DECAY

 The experience at the movie hall buoyed Ambika Prasad to no end. He felt braver than ever. Instead of starting his ablutions at five in the morning, followed by a shower, he lay in bed till almost eight. At work, he talked loudly with everyone and even perched himself on other people's desks to banter. Though no one brought it up, he was sure his behaviour was being noticed and possibly discussed.

He itched to let his family know he was a changed man. It worried him that he must have always appeared dull to them, a distant figure who sent money by post. He had little time to lose now that his days were numbered. He decided to write a letter which would make them sit up and take note. Once they came to visit, they'd see and marvel.

For two evenings in a row, he sat up on his bed, working on a number of drafts. He was uncomfortable sitting all hunched up, for his stomach hurt more than on other nights. Every few minutes, he had to readjust his shawl which kept slipping off his shoulders. His fingers were numb with the cold. In the end, he settled on a version. It was subtle yet conveyed the urgency of his personal twilight.

All his life, he had written to his father, later his son. For the first time, he had addressed a letter to his wife. He wrote,

Beloved Janaki,

I hope the herbal oil you had purchased abated the pain in your knee joints. Modern medicine is no good in the final years of one's life. Taking them is an abuse.

Tell Shivnath, our son, that though costs are rising, it is important to keep the family name alive.

Give my love-laden blessings to Babli, Lovely and Divya (Jubilee) who are missed every day.

He struggled over the signature. His wife of forty years had always referred to him as 'Shivnath's father'. It looked dimwitted when put in a letter. He ended up signing his entire name, as in official papers.

Ambika Prasad bought expensive postage to ensure the letter travelled quicker than ordinary mail. His unusual views on modern medicine would strike them as odd, and make them speculate about his health. Again, he was known all across his village for refusing to pine away for a grandson. Such thinking is provincial, he told any village elder who brought it up. An about-turn there would confirm that things were not right with him. 

Over the next several days, the sound of an autorickshaw hurtling past found him rushing to the window, for he reckoned his family would set out within hours of reading the mail.

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