Gossip - 2

To an onlooker he might have looked like an old man. After all, he was over 70 years old, was retired, and devoted most of his time to the Upa Pawl, the elderly citizen's association, of which he was the secretary. But he didn’t think of himself as old at all. Agreed his hair was graying on all sides, he couldn’t walk as fast as he used to, had to struggle a bit to remember facts, all his children were grown up, and there were a bunch of grandchildren. But he was still the same person, still felt as good as he did in the 70’s. His eldest son who was posted in Kolasib had recently built a big house for him where he now lived with his wife and their youngest son. He willed himself not to think about where the money came from.

It was a very good house, three stories, big balconies on each floor, and three bedrooms on each floor. His divorced daughter and her two children lived on the topmost floor, and the ground floor was converted into a row of shops which gave him some income apart from his pension. Siama, his youngest son, well, he was thirty five years old now but still behaved like a twenty year old, and the old man secretly wondered if Siama was planning to stay unmarried the rest of his life. Siama was a good catch all right, not bad looking, owned a business selling and repairing computers, although the old man couldn’t still figure out what computers do. He thought about the girls Siama used to see, and realized they were all married now and with children; he wondered where they went wrong with this one.

“Siama-pa, did you remember to take home a piece of the wedding cake for Siama?”

That was his wife calling from the kitchen, a tiny sprightly woman, always fussing over her grown-up son, whom she still treated like a baby. “No wonder he never got married,” the old man thought, “who could measure up to his dear old mother?”

“Siama-pa, did you hear what I said?”

He still didn’t answer. Sometimes he wondered why he’d married her in the first place. She was a very talkative girl, always running after him and asking him endless questions. He guessed he’d married her just to shut her up, but no, she kept on talking, and had been talking for the last forty-five years.

“Oh you're such a useless old man, can’t even remember to take home a cake for your child. The poor boy spends all his waking hours in that shop of his, and you wouldn’t take the time to ask for a single piece of cake. Cecilia’s mother would have been very pleased to give you one; she has always looked on us as family ever since they moved into our neighbourhood.”

He was sick of hearing about Cecilia’s mother. It seems his wife had nothing to do but gossip all day with that neighbour of theirs. Cecilia was also the youngest child, a much pampered kid. The old man thought his wife and Cecilia’s mother were always engaged in a competition, “Who pampers her baby more” as he called it. Siama was much older than Cecilia, why, he was almost a man when Cecilia was born, but still their mothers compared them as if they had been born on the same day, at the same exact hour.

He went into the kitchen where his wife was making tea.

“Didn’t Cecilia look lovely today? Do you know her dress was made by one of the top tailors in Delhi?” his wife said without looking at him.

“You mean fashion designer.”

“Whatever. Her mother told me it cost thirty five thousand rupees, and Zotea’s family couldn’t pay for it, and it was Cecilia’s father who ended up paying for it. Not that he minded, but you know Zotea’s family had said they would pay for the wedding dress. But I'm not surprised. After all, Zotea’s mother is dying of cancer; all that hospital bills must have eaten up a huge chunk of their money.”

She handed him a cup of tea, and then opened the fridge and inspected the vegetables.

“Poor Pi Hlimi, she doesn’t deserve it. She has such good faith in the Lord. I’ll never understand why bad things happen to good people,” her husband said.

“Cecilia’s mother said the reason they got married so soon was because Pi Hlimi didn’t have much time, and did you see that Pi Hlimi sat throughout the ceremony and went straight home afterwards? I heard that the doctors said there was nothing more that could be done. That’s why they never go for checkups anymore.”

“We should pay her a visit after the wedding commotion settles down.”

“Yes we must do that.” She sat down beside him, and blew on her tea to cool it down. “We must also see how Cecilia is doing, how well she is adjusting. Poor child, barely twenty and all that responsibility thrust on her, taking care of a sick old woman, running a household, oh I'm not sure if her parents did the right thing, letting her go.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Zotea’s sisters are quite efficient, Cecilia wouldn’t have to do a thing except sit and look pretty.”

“They are efficient all right, but they are not, what do you say, normal? Did you know the elder sister is having an affair with her boss, a married man? And the other sister, never going to church, never going to any community do, never going anywhere, sometimes I think that one is not quite right in the head. And I hear she doesn’t have any friends either. “

“But Senteii is the one who always receives me whenever I visit Pi Hlimi, always making tea for all the visitors and always smiling although she never makes any small talk. Her family completely depends on her for all the cooking and cleaning, she runs the house very efficiently.”

The old woman left her unfinished tea, got up and opened her cupboard, measured out a cup of lentils and started cleaning it, removing the little stones and sticks.

“Siama-nu, did the newspaper man come today? I couldn’t find Vanglaini anywhere,” the old man said, rummaging through a stack of newspapers and magazines kept on the lowest shelf of the kitchen cupboard.

“Siama took it to his shop.”

“When will that boy subscribe to his own newspaper? Every time I want to read the newspaper it’s always at his shop. I didn’t know he was so interested in the news. I've never seen him read at home, all he ever does is hang around with teenagers and play computer games.”

He walked away, still grumbling, and changed into his work clothes - an old T-shirt splotched with paint, and one of Siama’s old track pants which his daughter had forbidden him to wear. (It’s not like you don’t have your own pants, she had said). But this one was comfortable, the elastic waist made movement easy, and the pockets were deep.

He had almost reached the door when his wife called out, “And where are you going, so dressed up?”

“I thought I’ll go and see how my tomatoes are doing.”

“Your tomatoes are fine. What did your doctor say about working outdoors?”

He went back to the kitchen.

“My doctor doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”

“Oh yes he does. He said so yesterday.”

“And when did you find the time to speak to my doctor? I thought you were busy helping out Cecilia’s mother.”

“I met his wife, she told me he said you should not work outside so much, or else you’ll get sunstroke again.”

“Sunstroke? I wouldn’t worry about that. The temperature is only 25 degrees, it’s not like we are living in the equator or something. “

“In the where?”

“I mean Africa.”

“Why would I want to go and live in Africa? It’s so hot out there, and I hear they eat people.”

“Not anymore. They are much more civilized than you.”

“But it’s still hotter than Aizawl, isn’t it?

“My point exactly.”

He walked out of the door into the warm afternoon sun,and was surprised to feel a surge of happiness suddenly rising from somewhere inside him. Humming his favourite tune, with his hands tucked safely inside his pockets, he made his way towards the little patch of land on his backyard he called his garden.