"The trains were so crowded!"
"Really? When was the last time you travelled? They always are that crowded!"
But my observation got the royal snub. Mother Dearest decided to plough on as if trains had no right to be so packed at 4:50 in the evening.
"I can't quite understand," she began, "how people can travel like this!"
"I travel like that everyday Mother. It's what we call commuting."
Yet, the refusal to believe and accept was quite adamant.
"This is just too much," she concluded, "we had such a terrible time."
I noticed we hadn't spoken of the funeral and so, as I gingerly scrutinized my wardrobe, I asked: "So who all came for the funeral?"
The usual list was rattled out. Mother did this in her trademark style. She sipped her tea, then paused and let out names from her mouth as if she were announcing the awards at the Oscars.
"This one was there!" she said.
"This one!" we gasped, knowing fully well that This one was daggers drawn with the one who was in the coffin.
"Yes, and there was That one."
"That one!" we repeated, scandalized. A month ago, That one had - I remember - made it clear she wanted to be no closer than a mile from this relative's body, were this relative to die at all. As it happened, the relative did die and That one was ecstatic enough to stand three inches away from the body.
"And there was of course The other."
"Well, The other just has to be there. She scarcely misses a christening, not to mention a funeral."
"Yes, I know. I think she loves every stage of the circle of life."
"That," I explained, "is because she is in the final stage. And she's doing the rounds only to ensure that she had a packed Church for her own funeral."
"Don't be so ridiculous dear!" Mother said, "Who thinks like that?!"
"The other."
"Oh do be quiet."
"Well, she did tell me once that if we don't attend other people's parties who will attend ours?"
"She must have said that at a wedding."
"And she repeated that at a christening."
"But I doubt she said that at any funeral."
"Oh I said that to her."
"You did?"
"Yes, she was quite surprised to see me there. And I couldn't help mentioning the reason why I was there."
"You actually said that? Which funeral did you attend?"
"Well, the one before this one."
"Oh my Lord! No wonder she would not even say a proper hello."
"Ha ha! I saved you from the gossip she would have poured into your ears as the priest poured his heart out at the podium."
But Mother Dearest would not acknowledge that. Instead, she kept her cup down just as I closed the room door to change and said,"By the way, there was no coffin."
I opened the door and Sister Dearest forgot about her breakfast.
"No coffin?!"
"Well, they buried him in a steel container."
"How Low Society!" This was Sister Dearest.
"Yes," I reflected, "How very low!"
"What low society?" Mother snapped, "It's very economical."
"Mother they had to pay for the container."
"And a steel one at that."
"Oh they did not bury the container."
"You mean they'll re-use it?"
"They did re-use it. They've been doing that since a year."
"How gross! Whatever happened to teak coffins?!"
"Oh they're too costly. Besides they don't even rot that fast."
"Why? Do they have to re-use the grave?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, they have to."
"What!"
"Well yes, that grave has seen four people."
"You mean four corpses."
"Show the dead some respect, will you?."
"Okay four rotting corpses is what you mean," I rephrased.
"That is not showing respect at all."
"But re-using a grave," Sister Dearest reasoned, " is disrespect anyway. He calling them corpses doesn't add any disgust to that at all."
To this of course there was no defense. So, Mother decided to tell us the truth.She explained it was a small parish with a small graveyard. One not so merry a year, many of its parishneers decided to kick the bucket and go to hell or heaven. Now to go up to heaven or down to hell, they first needed to get down into a grave. And since many died that year, by December, the parish ran out of graves. So, someone suggested they had better re-use whatever was in the graveyard itself. It was a mere humble suggestion, but it was enough to make the parish council livid. Apparently, several of its members, just like Mother Dearest, believed in respecting the dead too. Over a stretch of three weeks and another three Sundays, battles were fought between those against and those in favour of the graveyard recycling. By the fourth Sunday, it was apparent that the group against was winning and the buried dead would not have had their peace invaded had it not been for the wife of one of the anti-reuse members.
"Well, what about the wife?" I asked.
"She died. All the graves were packed to capacity-"
"Packed to capacity?! You mean sealed with tombstones."
"Yes dear quite quite. And there was not a place to put her in."
"Haha. She was so fat eh?"
"Tch. There were no graves is what I am saying, you idiot!"
"Oh I see. Then?"
Well, corpses just have to be buried. Or else they'll rot. The husband did not want that. After all, she was his wife. He had drank and abused her all the time she was alive. But now, that she was dead, he felt it was his duty to find her a place to rest before her body bloated up.
So he turned to his friends - all in the parish council - and they huffed, puffed, raved, ranted, and in the end agreed. She died in the night on Saturday. The grave resolution was passed early Sunday morning. And she was buried with flowers and the usual parish gossip in the evening.
"But when did the steel container make its appearance?"
"Oh that! Well, people were dying and they needed everything to decay as fast as possible. Teak doesn't rot fast you know. So, a year later, they decided to do away with the coffins as well."
"Who are these people?" I had closed the door again and was all set to dress. "They are so ruthless!"
"Oh they are economical my dear." Mother Dearest was clearing the table now. "Imagine all that expensive teak in that muck! It's really horrid if you ask me."
"Well, but I'm telling you," said Sister Dearest quite authoratively, "grave or no grave, I want a teak coffin for my funeral."
"Me too!" I said as I walked to the door, "After all, I love royalty."
"Yes yes,"snapped Mother Dearest, "I know you love royalty! You'll take it even to your grave!"
"Exactly!"
And I sprinted out to catch the 8:28 Dombivli.
"Really? When was the last time you travelled? They always are that crowded!"
But my observation got the royal snub. Mother Dearest decided to plough on as if trains had no right to be so packed at 4:50 in the evening.
"I can't quite understand," she began, "how people can travel like this!"
"I travel like that everyday Mother. It's what we call commuting."
Yet, the refusal to believe and accept was quite adamant.
"This is just too much," she concluded, "we had such a terrible time."
I noticed we hadn't spoken of the funeral and so, as I gingerly scrutinized my wardrobe, I asked: "So who all came for the funeral?"
The usual list was rattled out. Mother did this in her trademark style. She sipped her tea, then paused and let out names from her mouth as if she were announcing the awards at the Oscars.
"This one was there!" she said.
"This one!" we gasped, knowing fully well that This one was daggers drawn with the one who was in the coffin.
"Yes, and there was That one."
"That one!" we repeated, scandalized. A month ago, That one had - I remember - made it clear she wanted to be no closer than a mile from this relative's body, were this relative to die at all. As it happened, the relative did die and That one was ecstatic enough to stand three inches away from the body.
"And there was of course The other."
"Well, The other just has to be there. She scarcely misses a christening, not to mention a funeral."
"Yes, I know. I think she loves every stage of the circle of life."
"That," I explained, "is because she is in the final stage. And she's doing the rounds only to ensure that she had a packed Church for her own funeral."
"Don't be so ridiculous dear!" Mother said, "Who thinks like that?!"
"The other."
"Oh do be quiet."
"Well, she did tell me once that if we don't attend other people's parties who will attend ours?"
"She must have said that at a wedding."
"And she repeated that at a christening."
"But I doubt she said that at any funeral."
"Oh I said that to her."
"You did?"
"Yes, she was quite surprised to see me there. And I couldn't help mentioning the reason why I was there."
"You actually said that? Which funeral did you attend?"
"Well, the one before this one."
"Oh my Lord! No wonder she would not even say a proper hello."
"Ha ha! I saved you from the gossip she would have poured into your ears as the priest poured his heart out at the podium."
But Mother Dearest would not acknowledge that. Instead, she kept her cup down just as I closed the room door to change and said,"By the way, there was no coffin."
I opened the door and Sister Dearest forgot about her breakfast.
"No coffin?!"
"Well, they buried him in a steel container."
"How Low Society!" This was Sister Dearest.
"Yes," I reflected, "How very low!"
"What low society?" Mother snapped, "It's very economical."
"Mother they had to pay for the container."
"And a steel one at that."
"Oh they did not bury the container."
"You mean they'll re-use it?"
"They did re-use it. They've been doing that since a year."
"How gross! Whatever happened to teak coffins?!"
"Oh they're too costly. Besides they don't even rot that fast."
"Why? Do they have to re-use the grave?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, they have to."
"What!"
"Well yes, that grave has seen four people."
"You mean four corpses."
"Show the dead some respect, will you?."
"Okay four rotting corpses is what you mean," I rephrased.
"That is not showing respect at all."
"But re-using a grave," Sister Dearest reasoned, " is disrespect anyway. He calling them corpses doesn't add any disgust to that at all."
To this of course there was no defense. So, Mother decided to tell us the truth.She explained it was a small parish with a small graveyard. One not so merry a year, many of its parishneers decided to kick the bucket and go to hell or heaven. Now to go up to heaven or down to hell, they first needed to get down into a grave. And since many died that year, by December, the parish ran out of graves. So, someone suggested they had better re-use whatever was in the graveyard itself. It was a mere humble suggestion, but it was enough to make the parish council livid. Apparently, several of its members, just like Mother Dearest, believed in respecting the dead too. Over a stretch of three weeks and another three Sundays, battles were fought between those against and those in favour of the graveyard recycling. By the fourth Sunday, it was apparent that the group against was winning and the buried dead would not have had their peace invaded had it not been for the wife of one of the anti-reuse members.
"Well, what about the wife?" I asked.
"She died. All the graves were packed to capacity-"
"Packed to capacity?! You mean sealed with tombstones."
"Yes dear quite quite. And there was not a place to put her in."
"Haha. She was so fat eh?"
"Tch. There were no graves is what I am saying, you idiot!"
"Oh I see. Then?"
Well, corpses just have to be buried. Or else they'll rot. The husband did not want that. After all, she was his wife. He had drank and abused her all the time she was alive. But now, that she was dead, he felt it was his duty to find her a place to rest before her body bloated up.
So he turned to his friends - all in the parish council - and they huffed, puffed, raved, ranted, and in the end agreed. She died in the night on Saturday. The grave resolution was passed early Sunday morning. And she was buried with flowers and the usual parish gossip in the evening.
"But when did the steel container make its appearance?"
"Oh that! Well, people were dying and they needed everything to decay as fast as possible. Teak doesn't rot fast you know. So, a year later, they decided to do away with the coffins as well."
"Who are these people?" I had closed the door again and was all set to dress. "They are so ruthless!"
"Oh they are economical my dear." Mother Dearest was clearing the table now. "Imagine all that expensive teak in that muck! It's really horrid if you ask me."
"Well, but I'm telling you," said Sister Dearest quite authoratively, "grave or no grave, I want a teak coffin for my funeral."
"Me too!" I said as I walked to the door, "After all, I love royalty."
"Yes yes,"snapped Mother Dearest, "I know you love royalty! You'll take it even to your grave!"
"Exactly!"
And I sprinted out to catch the 8:28 Dombivli.
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