 'moh which our mythology strongly discourages.? As i remain in this dilemma, my forlorn easy chair looks at me with an affectionate benevolent look of age, asking me to bear up with the demands of a brutal world around and live on.