The Odd Couple

When someone is alive and when one speaks well about the person, accusations of flattery may be attributed to a sometimes genuine observation. But when someone is gone it gives much room and comfort to speak in appreciation of the person or may be even disparagingly. No questions are asked and it can be as livid or as pleasant as one want to. The poor soul deep in the cold ground cannot stand up and cry foul or nod and applaud for the eulogy!

A friend posted on her “facebook” wall a video clip of a wife’s requiem for her husband at his memorial service. While labouring to restrain her agony, but with much poise, she gave a short   speech that was satirical and solemn in its content, in its meaning. She ended saying that she will now miss his “beautiful imperfections”.

I mentioned once in a Blog post  titled, “In Search of The Time Machine”, the apparent misfortune I had in matters of my brief experience as a son to my father and vice versa. That made me a bit wary of gentlemen who are paternal. I always suspected them to be insensitive and authoritarian.

I and C happened to be socially and emotionally entwined to this couple who were septuagenarians when we saw them for the first time and were introduced to them by their son. They both passed away a couple of years back and without leaving the other loner for a long time. They were parents to a good unassuming friend who I would call, also perfectly imperfect like any human being.

The gentleman was weather beaten, tough, well travelled and experienced with people and life. I remember the difficult times when he was confined to his bed and his arm-chair for a short time, about a year. In fact it gave me a pang as to what would be in store for me in the last lap. One never can tell and shudders to think.

His wife preceded him in passing by about six months after a sudden cardiac arrest. She was a pretty woman with snow white hair, shorter than Bernice Bob’s, frail looking and recuperating from a stroke when we saw her the first time. She was learned, erudite and got extremely fond of C.

I remember the first occasion when we met them at their home in the middle of the modestly sprawling rubber plantations. The gentleman struck a chord with me the moment I saw him unlike my prejudiced notion of a father figure. He, I presume was craving for someone to converse with. In fact I became a willing victim since that day when ever often we used to be there over weekends. But the conversation more often confined to monologues from him with my occasional nods and attentive one word comments. He loved to elucidate about his travels. His life in the Afghanistan of the old, his travels to the Netherlands and Germany. His sojourns in the U.K. And believe me though we (including the pretty woman his wife, his son and his wife) used to comment in jest on the stories he harped repeatedly of his travels, I never felt ennui lending my ears and my presence to his travelogues. They were sautéed with experience in abundance, wit, bitterness, fascination and lessons too. His description of wild boar hunting in the mountains that caresses their estate and the subsequent culinary indulgence with the spoils often was sadistic for a gourmet like me who love masala cooked swine meat. The fact that the stories where about wild boars added to the agonising envy of this poor gourmet. Sometimes I have wondered why lady luck was not in cahoots with me that I could sit by my parent and hear his exploits in life.

His wife borrowed books from me to read. And she used to after reading wrap them tidily in brown wrappers and pen a message on the cover. Once she wrote, “books are the only companions and friends that one will have in old age”.  .The lighter side of her, perhaps typically a feminine disposition was that she, as her daughter in law endorses, ensured that the dogs they kept in the estate were all named after the female friends her husband had while during his life in Europe and Afghanistan. A bit of feminine vengeance!

It was amazing to listen about the acquaintances that he had, people he knew, the days when he and his wife bought in 1950s the stretch of some forty acres of forest land, planted Rubber saplings and settled in a comfortable house, amidst the trees that by when we knew them was a jungle unto itself.

I have had many a dinner table moments with him relishing the spirits he served me and the meat and fish his wife prepared despite  the handicap she carried after the stroke she suffered. Her  treats were good at packing your bowels aided by over indulgent taste buds. .He used to share Whisky with me and talk of his old times. Once from my travel I picked up a Hennessy Cognac for him and he was, though outwardly feigning indifferent loved my gesture and we together toasted the cognac. Then off he went on to his travelogues yet again.

There was nevertheless something terribly amiss in him and his pretty wife. He for his astounding life of travels surprisingly became increasingly disgruntled, grumpy and cynical about everything, even with his son too. His son who has a respectable teaching job and is lauded in his profession. There was discord and discontent. It was surprising to notice how distanced they were from him and his family. The emotional; bonding was absent. I often felt that they missed much in later life, things that were for their taking, a son who cared for them! It is a mystery and no revelation as yet would convince me as to why? But it must be acknowledged that, strange indeed it was that it was only I and C perhaps more than his own son and family who were welcome to his home any time any day. They loved our presence and we as well them and the ambiance Nature lavished there.

We last saw him in hospital. He was restless, with severe respiratory problem and high blood urea which made him delirious, hallucinated and fidgety. He muttered aloud many things incomprehensible. It was indeed a sad picture of a man I knew different.When we left his bedside I asked C, if she could tell why he and his wife  missed much in later life while he lived in full during his time early? Only he could tell.

He passed away the same night and we reached his estate home early morning next for the funeral.