Mother. Intellectual. Inspiration.

Illustration/Uday Mohite

11AM, Wednesday. August 11. Chandanwadi, Marine Lines, my mother's body, all 28 kilos of her lay prostrate, on a stretcher at the crematorium. Preparations were underway for the cremation, not complex prayers, but simple ceremonies.

As various powders were handed to me, and as I gently spread all over the white sheet and rubbed sandalwood on her face and forehead, her eyes opened.
"Feels good, Rahul, thanks… this is the last time we'll meet face to face, quick chat?"

"Yes," I said
"Have you eaten?" she asked as she always did, as mothers do.
"I will a little later."
"Where you headed after this… to work? To work on my film with Bugs?"
(Bugs Bhargava Krishna and I are adapting my mother's short story "Old Cypress" into a feature film).
"I had some news for you, Ma. You know we're shooting the film in Hindi, right? Well Bugs and I have decided to make it in English as well, it'll be shot in two languages."
My mother smiled widely, ‘That's the best possible news! Who is writing the English dialogues?"
"Uhmmm… me."
"Good call, I suppose," she said, "Tough decision,
no doubt."

"I'll have to get into your head, you'll have to allow me to convert your prose into how I imagine your characters would speak."

"Listen, on another note, before I forget, you've got to give Shakespeare a proper shot, read all the plays. I know you have some difficulty with the iambic pentameter, but Othello and King Lear are my favourites. Consider directing one of these on stage."

"Mom, many of your students are here. Many feel you, Nisha daCunha was the greatest English professor they ever had."

My mother smiled, pleased but humble.

"Rahul, at some point you're going to clear out my stuff, from my home, distribute, sell, and give away."

"Ma, how am I going to clear out your home, 92 years of memories, souvenirs picked up on holidays through Greece, Florence - statues, sling bags, bracelets, and legacy, early Jehangir Sabawallas, and Anjolie Ela Menons, a jade topped umbrella from Sicily, memories of a life together with your spouse of 70 years. A professor of English literature, Miranda House Delhi, and St Xaviers College, Mumbai. Almost 5000 books, including the collected works of Charles Dickens - Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Nicholas Nickleby, Bleak House, Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, memorable characters, social comment delivered through rich humour, TS Eliots works, the War poets, WB Yeats, Ian McEwan, the autobiography of Barack Obama…"

"Why are you smiling?"
she asks
"I am thinking of the time I had six missed calls from you. Panicked, I call back thinking it's something to do with your health - a fall, a fever, a fracture? ‘No no, I'm so angry about Trump and his shenanigans', you said. ‘Couldn't it have waited for later,' I ask. No, I needed to talk about it right then'," you insisted.
"Accha, one last thing,
do you have a subject for your Sunday mid-day column?"
she asks.
"Mmm, I'd like to write about you… but don't know what angle to take."
"You've got to write about me, in any of your various styles. Use your Lobo Lobo, he'll have a funny take."
"Like what mom?"
"Like he's here at Chandanwadi, and he's wondering why you're cremating me."

"So maybe, Mom, the conversation goes like this, "Hey Dikuna men, why your mudder is here in dis crematorium place. Why not burying her men, next to your fadder in dat one your family graveyard… she's a Catlick na?' ‘Uh no Lobo Lobo, she isn't Catlick, she's Gujarati.' ‘Oh no men, you never tolded me, chhe, I hope she goes to heaven huh men'." My mother let out a guffaw that reverberated through the hollow spaces of Chandanwadi.
"Listen, Rahul, I have some advice for your Nats character, your Natasha Gen Xer. Keep her sharp, keep her angry about real issues, and don't let her sit on the fence. Gen Z is our only hope and she must truly represent her generation. She must also speak out about women's issues, got it Rahul?" my mother said.
Our turn had come for cremation.

"Listen you take care, yes Rahul. And don't feel orphaned. I'm always around, best of luck with the film."

And she was gone.

Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, filmmaker and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com