An Untold Story

Mr. Srinivasan got up to the first streaks of dawn that filled his bedroom. He quietly glanced to see if Radha was sleeping. He was never given the chance to wake up early . It was always her. As he leaned over the bed, he found his object under suspicion . Radha was there , beaming with the usual smile and coffee as though god had come down to have her "Narasus" coffee. Krishnan meticulously got up from his bed and headed to the washroom. When he reached the "Thinnai"( sit-out) his morning was made. The hot and just-brewed coffee lay with the newspaper to accompany it. The couple in their late 60’s helped themselves. Radha made the coffee in the right proportion. Little water , more "Narasus" coffee powder with the right amount of milk . No sugar even on days when Srinivasan begged for one teaspoon of it. She always used the traditional coffee filter. Never bothered to even have a look at the priced Café Maker that her son Seshadri had sent her from USA. This was how every day started. Srinivasan was all geared up for his bath. He convinced Radha that he could manage without her help. Radha anxiously waited outside the washroom like how every man waits when his wife is in labor. Radha heard the thud and tears came streaming down her turmeric-bathed cheeks. She forced open the door only to find Mr Srinivasan helplessly fitting himself to his chair. This was what happened every day. Mr Srinivasan , a retired Southern Railways Accountant and now a Stroke patient assured Radha that he was fine. He was then brought out of the room fresh and clean in a veshti . Reading the newspaper was the ritual that followed next , even though only Lord Venkatesha knew what he could comprehend. He would shake his head in agreement as he flipped through the pages , occasionally looking up to see if he was being watched by his wife. If that was true, he would smile sheepishly. Radha in the meanwhile cooked the food that suited his taste buds. If it were his favourite Saathamudhu( Rasam) or the famous beans kootu , Radha would be greeted with a victorious smile otherwise there would be mumers when the food was fed into his mouth. Radha then updated him with the serials screened on Tv and also about the well being of their relatives and neighbors. Every day Radha would run to the room to wipe her tears in between the feeding process. Her mind ran to memories about 20 years back. Seshadri her elder son, who used to study at The Indian Institute of Technology ,would always be around during weekends to assist his mom with her daily chores and help Sampath, his younger brother with his studies. All changed when Seshadri finished his MBA from IIM, B ( Bangalore). He got an offer at The United States of America and flew to the greener pastures never to return to India . Sampath also followed suit. Only difference being he went to the United States Of America immediately after his B tech. She was interrupted by constant coughing. Mr Srinivasan was having troubles swallowing food. She assured him that his sons might be thinking of him . He beamed a triumphant smile . If only Radha could tell him the truth behind the Fake Calls that she made from the nearby ISD booth asking a guy there to speak like her son. Seshadri , the guy who used to do his "Sandhi" everyday and knew the Vishnu Sahasranam, ShreeSutham, PuruSutham by heart , could hardly utter the word "Sandhi" ( pronounced it like " Sindhi" ) now. The door bell rang. Radha hurriedly stuffed some food inside Srinivasan’s mouth and went to answer the door. It was one of those cheques from Germany and USA. She would always think ,behind every ring of the door bell were her sons. Seshadri’s and Sampath’s children could not take the heat and pollution in India. They were scared that the cows near their Triplicane house would hit their children. Radha couldn’t travel abroad because there was no one to take care of her husband. Radha was caught up in this confusion. She had played the roles of a mother, wife , mother-in-law, grandmother way too well.. As these thoughts filled her mind, her stomach grumbled out of hunger. She realised that she hadn’t fed herself.

This is very common in India especially in the South Indian families. Why is it that Seshadri and Sampath couldn’t come back to India even for a visit ? There are many more Radhas and Srinivasans in India. Why is it that the children are never there for parents when they need them most. What aged parents demand is a visit now and then . Why are the very many Seshadris and Sampaths’ not able to fulfill this. Are we going to make any difference in the lives of our own Radha and Srinivasan ?