The day could not have dawned more perfect, with birds chirping and the sunrise, all made a beautiful site. After a week full of rain, it had to shine today…The sweet smell of wet soil seemed beautiful. Yet I felt an emptiness in my heart. What else could it be other than her passing away?
She came with her mistress to her new home after marriage, as per many of the north Indian customs. She was a helpless soul, given support by her mistress. This is her story. Ganga was her mistress’s companion in her new world. Little did she know that this home would soon become hers too…for as long as she lived.
She wasn’t the least bit educated but had a good sense of judgment. She stood by her mistress through thick & thin, helped with the household chores, did the cleaning and the cooking.
Taking care of the children was her favourite chore, though she wouldn’t get any award for her manner of doing so. She had something in her which made everyone love her, despite her fits of anger at times. She was far from worldly worries, living her whole life within the four walls of her mistress’s home. She was her mistress’s friend when the children grew up, married & went ahead with their own lives.
Even her mistress’s grandchildren had a special corner in their hearts for her. Equipped with their modern knowledge & techno-know how, they would try to enlighten her. This would enrage her, for she found science ‘unholy’ & the form of the devil. During their vacations, the grandchildren had lots of fun teasing her & listening to her stories. Then one dreadful day, the grandchildren heard of her accident. She fell down the stairs n due to her age, she now suffered paralysis on both her legs.
This news had shocked young & old alike, for she was a loyal, mature and loved member of the family. After three years of this mishap, the grandchildren went to visit their grandmother & ‘Ganga Dai’. God doesn’t give anyone more than they can handle.
One only wished God would not trust her so much, for all her life she spent with her mistress & her family …not having one for herself. Now she faced this!
Spending those last days with her all that everyone prayed was for God to relieve her of this pain & suffering which she was enduring. Every day spent on that vacation was in fear of when she might pass away. Remembering her still moistens the grandchildren’s eyes. She was everything to them, yet nothing to anyone else. Her existence made no difference to the world…but her mistress & her family was the only world she knew.
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal…with this, in mind, the whole family bid farewell to her lighted pier. Like light & darkness succeeds each other …one could only pray for her soul to rest in peace.
She was a woman of compassion who taught everyone a lot through her religious stories. She was very special to her mistress, her children and grandchildren…yet she was ‘the woman that never was,’ for anyone else…
His three-day trip to Paris turned out to be for more eventful than he had anticipated. Lying on the hospital bed reading the newspaper Reuben Le Borg, a lawyer by profession, thought about going home. How he dreaded that thought. Reuben was in the hospital due to a minor accident, which left him with a fractured leg. Today he was permitted to leave for Buenos Aires. He lived in London and returned to Buenos Aires only for funerals. This time, however, he was delayed due to his accident, ten days late, to be exact. Had it been anyone else's death, he wouldn’t have bothered to show up so late. But this was no ordinary relative; Mr. Creighton Le Borg, after all, was his only father & living relative. Now he was dead.
With his bags packed, he made his way to the airport. Thinking about his country of origin, Argentina. How he hated living there as a child. Argentina was once a rich country, but with the Peron coming into power, a lot changed. Peron was a shrewd dictator and his wife Evita, a disillusioned woman. Together they made a mockery of the country by playing with its sentiments. They took away money from the rich, treated them like degenerates and instead of giving the money to the poor, kept most of it for themselves. His father was an important cause for the rise of Peron & Evita. He had headed the ‘Personita foundation’ established for the upliftment of the poor by Evita. All Evita & Le Borg ever did was accumulate wealth for their own upliftment. Evita was the richest and most powerful woman in the late 1950s, Le Borg, her trusted aide.
With all the formalities taken care of at the airport, Reuben went on board the aircraft. Having several hours of the journey ahead, he found it hard to relax. His thoughts went back to his mother. He was at Oxford at the time of her death. His mother was a beautiful soul, who was tortured & humiliated by her husband. When Evita died & Peron was exiled, Mr. Creighton used all of the accumulated wealth to maintain the lifestyle he had created for himself. His only son Reuben was not entitled to any of those comforts nor his mother. Both of them lived in Maple mansion, but they lacked what one would call a homely atmosphere. Creighton was a dictator in his own right, and this was his country — his mansion.
When the plane finally landed, Reuben came back from his past to his present. He was in Buenos Aires for just the weekend. He had an important case on Monday in London & he would have to leave early in the evening tomorrow. He took a taxi to Maple mansion. As the cab drove into the driveway of his house, he thought of all the miserable time he had spent there as a child. He'd sell the house & settle down in London, Reuben had enough of Argentina.
It was still a handsome house, a Georgian edifice with columns, once a monument to those who had built it & now a sad reminder of a declining family. His old maid Irene greeted him, as she opened the door for him. Irene was more of his family than his father had ever been. The interior of the house was depressing, all the riches & not a penny spent on the house. Creighton Le Borg was a reclusive old man, hell-bent on giving away his money, not to charity but to every deadened practice–legal & illegal known to Argentine culture. They had nothing in common except the name...Le Borg.
Irene informed him about Mr. George Andrew, who was waiting for him in the study. Reuben told Irene he'd meet Mr. Andrew right after he freshened up & had a change of clothes. Andrew was his father's old friend & lawyer. He knew what this was about, the will. As he changed, he thought, other than the house, there weren't many of assets his father would've left him. He descended the stairs & went into the study. It was 6 o'clock in the evening, another 24 hours and he'd be away from this place for good.
George was an ageing man with gray hair & a belly far more significant than would suit his five feet four inches frame. After the initial greeting & grieving, George got down to business, Reuben would get the house & a yearly sum of a hundred thousand pesos which were sent to Maple Mansion would now be wired to him at London.
Reuben was confused, the Le Borg family had once been wealthy but long before Reuben, or so he thought. He had gone to law school by waiting on tables, for Mr. Creighton was always short on cash. Reuben asked George, "How come my father left me so much money? I thought he had spent it all. What kind of joke is this?" George looked at him with a surprised then grave expression on his face. He said, "Reuben, your father didn't leave you this huge sum of money. Your Uncle had a trust made in which all the Le Borg money was to be given to you on your 25th birthday. Since you are just 23 years of age, you were entitled to a hundred thousand pesos for your upbringing & tuition. This money was given to your father."
Shocked Reuben further asked, "What Uncle? I don't have an uncle. What are you trying to do? Joking with me like this!" George explained. "Your father didn't want you to know about your Uncle. I didn't know your Uncle personally, but I have heard that he was a rebel & a traitor to our beloved country. That might be the reason your father kept this piece of information from you." With this said, George drowned the last of his tea & left Reuben to sink in all this new information.
Reuben went straight to the Kitchen and found Irene at the stove cooking something. Reuben asked her about his Uncle. Irene looked at Reuben with surprise. In twenty years this was the first time she heard Charles name being mentioned in the Le Borg household. With a stern look on her face, she asked him, "Are you sure you want to know all of this?" "Good lord, yes! Of course Irene, you've lived all your childhood & adult life in this mansion & I trust you to be honest with me. Please tell me what and who was my Uncle?"
"Well, it all started several years before you were born, this animosity your father had. Your Uncle was two years older than your father. He was a kind man, a man with a vision. Your father tried so hard to come out of his shadows that he even got himself into trouble. I think it was twice that your father was arrested for picking up fights. Mr. Creighton was the wild one, who hated Mr. Charles for all his goodness. He ran away & married your mother assuming she was rich. But as always, he was disillusioned. Your mother came from a respectable family like your father's family, but certainly not rich. A fact learnt much too late to his liking." Irene placed before Reuben his dinner of soup, steak & mashed potatoes.
Reuben didn't have much of an appetite, yet he played with his food as Irene went on, "Your mother was a dear soul. Your father lived off whatever assets your mother owned until they finished. After that, he became restless and penniless. He tried to come back to the mansion, but the old Mr. Le Borg would hear nothing of it. Your Uncle was too kind a man to let his only brother live homeless, especially when his wife was to give birth. You were born in this very mansion & your Uncle doted on you, so did your grandfather.
Creighton was now an alcoholic who had several mistresses all over Buenos Aires and was always short on cash. Your grandfather was dying, and he could not see your father destroy the family name in the way he was. That’s why he left all of his assets to your Uncle, for he knew he'd always take care of you & your family.
At your grandfather’s funeral, your father came drunk & that’s when Charles had him thrown out. Imagine that, a son cursing his own father of being a cunning man. He even accused your Uncle of depriving him of his rightful share of old Mr. Le Borg’s money.
Why Mr. Charles tolerated, your father is still a mystery to me. How can a man be so blinded by love? Your father, however, had everything but respect for Mr. Charles. He took it as an insult, the fact that he was thrown out of the funeral. Also, he was at the mercy of the very man he hated for petty cash.
Since Mr. Charles was a prominent leader of the opposition, Eva & Peron tried to keep a close watch on him. He was, in fact, so strong that they feared he would instigate the Argentine people into a revolution against Peron. Peron could not afford that. He, being a shrewd man, used your father's animosity to his advantage. Your father became a spy for Peron. As a reward, he was promised an appointment to the post of Chief of the Personita Foundation.
During this period, Eva was getting rid of all her enemies, as she was very vindictive. Creighton was what she had needed. Creighton was now a spy & he gave constant information of what Charles was up to, to Eva personally. At a crucial meeting held by the opposition in secret, Eva had every leader arrested on the Charges of ‘trying to assassinate the President, i.e. Peron.’ That was all a lie. The opposition never believed in violence, maybe that was their only weakness.
It was because of your father that the venue of this secret meeting was disclosed to Eva. She was very cruel to all these leaders. They were imprisoned for two years before they ever had their first court hearing. All a charade I tell you. Your Uncle was ill-treated & kept in very dreadful conditions, I know of this as once secretly your mother & I went to meet him. He was a handsome man, even though he was now frail & suffering, yet he still had that fire in his eyes.
Mr. Creighton was now a hero & your Uncle a traitor according to all the newspapers. It had to be that way for Eva personally had all control over the print media. Mr. Charles was ill & he died of throat cancer far before the date of the hearing. All the papers had the news of his death as the end of an evil schemer, but the people knew better. The masses were on Charles side & mourned his death, but their fear for Eva & Peron restrained them from showing any emotion.
In his will, your Uncle left everything to you, he told us this when we went to visit him at the prison. The Le Borg bloodline was thinning to a sad & inevitable halt. Its only hope was for you to continue the Le Borg legacy in the right direction. That’s the only reason both your mother & I stayed in this mansion. She stayed till her death & I shall wait till mine. Mr. Charles was like a brother I never had. Your mother had forced your father to bury him at Le Borg graveyard. Your father would never have agreed to this had your mother not threatened to expose him for the thief he was to Eva. Imagine that your father stole from you & the people who gave him a position to be feared!!
He took your money from you & spent it on gambling, women & alcohol. Your mother didn't tell you anything about this as in you, she saw so much of your Uncle's genes rather than your fathers. She feared Creighton would get rid of you as well. He never loved anybody but himself. I'm sorry you had to know all of this. I wish you had known your Uncle; he indeed was a great man. All his life your father was anything but his brother. He was so adamant that he ended up destroying the one man who had a pure love for him. Sure your father was a hero- in the papers, but in the hearts of the old Argentine people, your Uncle was the real hero. Sure your father was powerful & feared till his death, but it was your Uncle who was loved." With this, Irene wiped off the tears from her eyes & wished Reuben good night & left.
Reuben spent countless hours turning in his bed. He was contemplating what he had learned right now. Somehow Irene's version was far more believable to him than George's. Reuben knew his father was a reclusive old man. Reuben realized that he was much like Uncle; he too believed Peron had done little good for Argentine. He didn't want to live in the country where a man who had created such a disaster in the economy was exiled, only to be called back & given power seventeen years later.
With the break of dawn, Reuben left for the family graveyard. As he walked through the gates of the Le Borg graveyard at one end of Buenos Aries, his heartfelt numb. All around him were gravestones, with his ancestors beneath them. All of them were somehow responsible for his being in this world (well at least some of them). Some day he too would join them, six feet under the ground.
That April Monday of 1973, Reuben saw himself standing in front of his father’s grave for the better half of the day. Reminiscence of his past and all that the man named Creighton meant came to him with a gush of pain. All that was left of the man who had caused so much pain to his mother, Uncle, grandfather & himself, was now just a gravestone with his birth & death date on it. So many years of hatred. All his life Creighton made a conscious effort to not walk the path followed by his brother Charles. Yet he paid the ultimate homage to his brother by following him in death. Creighton was overweight, a diabetic, yet a heavy pipe smoker had a bad heart that survived three attacks & a host of lesser ailments that had tormented him for 10 years. What is noteworthy here is that Creighton died of throat cancer, the very same disease that killed his brother.
As he made a start from the graveyard, Reuben noticed that while Charles' grave was in bright sunshine, his father was almost permanently in shadow…and he was sure that there was divine justice.
Her scream woke me up with a startle. My Bua sure knows how to scream! Oh, what a hangover, I sure did have a lot to drink last night! But wouldn’t you, after all, it's not every day that you get appointed CEO of Pepi co. After what seemed like my last scotch, how many was it…10-I guess, everything seemed fuzzy. Now that my faculties have revived, this sensation of severe cold along my back and limbs is killing me. I swear I wouldn’t ever drink again-yeah, like the last time I swore.
Wait a minute, what is Bua doing in my home & why on earth is she screaming? I never liked that kurta & pyjama, a man of my exquisite taste, wears shades of cream & gray. Why did I wear it in the first place…? Hmm, see dear readers- the effect of alcohol. Oh, gad! If I’m lying down there, then how can I be standing here?
"Oh, what a shame. My nephew was not a day older than 48 (I am 45!), and the good lord took him away from us. Why God why?", having said this, there was another burst of tears from Bua Ji. God, if there was an Oscar given out for the most ‘unconvincing-actress,’ it was sure to have been awarded to Bua Ji. Look at her, pretend to cry on my death, a big charade. That’s what it is.
What am I saying? is it true? Am I really dead? How… I was going so happily back home in my car, then there was this flash of light…oh no! It's true, I’m dead. Really dead.
Gone-History!
Wow, it’s strange being dead. Hmm…maybe it’s not all that bad…after all. Repulsive, is it dear readers? Well, I always was a sick man. Yes, I’m no saint. On the contrary, I’m quite an ambitious, sophistically sordid and manipulatively an opportunist. You have to be all of the above to achieve something in a place like Mumbai.
How rude of me…I am Mr.Saptrishi.Sharma…CEO (for a week)of Pepi co. India. I’m a bachelor whose parents passed away a few years back. I hope my introduction was sufficient. Being the only child was a wonderful gift that my parents gave me; after all, when you’ve had one like me, you’d think twice. Hey, I’m not whining about it at all.
Wonder how everyone would take my death? From what I’ve learnt from Bua’s conversation is that I died last night & she’s already given an add in the obituary section of the newspaper, stating my death.
Old Bua couldn’t wait to see someone else take up the role of leader, now could she. The office would be closed & most of the staff& workers will be here to pay their last respect, more out of compulsion than respect, I guess.
I bet Deep will be devastated. Hey, what's happening? Wow, being dead sure has its perks! I can’t believe I’m in Deep’s house …there he is on the telephone. He has heard of my death; look at him sorrow written all over his face. Sandhya enters the room, " what’s wrong Deep? Why the long face?" she asked. " Its S.S., he’s dead. Passed away while driving back from the party last night, the stupid man!"
"I told you scotch would take his life one day. That’s the very reason I kept telling you he’s no good. All that arrogance went straight up his head!" Sandhya added. Dear readers, only 10 years ago, these two people who, now ridicule me, shared quite a few cups of tea with each other at my house. That bill alone would add up to a few thousand. Had it not been for my generous offer to let them share my house till they found a home for themselves, they would’ve spent the first year of their married life in some low life part of the town. Imagine that as compared to a rent-free stay for no less than a year in a 3-bedroom flat, in one of the moderately posh areas of the city. Ungrateful souls, who needs them anyway?
Well, Vikas is in Paris so he wouldn’t come to know of my death until much later…who else…? Yes, of course! Smriti, my dear, dear Smriti. Smriti, who, you ask? Well, you are quite inquisitive, aren’t you? Smriti was my lady love. Unfortunately, she went and married a man not worthy of her. Smriti couldn’t take the backseat, she wanted the importance and attention of which only my job was entitled. Harsh on my part? Well, ask any successful man, to be a success, you have to make sure the woman stays behind the job.
Deb (her husband) seems to have told her about my demise, my frail, slightly overweight wrinkled & crying love…Deb consoles her with a few kind words about me (the actor!). "Listen, dear, what comes into this world has to go away too. Saptrishi was a good friend of yours(yeah right!), I understand that. If you think you cant handle the food for tonight’s party, I’ll get it on my way back from the office. Don’t be upset, dear."
I am confused.
Was Deb saying he was sorry I passed away or that Smriti would not be able to cook today?
Deb gets up to go to work. Smriti calls out to him, "Deb don’t worry about dinner. I’ll have everything prepared, but tell me one thing…Indian ya continental?". "You sure about this? After Saptrishi’s…" Deb enquired. " Deb, S.S. never cared about me, I’m not going to let people who actually do care, suffer because of my past," I heard Smriti reply.
That was all I could take of these ungrateful people. Smriti conveniently returned all my letters written to her while dating and asked for hers back, to 'officially end' our relationship. The diamond earrings that I had bought from my(then, i.e. 15 years ago) two months' salary …she forgot to return. Everyone uses everyone else, dear reader.
Spending a few hours contemplating my life, I decided to go back home and see what was going on there. The ramification of this decision was unheard of. There they were Uncle Mandy & Bua Ji, fighting over why Bua ji had written her name over his in the family section of the obituary. Only Uncle Mandy & Bua Ji could fight at a time like this, for such a ridiculous reason.
To satisfy my calm & patient reader,(who have endured the torture of my writing), queries. I shall tell you a little about old Uncle Mandy. Actually Mr.Maninder.Sharma, elder brother to my father. Mandy uncle had fallen in love with a British tourist who’d come to Shimla. Uncle Mandy was in the family business, i.e. he was a hotelier. The hotel showed indomitable progress under my father (who was the real brains behind the outfit) than it could ever have.
With the arrival of Aunty Karen into the picture, Uncle sold his half of the hotel to my father. He did what many people in love would do…destroy himself. Like a love-struck teenager, he followed Aunty to London & eventually married. He didn’t get a job which lasted more than a week, owning one's own hotel is a lot different than working in one, right?
Things didn’t work out & after 2 years in London, Uncle returned with nothing else other than a divorce & that ridiculous accent.
At least I died a respectably established man, right?
Success comes at a price, I paid that price. My lonely evenings with only a bottle of scotch are witness to that. With tears in my eyes, I see dawn arrive. It’s funny how I never noticed the beauty of nature…sun, moon, and stars until I now know I no longer can appreciate them.
These nemeses are far too much than I can handle. Yes, dear reader, even big men, can break down and cry. My ‘antim-yatra’ or funeral ceremony had already begun. There I lay all pale & lifeless waiting for my ‘loved ones’ to carry me to my bed of fire. Several colleagues and family had come to my funeral. My body was given ‘kandha’ by Deep(yes he did come), Uncle Mandy, Bua’s no-good son and a few people from work.
All the patronizing murky talk made me abhor these people. None of them were here for me, they all were here to show that they knew the CEO of Pepi…the very high profiled man. My death was just an opportunity to make new contacts like you would in a party-that my dear reader is Mumbai.
Oh, for heaven's sake, don’t pity me; I’ve done the very same thing to several others. But all those phantoms seem so different at my own death. Yes, dear readers, I have a heart. Term me as an ingenuously pestilential as a person…I did yet have compassion…even though it was for myself only. Amongst these so-called ‘influential’ people, I see my body begin its final voyage. In this crowd of hundreds, no one with real grief for me. It tells me that I died an established man, yet, it makes me wonder…
…had I ever lived…
The day could not have dawned more perfect, with birds chirping and the sunrise, all made a beautiful site. After a week full of rain, it had to shine today…The sweet smell of wet soil seemed beautiful. Yet I felt an emptiness in my heart. What else could it be other than her passing away?
