I make a “to-do” list whenever I go out so that I don’t miss out any chores, which may, otherwise, necessitate additional trips. You know, “bank”, “vegetables” and such.
We love Gujarati snacks such as papri , ganthia and khakra , and stock these purchased from Mansukhlal’s shop not far from home. Asha had asked me to buy papri , four 100-gram packets, and I dutifully wrote “Mansukhlal” on my list.
There were other tasks, each involving searching for a parking space and walking to the place of business. In the day’s planned “circuit”, I parked some distance from Mansukhlal’s and ambled across. There were some customers at the counter, and it took a little time to meet the proprietor and exchange pleasantries with him. He asked what I would like to buy. I could not for the life of me recall what it was I had come for, and noticing my confusion, he gently said, “Don’t worry, take your time. This happens to all of us.”
I took the “to-do” list from my pocket, but all it said was “Mansukhlal”.
There were others waiting, so after a minute or two I told him I would do some other chores and come back when I recall what it was I needed. And off I went to the bank where I got my passbook updated after waiting in the longish queue at the updating machine. After that I went, passbook in hand, to meet the manager to remind her I needed Form 16 to file my return.
When I eventually got back to Mansukhlal’s, I discovered that I had left my passbook on the bank manager’s table. Damn! I’ll pick it up the next time I go there, if it doesn’t get misplaced or lost, I thought. I entered Mansukhlal’s and without hesitation ordered four kachoris . These packed and paid for, I drove home.
As I was parking, I received a jolt as papri suddenly came to mind. Gosh, now Asha is going to give me a lecture!
I went up to our flat, let myself in with my key, and quietly placed the purchases on the kitchen counter before announcing my return.
Asha’s response was, “You didn’t take my call! What were you doing?” I apologised, “I put my phone on ‘silent’ yesterday at the music performance, I forgot to restore the ring. Sorry I didn’t take your call.”
She said, “I was calling to tell you we already had papri in the cupboard. Now I don’t know what we’ll do with so much papri .” I smiled to myself. Asha loves kachoris !
Forgetfulness is “normal” with advancing age, but thankfully, kachoris are every bit as tasty as papri. Pushing 80, I once told my visiting son that I must remember to get some things urgently done, because I did not know how much longer I had to live.
Prompt came his reply: “No hurry, daddy, you’ll live to be a hundred. Only the good die young.”
And we laughed together for a long time.
sg9kere@live.com
