||Old is Gold ||
Dr. Arunshankar’s English version
of
my Marathi short story
॥ जुनं तें सोनं ॥
“Listen … do you hear me? Please come over here for
a moment …,” my father-in-law called to my mother-in-law.
The year was 1975, and Navaratri[1] festival was going on.
My engineering college was closed for Diwali vacation since a few days.
Mr Totay – my father-in-law – being the professor of electrical engineering
in my college, was also on vacation. Moreover, as my wife and I were married
the previous year, this was the occasion of our first Diwali
felicitation, for which my mother-in-law had extended to us a non-negotiable
invitation to stay with them since the Navaratri festival itself. Going
a step ahead of her mother, my wife, whom I have nicknamed Indiraji,[2] had issued a fatwa
that we should go there from the first day of Ghat Sthapana so that she could lend a hand to her mother during
all the festive preparations.
But we both had full-time jobs, and could not align
our leaves, so that by the time we went to stay with my in-laws it was the day
of Vasubaras.[3]
My father-in-law was a peace-loving
and contemplative sort of person by nature. In
stark contrast, my mother-in-law occupied the
other end of the spectrum … a typical specimen
of the Kamathi community!! Once she started wielding her tongue, the
opponent’s rout was guaranteed. Nonetheless, she was butter-soft towards her daughters … especially the sons-in-law … so much
so that she would not hesitate to take them also to
task if need be.
My in-laws have three daughters. My wife is the
middle one, and because she looks very much like my father-in-law’s late mother, my in laws were especially
fond of her. Besides, my mother-in-law nurtured a reverential respect
for the intelligence of Brahmins, and because I was one, she seemed to have an
extra-soft corner for me.
Anyway, as soon as we stepped in, she fired the
first salvo. “So?... … … Do you consider it below your dignity to stay with
your in-laws … …eh?... … … Or is your wife reluctant to stay away from her
in-laws?... …What is it?... … Why is it that you have been dilly-dallying about
coming over here?... Out with it!!!”
Unwilling to face that artillery, I tamely began, “Well … … … it is neither this
nor that mother... …” Before I finished, she countered, “I see … …. Then you
tell me what it is and how it is … … eh?”
Now Indiraji opened her innings, “Look, mummy,
… let me tell you what the thing is………...”
“You be quiet,” snapped her mother, silencing her.
“Let me first hear from him what it is all like… … and then I will deal with
you.”
Seeing I was tongue-tied, she announced her
verdict, “Now you can’t move out of here for a week, at least … … … …!! Is that understood?”
I looked at my father-in-law … … … He was gazing at the ceiling!!!
“Okay, as you wish Mother… … … we will stay for a
week. … What’s the big deal?” I said, and signed the Treaty of Versailles!!.
While setting out for her mother’s place, Indiraji
had reminded me that her parents had reached their sixties and so, naturally,
were finding it difficult to keep up with various chores at home. Yet they –
especially my mother in law – would not easily let us help them out in any way,
because of which we ought to take on as many jobs as we could and ease away
their labors. As a result, we had come well prepared for the ordeal. But things
turned out to be quite otherwise.
After everyone had their baths and breakfasts, we
set out for the market to make purchases for the festival. By the time we were
through, nearly two hours had passed. So we had a cup of tea at Kamath’s
before trudging home.
What confronted us at home was a transfer scene!!
Along with
the housemaid, my mother-in-law had, in a manner of speaking, rolled up her
sleeves and applied herself to the full set of chores. My father-in-law was
also busy, having emptied all the cupboards, dusting and cleaning all their
contents. The entire house had the looks of a chaotic archaeological museum …
thirty-year-old kerosene wick-stoves … and all
sorts of mysterious and wonderful articles were scattered all over the
place.!!!
No sooner had we put our foot in than my
mother-in-law hailed Indiraji, “Patu (short for her maiden name,
Pratima) … … will you tidy up, get ready, and join us here for a while?”
“Coming, Mum … … …,” she bellowed, “Wait a while,
and give me a moment … we have just
stepped in.”
“Has old age already caught with you to say ‘Wait a
while’?” thundered her Mother. “Get ready, and start cleaning the platform to
have is shining. Are these jobs going to wait till your highness is ready ... …
… eh?”
In turn, Indiraji turned her guns on me. “Do
you heard mom. dear? Take down all these things off the platform so I can start
cleaning it!!! ”
Hardly had she completed the order, when my
mother-in-law roared, “Patu, you are not to pass on any job to Ravi !! … … … Is that clear?”
“How does it matter, mum, if I tell him to help me
a bit?” she grumbled.
“Yes… … it does matter … … …,” her mother
shot back. “He is the son-in-law of this house … …
that’s why. If my friends in the community get wind of this, they will shame
both you and me, well and proper!! … … So get on with it …you hear me? ”
Having nowhere to appeal, Indiraji picked up
the broom and the wiping cloth, and got on with the job in hand, which sent
waves of tickle in my tummy!!!
Seeing everyone getting on feverishly with their
jobs, I too started doing bits and pieces, taking care to avoid the sharp eye
of my mother-in-law. And it was then that I
spotted a closed cardboard box in that chaos.
Opening it, I saw a collection of cloth stripes of
various colors, shapes and texture. Many of them had silver and gold thread
borders too. Holding the box before my father-in-law, I inquired, “Do you know
what these are, Father? Are these to be preserved or discarded?”
Being nonplussed by my query, my father-in-law had
made the emergency call to my mother-in-law mentioned at the beginning.
“Why the hell are you bawling so much? What is it
that you want?” shouted my mother-in-law and, wiping her hand on the cloth
tucked in her waist band, came out of the kitchen into the living room.
“I just wanted to know,” protested my
father-in-law, “why on earth these rags are
packed in this box like this ? … … Looks like just one more addition to the junk that has gathered in the house!! ... …This is just getting out of
control … …”
My mother-in-law gave him back well and good.
“First of all, take down and throw out the junk
box in your own cupboard … !! ... … you hear me? It is full of nothing but
rusted nails, screws, all kinds of metal strips, plastic pieces and such
nonsensical things. Toss it out of the window first … … … and only then talk
about this box … !! ... … is that clear?”
“Do you mean you want to discard all old things and
articles? Is that what you really mean?” inquired my father-in-law.
“What else?”, continued my mother-in-law, “Outright junk!! … … Of no use whatsoever to anybody!! ... …
Throw it out first of all!!!”
My father-in-law replied, “Look dear… … by this
logic, first of all I will have to throw you out before everything
else!!”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you not the oldest entity in this house?” asked my father-in law, wearing an
innocent expression on his face.
Now my redoubtable mother-in-law slapped her palm
on her forehead, and screamed, “These are not rags … … can’t you see that?
These are embroidered borders of Paithani sarees!!”
Deflated, my father-in law asked, “But tell me … …
from which weaver did you buy these? ... … And what on the earth for? ... … I
don’t recall having seen you wearing any of
these, ever!”
“Have you ever looked at your wife with open
eyes? Then how the hell can you notice
anything at all … … you tell me?” blasted my mother-in-law. “My mum’s mother-in-law had bought them for her in her
marriage, and made her dress in all of them. After my mum was no more, I used
them all. These are the strips of the exquisite borders
of those sarees … … … you understand? You can’t even hope to get such silver and gold thread borders now … and that’s why I have preserved these …
you know the saying ‘Old is Gold’, don’t you?”
“What about you?”
“I know it damned well … …,” thundered my mother-in-law decisively … … “And That’s why
I still continue to carry my cross in this house!!! … … Now do you have
any more questions?!!! ”
Now it was my father-in-law’s turn to slap his palm
on his forehead. “But why are you storing only the
border stripes now?”
Pointing her finger at Indiraji, she said,
“Are’t you keen to have a granddaughter? So, if Patu gets a daughter first, I
want to make for her tops and skirts with borders of these genuine gold and
silver stripes ... … … you understand?”
But my father-in-law raised a fundamental difficulty. “And what if she first gets a son?”
Mother-in-law floored the argument with one swift blow. “In that case these threads will yield enough
gold to make him all the jewelry he needs, from head to toe … … After
all, ‘Old is gold’ … … isn’t it?!!”
Father-in-law shut up instantly … … closed the box and, handing it over to Mother-in-law, said, “Now do me a favor, and at
least lock this up in your steel cupboard … … … will you?”
Hardly had he finished when Indiraji
appeared, holding in one hand a flat round box with a beautiful floral design
on the lid, and a sturdy, red colored
plastic basin in the other, and chirping, “Mother, how nice these are … this
tub is just right for collecting hot water for bath … and this box … so
convenient to keep my sewing things … ”.
“Then take them away … dear,” encouraged Mother,
“Do you need to seek my permission for it, if you have liked these things ? …
and of course you recognize this tub …”.
“Me?... … I don’t think I have seen it before
mummy,” blurted my wife.
“How will you recollect? You were just two years
old when you sat in this tub to take your bath!!”
“And this box?” chirped Indiraji,
“So pretty, mum … … !! Where in the world did you find it?”
“Didn’t find anywhere dear… …,” clarified
mother-in-law, “I had got it as an present award for
standing first in the fourth standard!!! ”
Now it was Indiraji’s turn to slap her
forehead with her palm for one more demo of the Old-is-Gold policy. !!!
Very soon, in compliance with my mother-in-law’s fatwa,
the other two daughters and sons-in-law also arrived. She, too, felicitated
them in style, with gifts to all. She also invited her brothers and sisters,
with their children, and had them celebrate Bhaubeej[4] in full splendor.
On the parting day she called me and placed on my
palm an old ladies’ wristwatch, saying “Give this to Patu as a heirloom from my
Father. He presented it to me in 1932, when my wedding was solemnized … … I
have not used it for many years, but if you get it serviced and gold-plated from a trustworthy watchmaker, then I
think she can use it. In fact I should have got
this done myself, but in the bustle of this festival I just could not find the
time for it. Your wife was my Daddy’s favorite granddaughter … … you understand
dear? So I want to give this to her.”
I peered at the watch, and noticed that it was a
curious piece, carrying the Pierre Cardin logo. The mechanism was enclosed in a
rectangular case, and its transparent front had a cover that could be opened
like the lid of a box. Its grey-white dial had Roman numerals engraved over it,
and each had a beautiful crystal opposite it. The arms had arrow-shaped heads,
and the bracelet was decorated with a cursive design. It was an unusual watch,
though the case and the bracelet seemed tarnished. It looked as if it would
need gold plating after the watchmaker had blown life into it.
Thanking my in-laws, and bagging their blessings,
we returned home … … .
When I showed the watch to Indiraji, she said,
“First get this in working order from the watchmaker, and then have it gold-plated,
if I have to use it. But somehow this got delayed as she had another working
watch to wear, and the watch was totally forgotten as days and months went by.
Both our children played with it as a toy, and when they grew up, I put it back in
our display case. In course of time, the children became adults … … my in-laws
passed away … … … and our daughter’s marriage was settled in 2003.
It was then that, out of the blue, Indiraji
remembered that watch again. !!
“Look dear… … … ,” she said, “my wristwatch has broken
down … … I have shown it to a watchmaker near my office, but he said it is now
beyond repair and advised me to buy a new one … … … So …
… … … … why not get that Mother’s watch repaired? You take it to Appa
Nagpurkar and ask him to have it ready in a couple of days. Then you can have
it gold plated also from Kanhayyalal, and I would be able to wear it in
Snigdha’s wedding!”
Hearing this fatwa, I pocketed the shabby
looking watch and dashed to Nagpurkar’s shop. He
is a real nerd of watches, and I have known him for years. From Favre Leuba’s
alarm clocks to Omega’s chronometers, he could handle all mechanical watches
with equal facility … almost peerless in Pune!
I narrated the whole background to him and pleaded
to get the watch working in a day or two. But Appa had
already snapped on his watchmaker’s loop and was lost in examining the time
piece from every angle … … … I was getting restless, but he was lost in the watch
… oblivious to my squirming. !!
Appa gently removed the loop from his eye at last,
and said, “Thank you, Nana.”
“ ‘ Thank you … …? ’… For what?” I blurted.
“For bringing this watch to me and letting me have
a chance to eye it!!”
“But I want it repaired in two days.”
“No no no Nana … … ,
this watch cannot be repaired now … … … Tell me … … had you given it to your
kids for playing?”
“Of course I had!. And both my children have played
with it to their heart’s content!! ... It is very old, Appa.”
“I know that,” he replied. “There is a 1932 Pierre
Cardin watermark on its inner side. This is a fully hand-made watch … case,
mechanism, and all … its place is now only in a museum!!”
“What do you mean Appa?... We have to throw it away?...
… This is a gift to my wife from her mother!!!”
“I thought so … … I thought so … … … ,” he sighed.
“Nana, get the idea of having it repaired totally out of your mind, and keep it
securely in your locker now … Don’t even think of having it repaired, and further,
please do not take it to anyone else … … Consider it your good luck that you
brought it to me!!!”
I gasped. “Why on earth is that?”
“Look, Nana … … …” Appa said, making a revealation,
“the dial of this watch is of genuine ivory, and the digits are hand-carved
into it … !!
“The crystals opposite the digits are real Austrian
diamonds … … …!!!
“And, excepting the mechanism, the entire watch –
case, bracelet and all – is made of pure 24 carat gold!!!!”
My eyebrows touched the
hairline!!
“Your mother-in-law must have been wearing this
watch while cooking, and over years it must have gathered a film of smoke and carbon in places … …
“If it is buffed on a machine, it will again shine
like a brand new one … … …
“And if you take it to a collector of antiques, he
will easily shell out a few lakhs[5] for it, with a drooling
mouth,!!!... … … How’s that for a change ?”
Stunning me with this revelation, Appa was again
lost in viewing the watch with unblinking eyes … … … …
And I too, clean bowled mentally, and staring at
the irrefutable evidence of my late mother-in-law’s faith in ‘Old is Gold’,
slapped my palm on my forehead again and again.!!!!
*********************************************************************
Dr. ARUNSHANKAR.
[1]
Literally nine-nights festival for worshipping goddess Durga, ending on
the tenth day, which is Dashera. The first day, when the idol is
installed, is called Ghat Sthapana.
[2]
After our strong-willed woman prime minister.
[3]
The second day of Diwali festival.
[4]
The day when sisters venerate their brothers, who in turn confer gifts on them.
[5]
One hundred thousand.
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