by Raghu Sarangarajan
Telegram service in India to close at 9 pm on Sunday, ran the headline. Rajagopalan put the paper down with a flourish. The telegram had to die its natural death, he thought. Technology had made it obsolete. Telegrams were the harbinger of news, good and bad, in those days. His mind drifted to a hot summer day in Jabalpur many years ago.
The year was 1955. Summer. The sun was beating down and the trees did not dare to move. With no leaves on them, it did not matter whether they moved or not. Everything about the weather was dry and still.
The white building near the bus stand of Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh was bustling with activity. Come rain or shine, there was always activity in the General Hospital. Being the only hospital in the district, there was always a steady line of visitors. And that day was no different.
The usually calm Rajagopalan was tensed. He could not sit in one place. He was moving up and down the corridor. He could not ask anyone anything. His Hindi was sparse and he could barely manage a few sentences. It had been only a few months since his transfer to the Jabalpur Railway station.
He sat there waiting for news to come from the labour ward. His wife had got pains in the morning and he had been waiting since then.
His mother-in-law had passed away a year ago and with no one to turn to, he had to tend to his wife during her pregnancy. This was her first pregnancy and he had managed to keep his head above the water for the whole nine months despite being constantly chided by her for being careless about one thing or the other.
He looked up every few minutes to see whether someone was coming out of the labour ward. Every time a nurse came out, he tried mustering up some courage to ask her, but his throat went dry and he swallowed his words.
Finally when a short plump nurse came out, he managed a “Sister?”
She did not even look at him and huffed and puffed her way to the room where the other nurses were sitting and drinking tea. He looked at her as she wiped the sweat falling from her brow. She deposited herself on a bench and it responded with a loud squeak.
“Chai.”
A young nurse handed over a glass and she started reporting of what was happening inside the labour ward. Rajagopalan acted as if he was thinking something and tried to eavesdrop. All he could hear was rapid Hindi words flying around. He could not even grasp one of them. With a disappointed look he went back to the stone bench in the corner and started biting his nails.
After another half hour of moping around, he heard a baby cry.
“Rajgopal ji?”
“Yes. I am Rajagopalan.”
“Aapko beta hua hey.”
“Eh?”
Before he could ask her again, she turned and went back into the labour room.
Rajagopalan just stood there for another ten minutes before she appeared again.
“Boy or Girl?” he asked.
“Kya?”
“Baby. Boy or Girl?”
“Angrezi nahi aata saab.” Rajagopalan felt helpless. He had to find it out himself, he decided. He racked his brain and got the one word he wanted.
“Biwi?” he asked; he knew the Hindi word for wife.
“Andar hein. Thodi der mein unkey kamrey mein honge.”
Rajagopalan was again assaulted by the barrage of words. He decided to wait. She would probably be moved into her room later, he thought.
Ten minutes later, he saw his wife being wheeled out from the labour ward. There was still no sign of the baby. He had waited for nine months, but those final moments were excruciatingly frustrating for him. He looked at his wife and she looked wasted. It was not the right time to ask her and irritate her.
He followed her to the room. He watched as she was slowly shifted to the bed. The nurse looked at him with an irritated look.
“Bahar jao saab.”
This he understood. He reluctantly walked out. As he was walking out, a baby wrapped in a clean white towel was taken inside the room. His baby. He was overjoyed. But he still did not know whether it was a boy or girl.
He waited for another half hour. Finally the nurses left the room. He immediately went inside and his wife was about to slip into a slumber. He tiptoed and walked to the cradle. He looked at the wonder in front of him. The baby had his nose, he noted. The rest was just like his wife. He looked up at her as she moved slightly in her sleep. He carefully removed the towel to see whether it was a boy or girl. It was a boy. His joy knew no bounds. He immediately let the child and its mother sleep and closed him again and tiptoed out of the room.
Once out in the corridor, he broke into a run. He ran for almost the entire stretch to the post office and halted only when he reached the telegraph section. He went over to the clerk and asked him to send a telegram to Thanjavur, with the words “GOOD NEWS-STOP-SON BORN”.
He handed over the 2 annas for the telegram and walked out of the post office, whistling his favorite tune. He had no one else to tell in that town. His colleagues could wait till the next day, he thought. He wandered around in the market to get a shirt for his new born son and finally returned an hour later to the hospital.
“Where were you?” his wife asked.
“I had gone to the post office to send a telegram. And then I got this shirt for our son.”
“Good that you sent a telegram right away to my father.”
“Oh!”
“What happened now?”
“Nothing. I forgot to send a telegram to your father.”
“Then whom did you send it to?”
“To my father.”
“To that old man? Does he even remember you?”
“Now don’t talk like that Kamala. He is the eldest in our family.”
“Eldest in the family. Hmph. Elders should behave like elders. He married a girl who is younger than I. What for? To relive his youth? Look at my dad, even after my mother passed away, God bless her soul, he didn’t remarry. In fact, he is younger than your father. Who was there to take care of me when I was pregnant? I had to do everything by myself.”
“Now don’t get agitated. You need to take rest.”
“You brought up his topic. I hate that old man from the bottom of my heart.”
“Now, don’t be so hard on him. Who will take care of my brothers and sisters? They are small kids.”
“Why? Was there no other way to raise them?”
“Well, there were. But they did not work out well.”
“There is no need to pass such snide remarks. What I did was right. If I had agreed to take care of the kids, what about our future? What would happen to our son?”
“I did not mean anything wrong. Did I not follow your advice?”
“You did, and you did the right thing. God only knows, what will happen to that girl your father has married. I would not be surprised if she is pregnant soon.”
“Nothing like that will happen. My father was devoted to my mother. Chithi is there to just take care of the kids.”
“You are so naïve. God only should save us.”
“Leave all that. Tell us what we should name our son. I think, we should name him after my father.”
“We will do nothing of that sort. We will name him after our family deity. Uppiliappan. We will call him Uppili at home.”
Uppili. Rajagopalan played the name in his mouth. He liked the name. His wife was smart, he thought. She made the right decisions.
****
Two days later, when they reached home, the postman was waiting for them. He asked him to wait and put the bags inside and came out. The postman handed him a telegram.
He opened the telegram and tensed when he read the message. He gripped the telegram with one hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“What is it?” his wife asked as he walked in.
“Nothing. Just wishes from my father. He has sent his congratulations.”
He tiptoed into the study and opened the draw in his table. Before keeping the telegram inside, he read the message again. “CONGRATULATIONS-STOP-GOOD NEWS-STOP-DAUGHTER BORN”.
Nice write up!
Thanks Paranthaman
A very charming and enjoyable read!
Thanks Antara 🙂