CAMPUS CHRONICLE!

I came to live in this campus a year and a half ago. Believe you me it is one of a kind! Comprising three acres of pristine property in the heart of the old Cantonment of namma new fangled Metro it is an idyllic retreat from the fuss and bother of life that throbs in the vicinity around it. It is home to eighty plus senior citizens, some of who are not far from a century in age. Physically and mentally there are all kinds of everyone in residence here giving me an exclusive opportunity to experience in depth what to expect as one gets older and older. I by the by, am 67! I’ve been severely arthritic since 37 so the physical challenges aren’t new to me. In fact it amuses me how old folk resist them as being natural to the ageing process, and refuse orthotic aids and other comfort appliances to simplify their daily chores. I switch with ease to a walker or wheel chair or no assistance depending on the terrain I need to traverse so as to make it easy on myself and avoid any apprehension that I might land in a heap on the ground. I’ve dealt with surgeries for medically advised joint replacements and other unexpected emergencies. It is the mental, psychological and emotional approach with which seniors tackle advancing age that I find fascinating to engage with while I attack my own!  There are two categories – the winners and the whiners…

Winners I’ve found are mainly among those who have been left to their own resources to swim or sink. They’ve thus discovered some inner stability and strength to cope with tough situations, smile through good days and endure the bad ones knowing they will pass. Some win by drifting off into an oblivion of their own, be it a world of fantasy where they dream of deserted beloved returning to claim them or just suffer delusions, or perhaps dementia which again lead them into a make believe world. For the former it may cause turmoil but can be a challenge to fight, for the latter it can be an escape from harsh realities of the daily life. What is soothing here is the freedom to roam among the trees and the birds, sit awhile with fellow companions, attend functions together and share camaraderie in the community hall. Adjustments are plenty and arguments especially in common shared areas abound I’m sure, but all in all whiners are few and can be won over by a mere listening ear is my experience thus far, as they are mature enough to realize there is no remedy for old age other than accepting it gracefully and just getting on with whatever it brings our way…

A CONGREGATION OF COUSINS IN A BYGONE ERA!

     Perhaps the field was fairly new even when when I was nearly ten! Today I’m nearer to seven times ten and it’s nothing like it was way back then…

     I reminisce about when we cousins numbering a couple of dozen used to descend for summer holidays to roam free at our grandparents’ home at Bangalore. We were among the 64 progeny of the seventeen siblings who grew up in the gracious old bungalow! Enjoying the aftermath of the April showers, a major delight was slipping through single file or vaulting over the turnstile that separated Oorgaum House, popularly known as OH, the sprawling 2 acre property of the P.G. D’Souzas, into New Field, owned by the Jesuit Religious Congregation, founders of The St. Joseph’s Indian Educational Institutions.

    Grouping agewise perhaps, we’d eagerly engage in the chatter of youngsters or teasing that ended in occasional scraps and fights. Ducking one another in the stream I remember as part of the routine; so too the tosses and bruises surely for the more adventurous.

   With Cork trees and Kirk trees lining the edge of the field alongside an open drain, the delicate white blooms the Cork trees shed, were ideal to twine into garlands. The tangy fruit of the Kirk trees was unique, entailing some endeavour with pods to be peeled and pinkish hued tongue coating skins deseeded, before devouring! Another thrill was to sail the empty shells (resembling boats) that dropped from the silk cotton trees. Silk cotton was a major ingredient used to fill pillows those times. I recollect that post a rainshower, we’d chase the tadpoles that slithered about the drain in copious numbers. Quite easy to trap in our hankies, but extremely challenging to manipulate the entire catch into Gran’s old jam bottles first filled with drain water.

         When tired of New Field, our cousinly camaraderie continued within the ancestral home compound. Tapping rubber from the rubber tree, winding and wrapping the liquid over a stone, then exulting if an irregular shaped grimy ball actually bounced was a competitive experience! Mingling with the poultry, the cows and goats, running away from vicious geese and ‘gobbledy’ turkeys, following ‘Cow’ John, the attender of these delightful specimens was a favourite pastime. Lunch time and it was a rush for ‘home made’ buttermilk at the hands of Mary aunty who’d be churning’ it in a mud pot with a ladle secured with ropes; frothy, fresh and cool to dish out to  thirsty kids. Thereafter it was off to Gran’s kitchen to observe her work with an iron blower at the old wood fire, at which we’d all try to have a ‘go’, raking up more ashes into the food being cooked, than flames! How we presumed on her immense patience with us...

     Tea time was treat time with a baker turning up on the doorstep furiously ringing his bicycle bell to announce his arrival with freshly baked bread, buns and delights like butter biscuits, cream horns, Japanese cakes and butter beans packed neatly into a trunk fitted on the carrier. Naturally with our numbers the entire load would be sold out at OH and consumed in a jiffy!

    Bathing at dusk was a unique experience too with a ‘bhan’ or iron pot built into the wall of the bathroom, half within and half without, stoked with firewood by the attender without, and containing steaming hot water exuding an aroma that is irreplaceable today. This itself before dinner and bedtime would ensure a sleep of the babes! At times we’d be blown out of our wits though with the croak of a frog keeping us company.

     ‘The family that prays together stays together’ was an adage strictly followed at the ancestral home and daily the clan would gather for the family rosary led by Gran and the elders, prior to suppertime and maybe a ‘singsong’ around the piano, before we all spread out to sleep; many opting for mattresses on the floor of the large hall to carry on the ‘lights off’ chitchats with best cousins, ghost stories and fool around a bit more till a happy dreamland claimed us…