Jargogled Impressions.

The boiling water is making a desperate sound. Blackened pan sits on top of the blue flame of butane and the crackle of the evaporating liquid is familiar. R sits on the narrow pedestal that the kitchen-window permits and looks out at the sight she has been accustomed to since the past 30 years. Red kiln bricks cover the captive horizon; some new constructions have indeed come up over the past few years. Change follows its own timetable and sets up the crucible for renewed urgency. 

Single storied houses compete for the scooped up space and wild outcroppings at random joints pushes back the urbanization with passionate appeal. The windows are long and narrow, offering the space for sunlight to cautiously creep in the morning and gradually invade the marble-lined flooring. Sprinkles of marble in an outpost of cement, they provide a combustible mixture to wax nostalgia. She can still hear the cries and the shrill laughter of tiny legs. Time keeps its appointment with history and brings pouring sadness to the graying surrounding. 

She is awakened from this mid-afternoon slumber through the all-too-familiar sound from the adjacent room. The crackle magically senses the shift and rises to the occasion and things are back on the timeline. She hurries to the stove and a pinch of Darjeeling tea descends onto the water volcano, paints it in its color and swirls around in the merry-go-round. A dollop of sugar comes next for the masala which is disliked for its cutting edge. Even in the process of making tea, she notices the change. Milk, now added last, makes it less of a health hazard as per her ‘Good Housekeeping’ column. She has to renew the subscription to that magazine she suddenly remembers. “Must ask K to renew it for me. Oh dear, I wish I could have done it myself!”

The telephone rings and is picked up soon after, just as the grimy concoction in the pan swells up rapidly to the brim. Strangely, a wave climbs up in her stomach at the very instant. It wells up and before it’s-too-late, is distilled through the fine mesh of the sieve and deposited onto the china that stands awaiting. 

A bidding! So it is! Who might it be calling it at this hour? If only her excitement could be sensed hundreds of miles away. The way it boils up and extracts out the permeating suffocation.  The excitement of a phone call, as if it were a pre-arranged trunk call made from a hired outpost by a distant cousin in a far-away land. But here we are, in the current age when calls come thick and fast but not from those from whom we want to hear. Just a phone call away, she was promised and she took it to be so. Now, years down the line, she knows it could never be so. 

As she moves towards where the phone is, she asks herself millions of questions; such is the nature of her mind. Emotions are time capsules that lie tucked away in eternal glory. Popping them each passing day she remembers her resolve and resolves to remember. For decisions that were taken back in the days are irreversible today, for the strength that dominated and were in reserve are rapidly dwindling out. She is witness to the change and waits helplessly for it to come to her in order so she could be closer to her life, her family.  

Jerry only visits when he needs something from her. A photo, a signature, etc. and does not call her despite her repeated requests. When she calls, he is usually occupied with something so all she gets are point answers to her prodding questions. 

How are you doing Jerry?

Fine, ma. 

How are the kids doing?

They are doing ok, I guess. Growing up and shit. 

What’s happening with them? It has been so much time since I met them last. Tell me more about them. 

There’s nothing to tell Ma. They are just kids, you know. 

I know… I tend to get so lonely these days Jerry. Would you not come around one of these days to give your Mom a holler? 

I am really busy Ma. There are so many things happening that it’s just impossible to drive for 3 hours to get to you. Why don’t we plan to take this up again sometime next year, may Christmas?

Next year Christmas? We are in November now Jerry! 

I know Ma. What can I say. Miguel is really tense with her work right now, and with the house falling down on us it’s really touch and go how we are managing it. I really wish we could come but you know how it is. 

I know… well give me love to the kids. 

I will. Take care Ma. Goodbye.

Bye.. the phone drops before she can complete her sentence. 

That’s how the phone calls go these days – her, imploring the son to be more open and share details about his life and him, fielding questions like a goalie and figuring out where to land. In the loneliness of her daily existence, when the household chores aren’t enough to keep her mind occupied, she leans on the past to fill the hours of the present.  Her future, uncertain and unwilling. 

The phone’s still ringing as she wakes up from her day-dreams and she hesitates to pick it up – willing the pattern to not repeat itself. But she knows she needs to attend to it and she does. 

Hello? 

Hi – is this Sharon Smith? 

Her heart sank. An unrecognizable voice. 

Yes? Who is this?

Hi Ms. Sharon – my name is Rodrigo. I am calling from Community Bank and would love for you to fill a survey for us as you are one of our customers. We want to understand how we can improve our services! Would you have a few minutes to help us with the survey?

Umm.. I am sorry no. I am awaiting a phone call now and I don’t have the time. 

Oh ok. Sorry to have bothered you Mrs. Sharon. We will call back later at a better time. Have a great day! 

Thank you. 

She goes back to her tea, sipping slowly while thoughts surface in her head like vapors that she had long forgotten. She remembers the tiny Jerry, with his fascination for boxes – how he could stay fixated on boxes and watch as it opened and closed the lids. Simple joys and clear needs, she hated those days but not as she looks back, she could do anything to bring it back. Bring it all back. But alas, time is elusive like those stomach pains she endures every now and then – appearing suddenly out of nowhere and just as she is packing her things for the doctor, it vanishes like thin air. Yes, our past lives appear as simple and uncomplicated. As if a never ending climb complicates life further and further until there is nothing left other than to die and leave all the complexity behind. She wonders how people manage to live past 90 and what it could do to people like her, alone in the world and yet not alone entirely so. In moments of anger and frustration, she ends up wishing if she did not even have the option of expecting a call from family, she may have been better off minus the expectations. Again, mistakes were made, but she would readily make the same mistakes again. 

—

They were driving towards Jerry’s school one day when she had to make a stop for grabbing her daily drug supplies. Those days she was on a number of drugs for depression and kept running out of her supplies every other week, given her doctor could only fill the prescription in 2 week increments. Without the drugs she was like a rudderless boat in an ocean, tossing and turning in the event of the tides of life. In any case, as she stopped at the pharmacy to pick up her drug, she instructed Jerry to stay in the car while she made a quick pick up. Only, on that day, the pharmacy took 45 minutes to get her her medicines. A few minutes in, as she argued with the pharmacist on the volume of drugs, it escaped her that Jerry was sitting outside in the scorching heat inside the car. 30 minutes went by as her mind continued to be occupied by the medicines she badly needed even as Jerry outside tried, in vain, to open the doors so he could get out. She had jerry-rigged the car so it did not unlock from inside and Jerry was stuck inside. A crowd gathered around the car as concerned people peered inside to see what was happening – Jerry was sweating like a shark as the inside of the car heated up quickly. The murmuring crowd initially did not know what to do but then a number of heads scrambled about to search for the owner of the grey sedan, to locate a crowbar so they could open the lock. She heard over the intercom about the enquiry on the owner of the grey sedan and initially did not register that it was her car they were talking about. But when it suddenly hit her, it dawned on her about Jerry and she rushed outside past the aisles of merchandise. 

Rounding the corner to where she had parked, she saw a crowd around her car. Angry and confused at the same time, she rushed over to see the middle aged man smashing the back window of her car through a crow bar – the siren of the car blared louder than the loudest of war cries. Her anger was uncontrollable, she confronted the man on his action and made a big ruckus about the same. She was the mother, she knew what was best for her son. How dare you smash the windows like that? Who would pay for this now? 

Little did she care about Jerry, who had collapsed in a fit of dehydration inside. The crowd around her dispersed, leaving the lunatic be, even as some concerned faces stayed to ensure the child was taken care of. But no amount of nudging and pointing could help her understand what had happened inside the car – so engrossed was she with fighting with the man who had smashed her windows. When she did, her first reaction had been anger for Jerry – how could he be so weak as to collapse in 40 minutes inside? But then realization dawned on her and she hastened to open the door and bring Jerry out by the sidewalk and in the shade. He was still breathing, but he was sweating profusely, the breathing was laborious as he seemed to be hallucinating more than fainting. 

She took Jerry to the nearest public hospital and waited for her turn with the medical staff. The nurse came over to check the temperature, pulse, and the blood pressure for Jerry and asked her to wait for 30min before a physician could see her. “Nothing to worry about”, she said. In this weather, such things happen quite a lot. 

She seemed relieved. 

Back at home, after the doctor released them with a few precautionary suggestions, she grew back into her old self. But for those few hours when he sat there with her mother, Jerry wished it could stay like this. For long devoid of her love and care, Jerry wanted nothing else other than her attention, but that was not to be. Megan went back to her ways – bringing strangers home, arriving late at night intoxicated and high, and berating Jerry for everything that was wrong with her life. 

For the 15 years till this went on, Jerry plotted his escape from this life and resolved to never look back to where he came from.  After high school, he convinced his economics teacher to loan him some money so he could start college 1500 miles away, away from his mother, from this place. Working through college to support his loan and to repay back the kind teacher, Jerry’s steadfast orientation towards achieving the escape velocity made him excel in his studies and secure a stable job at General Electric. 

As he put down the phone he had picked up to call his mother and sat there in his office, looking out the window at the parking lot in front of him, Jerry felt nothing. His memories evoked nothing other than anger for him and he had made attempts to block it from coming. But his mother ensured that was not to be. For as much as he wanted to rid himself of her, she continued to stick around and pester him – as if she had installed a mental block that let her believe she had done nothing wrong with raising Jerry the way she did. He did not understand her, neither did he want to. All he knew was, he was going to be a far better parent than her mother had been to her. And that was that. 

 —