Just another day

It's early. Amma is talking to me as I do Pranayama. The door bell rings and there is a sharp tap on the door. Not the characteristic knocks or rings of the folk that stream in and out of Amma's house every morning. The maid could be heard washing dishes in the kitchen uncaring of the water situation and the need to conserve. Folks who collect the garbage everyday came in later. The milk had been delivered at 6:00. So who dared ring the bell at 6:45 am? This was still too early for anyone else, even for India where there are no strict protocols regarding intrusions from prying neighbours. Amma was at the door before I could find my feet from my seated cross legged pose. I saw the watchman's tanned and calloused hand on the locked grill door. In a gruff voice he muttered something that was barely audible. Amma received the news with matter of fact calm. Immediately our phone rang and she picked it up. My sister was on her routine early morning call which she made as she took her walk near her house a few km away. "The watchman just came and said, Padma's husband passed away last night" my mother said. Just like that. It was bright and sunny outside. The birds were chirping and the trees were lit with flowers in bright reds and yellows. The sky was smog free and a magnificent blue. Due to our location, five minutes from the beach, the ocean air hung heavy with a salty humidity. A street vendor passed by shouting out his wares. Below the balcony, on the street, I could hear bicycles and two-wheelers go by and people shuffle along to their daily routines. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just another morning.

Amma got off the phone and elaborated that his wife Padma had been present yesterday at the flag hoisting, one of several dressed in the same lilac saree that they sport as a uniform to salute our nation on patriotic occasions. She had not let on that anything was amiss. Amma had seen Padma's husband, a handsome man with even features, walking just a few days ago. Padma and Amma have known each other for over 20 years as neighbours living in the same colony and were part of the Palmgrove Ladies Club whose members meet every month to break bread, share, go on trips, play bingo and raise money for charitable causes. A few of its members have passed and several of the survivors have lost their husbands in recent times. Exactly 10 years ago these women had come to our house on my father's passing. I remember now that it had also been a bright and sunny morning in December. Appa had been sick for 2 months. He had wanted his privacy so no one knew. In September he was on his regular walks and in December, following a diagnosis and rapid deterioration, he was gone. I am sure news of his death would have been unexpected. But that day for them, when our lives had turned upside down, must have seemed like just another morning.