Dawn is minutes away; I can’t sleep. Can’t dream either. Dreams have continuity with wakefulness. I grope for continuity. Void. Yes, that is what I fumble in. Vacuum. Nothingness. Streaks of light across the eastern sky are reminders. That the sun will rise after some time, shed light. Will it rise again tomorrow?  Dhiren sleeps soundly behind me, his days are long, one task after another, lists, chores, people, places, an endless eternity of engagement. Endless time for me. What will I do when the sun rises? Sleep? Bathe? Eat? I don’t know. I must be hungry now. Will Mita call me for breakfast as soon as daylight breaks? I switch on the light and look for the biscuits Dhiren keeps in a tin under the table, hidden from me; I know. But when I’m hungry I must eat. The biscuits feel good. Crisp and sweet. Should have had them with tea, but Mita must be asleep now and I can’t light the gas stove. I used to know at one time but not any longer. When did I know? I sit by the window, look at the coming-to-light sky and think. When did I know to light the stove? What did I use to light it with? What did I make in those days? Or did I cook at all? What did I cook?

Gargi?

            Dhiren is angry at finding me out of bed so early. Why should he be angry? Wakefulness is nice, it makes me think. But I must heed his voice, I turn to him. He is already beside me, concerned.

Didn’t you sleep at night …. When did you get up … … What are you doing here sitting by the window … … You’ll catch a cold ... ..  

He drapes a shawl around my shoulders …. always worried. I draw it closer around me; it is actually cold.

I couldn’t sleep.

You should have called me. This is not right. Did you do anything else?

Anything else? What was I supposed to do? I look around the room lit up now with two new tubes I haven’t seen before. The light is mellow. What have I left undone?

I’ve forgotten what I was supposed to do.

You were supposed to sleep.

So why did you ask me … anything else?

Nothing. Come and sleep. It’s still very early.

I’ll bathe now.

What? At this hour? Want to catch cold and die?

Die?

I didn’t think of that.

One bathes in the morning, right?

When did you ever bathe at such an unearthly hour? That was your standing quarrel with mother, remember? She wanted you to bathe before entering the kitchen and you would not listen to her. I’m clean enough, you would say, looking hoity toity in your crisp cotton saree early in the morning when the rest of the household was still yawning.

Dhiren smiles. I stare at his face, rapt in memory’s smile and cast about in my mind. A face flashes out of nowhere. Dhiren’s mother. I look at the garlanded photograph above the lintel, brownish. There’s a word for that colour. What? Where did I read the word? Nah. Can’t remember it now. Se… No use. Will ask Dhiren later. He is in the bathroom. What was I thinking of just now? … Food. Yes, that’s it. I take out two cream biscuits again and yearn for sweet tea. Should I wake up Mita and ask her for tea? She will be angry …. will not listen to anything I say the whole day. Dhiren will be out of home for a long time. I must obey Mita. The bathroom door opens and Dhiren comes out.

What took you so long?

            Long? I was gone a few minutes only.

            I was scared.

            Scared of what? The lights are on, it’s almost morning. … … … Do you want to get back to sleep or should I make tea?

            By the time Dhiren gives me tea I am sleepy. The cup rattles on my palm and topples over before he can catch it. He leads me to the bed … these medicines he gives me leave me with no time for anything. Sleep.

            Bright sunlight. I blink. The curtains are pulled back, tied with a tassel. I used to wear one like that in college, the tassel used to hang from my braid, swing left and right as I walked. I touch my back to feel the braid’s thick weight along my spine. Nothing. My legs feel heavy but I get out of bed and stand before the mirror. My hair is cropped short, close to my ears, framing my face.

Mitaaaa. Oh Mitaaa.

            Mita is panting.

What happened? Why are you shouting? When did you wake up?

Where is Dhiren?

He’s left for the market.

Go, go call him. Quick!

Why? What is it you want? Can’t you tell me?

Why are you always angry with me?

Oh! Bhabhi ji! How much do I manage alone? Now will you have your breakfast or not? It’s very late already. You have to take medicines after that.

Where is my hair? Somebody cut my hair while I slept.

She slaps her forehead with her right palm and sits down on the floor, leans against the bed and keeps quiet. Sulking. I sit on the bed.

Did you cut my hair?

I? She shrieks.

Why should I cut your hair? Bhai ji cut your hair long back. Don’t you remember anything? Think of all that he has to remember for you. Your medicines, your bath, food, sleep, everything. What would you do without me to help him? Now don’t talk any more. Here, brush your teeth and come for breakfast.

I enter the bathroom obediently and brush my teeth. It’s difficult to keep the brush on my slipping teeth. They slip this way and that … I can’t adjust the brush. She stands at the door when I try to shut it. I want to relieve myself.

Will you stand here and watch me do even this? Go. Get away from here.

No bhabhi ji, I won’t. Bhai ji has told me to stay by you. Don’t lock the bathroom door. Don’t be so disobedient.

I shut the door in her face and pull the latch shut. She bangs on the door. I sit quietly on the WC. Can she hear me from out there? I don’t like her prowling, keeping me under the eye. Does she have any weapon on her? What if Dhiren comes in and she does something to him? I open the door quickly, she’s standing there, leaning against the wall next to the door.

Get out!

Is she hiding a weapon in her hand?

Show me your hands. Quick!

She turns towards me, has a leave-me-alone look on her face and holds out her hands to me.

What do you want to see? You think I’m waiting here to hurt you?

Her tone is soft. Where is Mita? I feel better with Mita around. Why has Dhiren left this girl with me?

Mita? Mitaaa?

            She pulls me back from the staircase.

Bhabhi. I am Mita. Don’t you recognize me? Just now you asked me about bhai ji. Try to remember.

 She speaks so softly I want to go back to sleep.

I’m hungry. 

Very good. Come, I’ll give you breakfast.

No. I’ll eat after Dhiren comes.

She laughs. Come along. I won’t poison you.

Dhiren? He’s not around. He must be tired of me … … needs the break.

Where’s Mita? Why hasn’t she come in today? What’s your name?

I am Mita. Now you keep quiet and eat your breakfast. This food is good for you.

I don’t want this stranger to feed me. Push away. Push. Push. The bowl of cornflakes makes me feel hungrier. I pick up the spoon but my mouth slips away. The milk dribbles down, I throw away the spoon. How can one feed a slippery mouth? I don’t want to eat but the stranger woman feeds me forcibly and then feeds me some more. Medicines. Black, red, yellow, and an ugly pale blue. Four capsules and a glass of water later I walk away. This unknown person who feeds me wants to kill me. I know that. I won’t move from my room till Dhiren returns.

A window opens and closes. Clouds in the room. Trapped. White and fluffy. Puffing up to shed water. I run around looking for buckets to catch the rain. The clouds are all around me. Raise me … I’m light … a feather-drift. White on the walls, white where Dhiren sleeps. Where will he sleep tonight? I rise high. There’s a word for that too but can’t bother about it now. We had an experiment for the word in school. Put a cork in a bucket of water. It stayed on top. Why? Because of the word that described this. But the thunder spoils everything. It is right in my ears and I can’t decide what to do after I hear it.

The thunder is in Dhiren’s hands. No. He’s leaning over me. I open my eyes and see him clap loud. I sit up in a soggy blotchy bed and draw my clothes around me. Why have they put me in this smelly wet bed? Dhiren picks me and takes me to the bathroom. My legs are wet, my head is empty. I let him wash me and let him make me sit in the sun. Why has he done all this? I used to put our children in the sun when they were babies, oiled from hair to toe, glistening; they looked like mice basking in the sun. Dhiren gives me a newspaper and asks me to read while he got me something to eat.

Big black fat letters stare at me from the paper. Musharraf Woos Agra. I grab at the black ants crawling on the paper. Agra? I have heard the word but can’t place it. I read the letters again but lose their straight lines when I begin to read the last sentences. This is tiring work. How many times can one read? Dhiren comes with a bowl of soup and two slices of bread with butter on them.

I met Shilpi today. Very sad. She lost her husband in that accident I told you about yesterday. It was a shock. I didn’t know he was among the casualties.

Gargi?

The soup is good. I take another slice of bread and stare at the tree outside the terrace. Its leaves almost touch the railing.

Gargi, you didn’t say anything.

Hmm? About what?

I told you about Shilpi.

Shilpi? Who Shilpi?

Amu’s daughter Shilpi. Your cousin, Amu. Your youngest maasi’s daughter.

Amu. Have I met her?

Dhiren doesn’t reply. Strange man. Amu. Shilpi. Youngest maasi. Yes, my maasi. She and I went to the same college. Amu has a daughter?

Gargi, we should go to meet Amu and Shilpi. They are feeling devastated. Shilpi was going back home from the hospital when I met her. Had to identify the body.

You go. Don’t like crowds.

Dhiren walks away to call somebody on the phone. Amu. Amu. Amu. Shilpi. Who are they? The void stretches from me to where earth meets the sky. Dhiren said I know them. I know choti maasi. But Amu and Shilpi? Anxiety spirals along my spine, making me want to clutch at my hair, scratch my back, along the ridge where the fear crawls. If Dhiren says I know them, I must know. Who are they? What do they look like? He comes back.

Do you have photographs?

What photographs?

Amu and Shilpi.

We may have. Want to see them?

Will I recognize them in the photographs? Dhiren brings back a bulky black and white book with lots of photos stuck inside on thick black sheets. 

See? That’s you after our wedding.

I can barely recognize myself.

How old was I then?

How old are you now?

35.

Dhiren’s laughter scares me. I pull at his sleeve and scream. Don’t laugh. Why can’t I be 35?

You were 35 decades ago, my dear. You are 70 now. I am 73.

70. How old is that? Dhiren’s laughter makes me want to cry.

See this one? That’s the little Shilpi. She’s a beautiful woman today.

He sits back, a lost look in his eye. I tug at his sleeve again. What?

Nothing. I was thinking of the way she looked this morning. Why did this have to happen to her? … … Let me show you a recent photograph of Amu and Shilpi. They spent a vacation with us two years back and I took plenty of photographs. You were still in your senses then.

I get up and go away. The mirror sends me an old woman’s wrinkles but doesn’t show up my brain.

Gargi. I’m really sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.

He puts his arms around me. Amu. Shilpi. What can I do to remember? The doctor had given a name to my forgetfulness. I wanted to look it up in the book with meanings but forgot about it then.

Dhiren, give me something that I will understand.

Want to read?

No.

What’s wrong with that? You loved books.

Can’t read.

What do you mean “can’t read?” Take something with bigger print size. That should help.

Why don’t you understand? I can’t.

My scream rings loud in the space and catches at my throat.

I want to know why. There has to be a reason Gargi. You can’t just stop doing something you liked.

I forget the beginning after reading a few pages. Don’t ask me to read.

Dhiren is quiet. I sit at the window again ……. the sky is blue, clear.

Want to watch a movie?

No.

Hmmm. Let’s see.

He takes up the newspaper and looks at it blankly. He is thinking something. About me? My demand? Shuts the paper all of a sudden and smiles happily at me.

Great idea. Let’s visit an art exhibition today.

Art? Why art?

You don’t have to remember anything there. … Let’s see if there is any scheduled for this evening.

He gets excited over small things … … opens the day’s paper again and scans it. Amu and Shilpi hammer at my mind relentlessly. I love this word. Its sound makes me feel the continuous pressure till I give up trying to remember.

I pleat my saree all wrong, the border disappears behind the main design and I sit in a heap on the bed. Mita comes to help me. The pleats of the saree come together magically.

Arre, bhabhi ji, where did you buy this saree? It’s beautiful.

She’s curious.

Tell me na. Where did you buy it?

Dhiren enters the room and hears her question.

We bought it during the book exhibition last year. There were stalls for sarees and dresses too. You should have seen how the women thronged the stalls more than the book stalls.

Dhiren and Mita laugh. I try to think of the stalls and give up.

The art exhibition is not crowded. I feel scared of crowds and I expected them there. The walls were bright with lights hanging over paintings. Wall upon wall of paintings, art work. I see something that holds me captive.

Dhiren, what are those called?

He stares at me. I am up on the wall there, a specimen of art. Whose art? I turn away from him. He pulls me back.

Gargi. Look at it carefully. Are you sure you don’t know what it is?

I don’t like it when Dhiren tortures me. Why can’t he believe me? Would I ask if I knew?

Gargi. Look at the wall. Try to remember. Did you do something like that in the past?

I don’t want to think any more. I like what I see, no names to remember, no stories to understand. Colours, faces, colours, more faces. What else? Doesn’t matter. On the way back Dhiren drives the car slowly. It is dark and he is careful on the roads.

Gargi, have you remembered?

What? Why do you harass me?

Those were murals. You earned your first salary for doing murals. Art college walls … remember? I met you while you were creating them ….

I switch off. Images flash past. They carry no names, most of them. Some thoughts whirl in my head like the whorls in my brain the doctor showed us on his computer, in his whitewashed room. I remember that. Murals, Amu, Shilpi, book exhibitions, saree purchases. They are continuity. I am blank. At night they crawl along the walls like lizards and settle on my pillow, waking me up to watch the pre dawn streaks of darkness across the sky. I try to grab the lizards’ tails, they fall off. I clutch at air.

************************************************************************

According to Alzheimer’s Disease International, there are about 30 million people with dementia around the world with the estimated increase projected to be more in the developing countries.

Sensitivity to Alzheimer’s and its signs is a must in our society where forgetfulness is equated with old age. Let us remember that not all forgetfulness is due to age.