by Nandagopal T
I
Short. Stubby. Full. Hooked. The kinds of noses I can see here are amazing. Everywhere else they are the same or only two or three different versions. But here I see all kinds. Maybe it is because Bangalore is a big city. Also today is a Sunday and that too at the railway station, so there are people from all over and people from all over have different noses, though at their place it will be only one of the two or three different versions.
I have counted 23 trains from 6 o’ clock. The trains from Chennai were crowded but there was one train from a place I forgot that just was full. Full of noses too. Ajji’s nose is big for her. Maybe she had a bigger face earlier and then only her nose refused to shrink. Her face is so wrinkled otherwise. Ajji says my nose is like my mother’s. But I have seen mother’s big photo down the hall at home. It doesn’t look like mine. Mother’s nose is more proper. Mine is tiny. Mother’s is very beautiful; maybe when I am older I will get hers.
When will our train come?
Watching noses is not as fun as I seem to say. It gets boring. But all I have been thinking of today are noses. After the appointment with Nidhi aunty, I have been so conscious of anything that my nose does.
Before also, when in Bangalore, I have noticed noses, but only once or twice and that too only when they were unusual. Like that bus conductor’s. Actually the first time, Ajji had slept in the bus, the Volvo one, and we had missed our stop.
Every time after that Ajji makes sure she tells the conductor to tell her when the stop comes, but I already know. I even had a laugh about this with Nidhi aunty. Today, I told her about it before the scan.
There is our train! Hampi Express!
Ajji come in!
Ours is S8, Ajji. Middle berth for me! Thank God it’s not first class like when we came here. That had no middle berth. Hard to believe it was only yesterday.
II
Saturday, April, 27 :
In the train. Hampi Express as always. Crowded as always. Weekend travellers to Bangalore, I suppose. Thank God we are spared all the discomfort. Going in first class for the first time. Lets me write in relative quiet and peace. Except for Shreya’s incessant rancour about not having a middle berth or co-passengers. Poor girl. But God willing it will all be good. She is still showing signs of recovery. Nidhi said on the phone that it is possible though rare.
The day today. Shreya helped with the dishes after a bit of cajoling. But she isn’t able to tell whether the dishes are really clean. So I just let her dry and wipe a few things. Made sure that the scans, receipts and other medical stuff were ready. Didn’t find the appointment card of last time. That was when I called Nidhi. The essentials:
N: “Don’t worry, Kamala, the card is not really that important. Don’t bother”
Me: “OK. So, how are you?”
N: “You should be the one who should tell. How is Shreya? Showing improvements?”
M: “Actually, I think so. She has been staying away from the places where I put the liquid you suggested.”
N: “That’s encouraging”
M: “Do you think she’ll get it back?”
N: “Anosmia due to trauma is not well understood, Kamala. I would be giving you false hopes if I say she’ll get it back. But there have been cases.”
That was all, I think. Nidhi and her case histories seemed to frighten me at the beginning, but I’ve grown used to it, especially the successes. Tomorrow is another day and whatever evil or good happens today will pass away with tomorrow’s birth. I have everything ready for tomorrow. Except for the appointment card which I couldn’t find. I am getting older. Some days I forget that I have already written for the day and write it down once again. Shreya sleeps blissfully unaware of the gravity of the things that have been her lot.
III
I like the middle berth. I was cross with Ajji because we came in First AC. But now on our way back I’m in the middle. I can pretend to be asleep and listen in on Ajji’s rambling to the others. She doesn’t open her mouth till I sleep. So I have found the exact way; almost close my eyes, part my lips a little, take slow deep breaths, ten a minute, and shuffle once in a while. She is fooled.
Ajji always lies about where we are coming back from. It’s always a wedding or some other function.
Why does she lie? Maybe the machine is bad. Nidhi aunty says the pictures are of my head, but I don’t think so. I want to be a Neurospecialist one day, like Nidhi aunty.
She was very happy today until she went into her room and talked to Ajji; after that they were both tensed. And so next time Ajji also will get pictures, she told me. Then I will be able to see what the machine actually does.
Maybe the pictures were showing wrong things. Because obviously I am getting better. I even found out that the coconut oil-like thing she held out in a glass was not oil! It had such an unpleasant smell! I am sure of that because even I could smell it a little.
It is a little weird that I actually do not smell at all. I mean I cannot. Something happened to my sense of smell, Nidhi aunty told me last time. And ever since, Nidhi aunty has been making me do all sorts of things, taking pictures, making chemicals and all that. And today I could almost surely tell the difference. That was why Nidhi aunty was so happy. But I think Ajji thinks I’m faking it, because she had this look of disbelief on her face. But she will realise and she will be stumped.
That was why I was thinking only about noses today. They are used to sense smell like our eyes see.
And today I could smell with my nose, the unpleasant smell! Soon I will be able to find out if the chutney that Ajji forgets about so often in the fridge, is spoilt! And Ajji. I have quite forgotten how she smells.
The best part of this is that soon, I hope, I can sit with Ajji tying the jasmine flowers into little strips for the temple and for our hair, and I will be able to smell them and enjoy them as much as Ajji does…
IV
Sunday, April 28:
How beautiful is God’s way! Shreya smelt the different acetyls more or less. Nidhi was so happy when I told her about it. Overjoyed. She rattled on about case histories and miracles and regenerative olfactory nerves until I pointed out the vials were probably not acetyls because I could not smell them quite closely as I remembered doing. The essentials:
N: “Why, you can’t smell them?”
M: “Obviously I can. These are not the things.”
N: “Blocked nose, Kamala. These are the smell things alright”
I began to feel irritated until both of us caught on. Was I losing my sense of smell?
Three minutes later I was convinced I was. And that was when Nidhi seemed to fear the worst which I believe is undoubtedly true.
N: “Kamala, have you been fatigued in thinking lately, forgetting things and misplacing?”
M: “Yes, I’m older now, right? What does that have to do…”
N: “Kamala, Anosmia is considered one of the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. You know Alzheimer’s?”
I know Alzheimer’s of course. I am losing it. Exactly at the time when I should be happy for Shreya, there hangs on me the burden of disease. Palpable and sensed. I can feel it lurking behind, informing everything I will do from now.
Only a few months till I lose the sense of smell, I take it. That leaves such a small window for me to really teach Shreya the smells of all the flowers that I want her to learn when she becomes normal. My memory is fading. Neurons misfire, connections miss. And I am really afraid. Afraid of who will take care of her.
I will be more desperate to write everything now. This diary is going to crumble under the weight of ink.
Who will take care of her? I shouldn’t ask. Tomorrow is another day and whatever evil or good happens today will pass away with tomorrow’s birth.
V
The next morning, Shreya woke up sprightly and bright. The train had rolled in calm and measured and settled peacefully on platform number 2. Carefully Shreya bundled out of the train, taking in what little she could of the smells, blissfully unaware of her grandmother’s worries. After all, a new window to the world was opening up to her. And her grandmother sensed how important it was to her. And she smiled at Shreya. Shreya smiled back.
*Anosmia, the disability to sense smells, can be caused due to various reasons, including Head Trauma (HT), like in Shreya here, and is often considered a symptom of Alzheimer’s disease, the most common form of dementia.
Pic: https://www.flickr.com/photos/eika_dopludo/
