My possessions

 Hi,

Can you scroll down to the bottom of the blog and see the photo there? Some of my possessions are seen in it.

Let us start from the right. My hat is hung over my big handbag. Next to them are two velvet coat hangers. All the three objects are from U.S.A. Hangers? Yes, why not? They fitted into our capacious bag. I had not seen good hangers like this here. Since then I have and have instantly marveled at my stupidity.

The hat is regularly used as protection against the Sun. The handbag can hold a lot of things and hide them really well. It has a big pocket on the outside besides several inside ones.

These three things are hung against the backdrop of a favourite quilt made of home-made fabric rolls. I prepare four separate rectangles and then joined them together. I had only a very basic, rough plan in mind about distributing the colours and patterns of fabrics. No perfect symmetry here but the overall arrangement is pleasing to the eye. The four panels were glued on paper and the paper was later removed.

Then there is an electric heating pad. It is indispensable to my mother in winter or when she develops a body-ache. However, initially she was very reluctant to use it.

Then there is my helmet in magenta colour. It has been sparingly used. The Corona epidemic has made me a home-bound person and my outings are few now. This helmet is tight and I have to wear it first and then wear my spectacles and so its use is even more restricted.

The big wooden dome is of our 55-year old Singer sewing machine. It won't be retired, come what may. The workman who had come to repair it a few months ago, was not impressed with the life of the machine as he has seen Singer machines that are more than a century old and still working well.

Every day when I sit down on a sofa with a cup of morning coffee, I look at these objects. They are a part of my life.

True story

 Newspapers reported it a few years ago.

A family of poor migrants went to Sangli. They found a comparatively deserted spot and put up a small hut there. Next day, mother and daughter in the family went to the river bank to wash clothes. Men in the family had gone in search of work. The son, hardly 11 or 12 years old, wandered a little away from them, found a nice spot and put his feet in water there. So much water was undreamt of luxury to them.

Suddenly a big crocodile sprang up and pulled the boy in the water with half his body in its fearsome jaw. The boy, the mother and daughter cried and shouted. The croc kept coming back to the bank and it flogged the body of the boy repeatedly. Only after some time, the croc's fury abated and it withdrew.

The horrified women ran and brought some nearby people with them. The boy was dead and his corpse had vanished. They were told that there were crocodiles in the river; it was their mating, breeding time and they were awfully aggressive during this period.

What misfortune! What an end to an upcoming, innocent young man!

Have I ever pondered over this aspect of poverty? Migration is necessary as your own place cannot support you. Some word of mouth from known persons takes you to a strange place. You know nobody there. Everything is alien. The place, topography, seasons, daily temperatures - nothing is known to you. You have no money, no contacts. You will just get by and eke out a living. Or you won't because of accidents like this one.

The news may or may not reach others. In any case, how much time will be given to the death - howsoever gruesome - of a stranger?

Everything is stacked against the poor.

Old age home

 Full five years into retirement. Covid has forced a change in lifestyle. Home-bound, sedentary life. The world has changed and how!

Well-meaning relatives are suggesting that I book a flat in a senior living facility. Many of them are coming up now and are quite popular too. "You don't have to move in immediately. Get the flat now. It may be difficult later." I am told. Sound logic and there is also the possibility that after ten years or so, I may not be able to handle property transactions properly.

So I got down from my high horse and paid a visit to one facility. It was a part of a gated community that was coming up over a very large area nestling in the hills. The eleven storey tall towers looked incongruous. Signs of prosperity everywhere. Inhabitants were well-off, educated and cultured people. But my reaction was entirely negative. I just cannot summon enough enthusiasm to go forward even an inch with this proposal.

Why?

My personality. Company of others is largely superfluous now.

Cannot bear the idea of leaving my present house. From acquiring it, furnishing it and habitating it - I have done everything here. The house reflects my personality and I am familiar, comfortable with each inch of its space. How can I leave it? How much time will I take to get acquainted with the new place? Will I breathe easy in it?

I guess I am the type of person who draws comfort from familiar surroundings, set patterns and old things. New things remain alien for a long time. The surroundings of the house are also so familiar. That includes all the landmarks and the people who live here. I am not friends with them but I know they are around. I am in thrall to nature - the rising and setting of Sun and Moon, the large army campus in the front of my flat, the tiny wood at the back, their trees and their seasons, the terrace garden and the time spent each evening just gazing at things - the sky, the breeze, lights from the road and nearby buildings. This is my world. How can I just abandon it?

It would be far better to have a companion here during the day time and may be a cook. They should be available provided they are paid adequately.

And the best would be a peaceful death at the age of 80 or so. No bed-ridden existence, no loss of memory or mind, no dependence on others.

Having played around with life to actualize all my wishes, the only wish now is for a dignified exit.