The irony of life

Life has a way of presenting harsh truths, when we least expect it. The other day, I was dropped at a milk parlour, halfway home. I decided to stock on dairy before taking an autorickshaw. I fished out my purse and checked its contents.

Suddenly, an elderly woman perhaps in her seventies came and stood right in front of me. I quickly shoved my purse into the handbag. Before I could move, she held my hands. Her grip was firm. When I looked at her with alarm, she looked at me sternly and told me that no matter how angry one is, one must never wish death on anyone.

I understood every word of what she said in Kannada. I was flabbergasted. What on earth made her say that to me? There were customers at the shop. No one seemed to be bothered. Even before I could respond, she side-stepped me only to hold the hand of a young man passing by. She repeated what she had just told me. He nodded his head in acceptance and she let go of him. She raised her vacant eyes and hands towards the skies and went on to cross the road.

I felt dazed. The shopkeeper offered a chair to me. Soon, all those at the shop started talking about the woman. She was a widow. She had lost her children. She never begged. She washed vessels at the temple. She swept the school grounds in the evenings for supper. Sometimes she lost her mind.

Even as I was trying to piece together a story, the shopkeeper told me that the woman lived in the vicinity. She had lost her husband and her two sons in a car accident a couple of years ago. All of them were drunk on that day. She had spent the best part of her life dealing with an alcoholic family which was incorrigible. No amount of affection or admonishment could turn them around.

Feeling guilty

Then the frustrated woman took to berating, cursing, and even wishing them dead. And on that fateful day when her sinister wish came true, she was flabbergasted. She felt guilty and responsible for her tragedy.

Her bereavement did not stop her from working. In fact, she was never caught slacking in her duties.

Yet, whenever she felt overwhelmed, she would slip into some kind of a trance. Then she would advise a few random people that they should not wish anyone dead.

I looked for her. She had disappeared. My heart felt heavy. I walked back home all the way. The sight of the bereaved woman stayed in my mind. I was reminded of Coleridge’s poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, who shared his experiences of guilt and repentance after having shot an albatross.

But this woman had tried her best to salvage the lives of her loved ones. She had donned the role of a virago in the hope that they would turn around. When her worst fears of losing them forever came true in the most ominous way, she blamed herself for the tragedy.

The more I thought about her state of mind, I realised that she was not alone in her grief. Most families that deal with some kind of addiction go through similar despair and despondency. Most often, the women in the family bear the brunt of it physically, emotionally, and economically. Occasionally, when some such catastrophe strikes, the vicious cycle of blame, guilt and grief sets in. The well-wishers of the malefactors are traumatised for the rest of their lives. They are haunted and victimised by the tragic consequences of the very ill they were fighting against!

Such is the irony of life!

srprathi@gmail.com