There is never a dull moment when they are around. Hilarious anecdotes, hair-raising experiences and riveting real-life stories keep us enthralled. You might expect that theirs would be the “season of mists,” which Keats referred to in his “Ode to Autumn.” On the contrary, they exude “mellow fruitfulness.” Ranging in age from 80 to 90, these are my amazing aunts and uncles.
Take the youngest, a youthful and spry 80-year-old. He leads the neighbours’ group in ensuring street lighting, is an indefatigable member of the Rotary Club, drives around and across the city and says it is relaxing. Always on the lookout for a jaunt somewhere, he has just made plans to go to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands and will no doubt hit the depths of the ocean floor as well. He even has the joi de vivre to chat up pretty young ‘things’ and make lifelong friends of them.
Coming up next is the celebrated writer aunt. Her scholarly and well-researched articles are widely read and appreciated. But spot her at family gatherings which she masterminds immaculately, and you will find her giggling helplessly at some absurd episode or the other. Interviewing well-known people is her forte and she can reel off the names of eminent people with whom she is on first-name terms. We discover that she is an unforgettable teacher when matronly women gush up to her and say, “Ma’am, I was your student in ... do you remember me?” She always does!
Climbing up the charts comes our serene, beautiful and youthful aunt. A rank-holding student of English literature in her day, she always has a repertoire of anecdotes to regale us with. She keeps up with her walks and her old friends with equal zest, and her unstinting care of her older sibling is a model to emulate. Now she is all afire to travel and is looking for someone to accompany her to Spain.
Our oldest aunt who is house-bound now is remembered by us all for her derring-do. She it was who strung up the dry chapatis served at her hostel with a pithy epitaph for the warden to see. She led a difficult life but never lost her spirit or sharp tongue which we young ’uns experienced when we crossed the line. Even now she can put us in our place with her one-liners.
The last surviving one is my uncle who sailed into his 90s a year ago. An activist before that word came into vogue, we heard stories of when he took up the cause of a dismissed labourer and went on strike along with him and others, shouting slogans against the employers including his own father. He was so crazy about music that he would climb onto the roof and listen and learn from his sisters’ music lessons. In another lifetime he could have been a maestro. Now living overseas, he maintains a regular online blog narrating riveting stories of the old days in Kolar Gold Fields where they all grew up. An archival treasure indeed!
What is the secret behind their energy, spirit and good cheer in the face of adversity?
Perhaps, to borrow from Keats again, they have their music too. Would that we could hear it and follow.
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