Anna's Story of Deepawali

Anna on one of the days when he is zoned out!

My dilemma over whether or not to burn crackers was easily solved. Anna was so zoned-out on 18th and 19th Oct that there were no patakas (fireworks), or for that matter, mithai (Indian sweets), or lighting diyas (lamps), or just about anything that needed the tiniest of movements or use of brain cells. Quite a dampener!

Amma's brass pooja diyas, were lit on all auspicious occasions

Many years ago, I had asked Anna why South Indians celebrated Deepawali a day earlier. He promptly told me to ask Amma, deflecting yet another question he didn't want to answer or did not know the answer to. Over the years, I have asked Anna this question in the days running up to Deepawali. One year I came up with the hypothesis that Lord Rama reached South India before North India when he flew from Lanka, and hence Deepawali was celebrated a day earlier than in the north! This story amused Anna no end!! 

Almost every year, I ask Anna the same question and when I don't get a response, I retell my hypothesis on how Rama reached South India before the north, much to his amusement.

Last year, after possibly 40 years, he tells me why.

An effigy of Narakasura. Picture by Gouthami

Anna: Deepawali is on Narakasura Chatrurdasi. The day Krishna and Satyabhama, in a joint venture, defeated the demon Narakasura and released 16,000 women Narakasura kept in captivity.  

Really? Krishna and Satyabhama in a joint venture?? I didn't know.

Anna: Vishnu is more revered in South India than Rama. 

I am confused. I thought that Lord Rama was an avatar of Lord Vishnu. But I keep quiet, 'coz I want to hear the rest of the story.

Anna: Rama is seen as human, with many human faults and needs.

Pause.

Anna: You will like this story. It is about female strength.

Pause.

Oddly, most images I find online show Krishna
killing Narakasura,
when according to most stories I read,
 it was Satyabhama who killed Narakasura. Gender bias? 

Anna: Actually, it was Satyabhama who killed Narakasura. Krishna fainted after being hit by Narakasura's weapon 'Shakti'. Satyabhama was so shocked seeing Krishna fall, that she flung her weapon with immense strength, killing Narakasura.

Pause.

Anna: Narakasura while asking to be forgiven for his wayward ways, asked that his death be celebrated by lighting diyas.

I remember this story, as I sadly watch Anna sleep past his favorite festival. 

Today he is a little awake, so we celebrate by lighting diyas and eating mithai. 

Me: Anna, do you remember that yesterday was Deepawali? Pause. We did not burn any crackers yesterday, as you were asleep.

Anna: We can do it now.

Me ( pointing to the TV that is reporting unprecedented pollution levels across the country): Anna, it is way too polluted! Lets wait till the pollution levels are better. Which basically means, never!

Anna: That will be better. Any day you think is right, we will celebrate Deepawali.

He twitches out a smile and closes his eyes.

I Don't Want A Green Deepawali

I tell Anna that we can take him home
from Neptune Hospital on 1st Oct 2017.
He is pleased.

I don't want a green Deepawali. Yet I want a reduction in air pollution. I am conflicted and am finding it hard to choose a side.

I truly, truly believe, and have advocated for, more stringent controls to improve the quality of air. 

I have to weigh the destruction of the environment, with wanting to give my father, my dying father, something that will surface pleasant memories. Pleasant memories, that I hope, have the strength to sweep Dementia fog away. It's all the more important now that he has just returned from hospital.

Anna was discharged from hospital on 2nd Oct. He had a severe bronchial infection, that  galloped from a slight fever to a compromised lung & wheezing in just 24 hours. It was so bad that I could hear him struggling to breathe from the front door. Thankfully, he spent only 8 days in hospital, all but 1 day, zoned out and unresponsive. He's back home now, 5 kgs less, stiff as a board, not eating much, and speaking about 10 cogent words in a day.

Anna in happier times

Each illness sets Anna back so much that I wonder whether he will ever recover and be his old self. Whatever that old self is, for it is not the vibrant, laughing man he was, before Parkinson's and Dementia kidnapped him in front of our eyes.

Now, when Anna responds to me, I feel good. Tho' 10 softly spoken words are not much, it's better than nothing. I think he is looking sad, but he hasn't said anything. What worries me is that he wants to say something but can't. It's terrible. Just imagining it frightens me. It can only be worse, much worse, for Anna.

I decide to pep Anna up by telling him that Deepawali is around the corner. Deepawali has a special place in Anna's heart. 

First because of the lights. For days before Deepawali, we wheel Anna around the colony so that he can look at all the houses, bedecked with strings of lights - straight lights, dancing lights, bling lights, reflecting globes, strobe lights. Each house uniquely lit up and wanting to show-off a part of their owners' soul.

The second reason Anna loves Deepawali is because of the simple, childlike excitement of lighting crackers. Last year, like a little boy, Anna asked me twice a day, every day, for a month, when Deepawali was! He told me about how he and his brother made firecrackers in their childhood. This year there are going to be no stories. There are going to be little or no crackers given the Supreme Court's ban on the sale of crackers in Delhi.

Anna's favorite Vishnu Chakhra

I know we want to reduce the amount of pollution that will blanket the city. The pollution that will make our eyes water and throats dry. A living pollution that is killing us, inside out. 

But, Anna has a few pleasures in life and a few years to live. Maybe just a year. Is it really so bad for me to want to light 6 sparklers, 4 chakras and 4 flower pots to cheer him up? I have crackers left over from last year, and lighting them will just add a soupçon of pollution. 

I really want to burn crackers for Anna. 

But can I, in good conscience, given our air pollution problem? 

Should I? 

Will I? 

When the Lions Roamed Free

July 2017: Anna retells the story of lions roaming free to 
Ananya, my niece, and Mamta, my sister,'
to much laughter and encouragement

A few months ago, Anna was quite the chatty Cathy for a few days. That is an oddity, given that most days he is quiet, only responding to direct questions. With his eyes closed. So, him being chatty is a treat. When I say chatty, I mean that that he could talk for 15 mins at a stretch without falling asleep or losing his train of thought. That's really chatty for him.

Anna: Lions are majestic.

Me (looking at the news, confused): What lions, Anna?

Anna: The lions in Africa. They roam around freely.

Me (I think he is referring to something he has seen on the National Geographic channel that he loves): Yes they do Anna. Specially in grasslands, and open forests.

Anna: They roam freely amongst people. They don't harm the people at all.

Me (wondering if this is a hallucination, or if he is telling me about a dream, or a story): Really, Anna?

Lion Staircase, Bardo Palace, Tunis
Photo Courtesy: E. Selmaj

Anna: The stairs have lions on either side, too.

I am totally confused, wondering what lions are doing roaming freely on either side of a staircase that people use.

Me: What staircase, Anna? Where is this staircase?

Anna: In Tunis. At the Palace. It is a beautiful staircase. The lions each have a different expression.

Me: Anna, when did you go to Tunis?

Anna: A few years ago. I think it's been over 30 years since Anna has been to Africa.

Me: Anna, what were you doing in Tunis?

Anna: I went to see Nagarajan. 
Anna has known Uncle Nagarajan for ~70 years.

Me: What was Uncle Nagarajan doing there?

Anna: He was working at an oil refinery, in Algiers. The Americans had set up refineries and they needed technical people, so Nagarajan went.

Algiers? I thought we were in Tunisia at the Bardo Palace near where Uncle Nagarajan was working?! But now Anna had moved to Algeria in the blink of an eye.

From what I can make out Anna saw lions in Tunis. Were they alive and roaming free or were they stone statues? I am confused. But that's kind-of becoming the norm for me - being confused and logical at the same time.

Anna: One evening, while Nagarajan was working on the bubble cap columns, he saw movement from the corner of his eyes. He thought that it was a "herd" of dogs. But it wasn't. How could dogs all be the same color? When he asked the people around him, they shone their lights where there had been movement. That is when he saw them! The lions of Algiers. Roaming freely around the refinery.

Me: Anna, wasn't Uncle scared? Wasn't it dangerous?

Anna: No. It seems that it was quite normal for the lions to roam the refinery. The lions came and went as they pleased. More in the evening time when it was cool. Pause. They also roamed the village nearby.

Me: The village nearby?

Anna: Yes. We went there and met with the headman. When we asked him if he had seen the lions, he told us that the whole village had. The lions roamed freely between their huts. No one harmed them so they didn't harm the villagers.

All eight editions of Perry’s Chemical Engineers’ Handbook
Pub. Date: 2008, 1997, 1984, 1973, 1963, 1950, 1941, 1934
The McGraw-Hill Companies, Inc.

I am fascinated by this story and ask him questions about the location of the oilfield, bubble cap columns, the refining process. He answers all my questions, even advising me to read Perry's Handbook to understand the distillation process better!

Me: Anna, did you see the lions roaming free in the oil refinery? Or the village?

Anna: Unfortunately, no.

Pause.

Anna: You know, they don't need boundary walls for protection. Not for the refinery. Not for the village. Pause. The lions protect the refinery and the people. Roaming free.

I have not verified this story with Uncle Nagarajan who is 91 or 92 years old.
Anna has also narrated the story to my sister and niece.
Pretty much word for word.
I believe that this is a true story.

The Staccato Saree Conversation

Staccato Marks
Photo Courtesy: www. songsofthecosmos.com

My conversations with my father have changed. Changed in content and context. Changed in tone and tenor. Mostly, ebbing away with no warning. Our conversations have been impacted by the degradation of Anna's physical and mental abilities. His speech mimics his shuffle-walk of fits and starts, leading to conversations in short bursts. A meaningful conversation can take hours or days. I call these "staccato conversations".

Here is a conversation I had on Monday.

Kodubale

I get to Anna's place after spending a day Ubering from one end of Gurgaon to the other in 37°C temperature. I find Anna sitting on a single-seat sofa sipping tea from a cup held to his mouth by his attendant (nowadays Anna is finding it hard to pick up a mug). On a plate in front of him is a half eaten  kodubale (lovingly made by my first cousin and sent specially for him).

I ask him how he is and get a one word response, "Fine". I try starting conversations by asking if he had a good nap, or dreamed anything interesting, or what he had for breakfast. Nothing really works. At best, I get a one-word answer and at worst, none. This is not a conversation!

In an attempt to start-up a conversation, I decide to tell him about my saree. But first let me give you a little context. For many years, I haven't bought new clothes unless I have given away / retired something similar. I am proud that I have often not replaced old clothes, shrinking my wardrobe. Earlier this year when I went to Jaipur, I had just given away 4 sarees and so did not feel guilty buying a couple more. Printed cotton sarees. One of which I was wearing on Monday.

In an attempt to get Anna to talk with me a little, I get up and stand in his direct-line-of-sight and model my saree.

The saree I modeled for Anna

Me: Anna, do you like my saree?

No answer, so I wait for a bit and repeat the question.

I continue to wait and twirl around.

Me: Anna, do you like my saree?

Anna: Yes

Me: Anna, do you know how much I paid for this saree?

No answer, so I wait for a bit.

Me (feeling proud): Anna, I paid less than Rs. 500/- for this saree.

No reaction.

Me (holding the pallu out so that he can see the design and colors): Anna, isn't this saree pretty? Red and ocher on beige?

Anna (smiling a little): It's nice 

Me: Anna, I bought this saree when I went to Jaipur earlier this year.

He does not recollect my trip to Jaipur and hence there is no response.

Me: Anna, you remember I went to Jaipur in January this year?

There is no memory, no reaction.

Me: Anna, do you know - this is the first saree I have bought in 3 years.

No response.

Me (exaggerating my frugality to see if I can get a response): Anna, I haven't bought anything new in 7 years!

Photo Courtesy: BIGLAWNewsLine!

Long Pause.

Anna (face changing from bored to incredulous): You really think I would believe that?

Bam! A bullet shoots out of Anna's brain! Straight and sure.

Me: Of course, Anna! It's true!! 

Anna (looking at me as if I just told him that unicorns are real!): I haven't seen you repeat a saree in the 2 years I have been here.

Not true. I don't have that many sarees and do repeat them often. And he has been in Delhi with me for nearly 3 years, but I am not going to correct him. I want to have a conversation.

Me: Anna, the second saree is like this one. 

No reaction.

Me: It is prettier, and green and ocher in color.

Still no reaction.

I see his eyes glaze over and know his brain is fogging up. His eyes close slowly and he falls asleep sitting up on his sofa chair.

The Little Boy

Anna fast asleep in front of the TV

Anna is slowing down. He is sleeping more and walking less. Most days when I go to his apartment in the morning (before work) and in the evening (after work), I am never sure if he is going to be awake or asleep. A couple of weeks ago, I reached his apartment at 7am after my morning walk. My signature double-tap doorbell ring normally announces to Anna that I have arrived, so I am not surprised to see his eyes are open when I lean over his bed.

Me: Anna? Are you awake?

Anna (looking at me, but not really looking at me): mumble...gurgle....mumble

Me: Good morning!

Anna (still just looking straight at me without seeing me): mumble...mumble....mumble

Me: Anna, I can't understand you. Wait a minute. Let's get you up so that you can drink some hot water.

We lift Anna so that he is sitting up in bed and he drinks a full glass of hot water.

Me: Anna, did you sleep well?

Anna says something to me in Tamil. I don't understand.

Me: Anna, I can't understand Tamil. Say it in Kannada.

Anna continues to talk in Tamil. I understand only a few words. Something about boys and playing and football and thirst.

Me: Anna, what happened? Tell me in English.

Anna (in a complaining whiny voice): He hit me!

I am instantly worried.  It is almost a physical reaction. I have always feared that I would be unable to prevent Anna from getting hurt or worse still not even know about it, as I am not physically present in his flat all the time.

Me (concerned): Who hit you, Anna?

Anna (still looking at me, straight through me): He did.

Me (thinking it is best to wake him up with coffee to get a more cogent response): Anna, do you want to get up and have coffee and tell me about it?

Anna (in a voice that should be accompanied with a pout): I don't want coffee. I want milk.

Whoa! My father does not want coffee? Now that's a first! I am really surprised.

Tairas (his housekeeper) gets him a warm glass of milk with Ensure. I hold the glass to his lips for him to drink and he gulps it down thirstily.

Me (after he finishes): Anna, you sure liked the milk. You were telling me about getting hit. What happened?

Anna (singing): Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!

Me: (laughing): Whose birthday is it Anna?

Anna: mumble....mumble. His eyes start to close.

I tuck Anna back into bed and wait till he closes his eyes. I finish the chores in the house and walk home letting the morning's events run thru my mind.

Half way home I realize that I don't hear Anna's voice. I hear a little boy's voice. Maybe the little boy he was. 

The Bomber

Anna's Apartment Number Signage

We moved my father into a new apartment over 18 months ago. Why did I do this, specially when he has dementia? I really had no choice. The landlady of his earlier apartment wanted to increase the rent by 10% after an 11 month period (I assume she thought that we would be willing to pay anything given my father's state of health). I did not want to be held to ransom because of his age and illness and decided to move him. Tho' the new apartment is smaller and a little further away than the earlier one, I think it was a good decision. 

Anna's apartment number is B-53, a simple enough number, but one he can not memorize. I looked at ways to help him remember and finally hit on memory association. 

Me: Anna, do you remember the famous bomber used by the Americans in the Cold War?

Boeing B-52 Stratofortress

Anna, of course, has no idea what I am talking about.

Me: Anna, do you remember the B-52 bomber?

Anna (brightening up): Yes! It was the aircraft that dropped a nuclear bomb on Bikini Island.

Me: Wow Anna! I didn't know that. Pause. Now all you have to remember is that your house number is one better than the B-52 bomber. You are in B-53.

And often, over the months, we have used this association for him to remember his address and that he is in Sheikh Sarai, Delhi. Three out of ten times when I ask him where he is he will say Delhi or Sheikh Sarai. The other seven times he thinks he is in Bangalore or Boston, or Fremont, or Washington, or London.

Then one morning this week....

Me: Anna, do you know where you are?

Anna (the master of hiding his disorientation): In a building.

Me: Yes, Anna. What is the address?

Anna (still hiding disorientation): It is a  nice place. Well done-up.

Me: Yes, Anna. It is your house. What is the address?

I get no response after asking him this question three times. So I decide to use the memory-association we have used in the past.

Me: Anna, do you remember that your flat number is one better than that of a famous bomber? 

This does not jog his memory.

Me: Anna, do you remember the famous bomber from a long time ago?

Anna (looking confused): Yes. Pause. The Unabomber.

Yikes! He is thinking of a completely different bomber.

I definitely think I haven't got this memory-association thing right!

You are Schtopal

Anna, all bundled up

My father is definitely slowing down. Earlier he could shuffle-walk to the big park behind his apartment. Now he barely gets to the gate of the colony. Previously we had more hours of wakeful cogent conversations. Now when I do have cogent conversations that last for 30 mins, I call it a good day.

As usual, last Sunday morning I decided to take Anna out for coffee. He was waiting patiently, sitting at the dining table for me at 11am, our usual hour.

Me: Anna, are you ready to go out for coffee?

Anna: Yes.

Me: Anna, where do you want to go? To Starbucks in the mall or to the Barista where we sat outside with Mamta and the family last weekend?

Barista at SDA Market

Anna: Say again!

Me: Anna, do you want to go to the mall or sit outside and drink coffee?

Anna: Outside.

I check that he is warmly clothed (something I check each day!), focusing on number of layers vs thickness of woolens. He says he is feeling quite warm. And off we go!

At Barista, he shuffles to a table outside the cafe, waits patiently for his coffee and treat. Today we have a double treat - coffee with Irish Cream flavoring and a paneer, corn, & cheese turnover. We chat about mundane things. And about his illness and the restrictions it places on him. It's like a "repeat it" game. He asks me to repeat questions and responses and I do.

Begumpur / Vijay Mandal Park
Photo Courtesey: http://so.city

After coffee and a paneer, corn, cheese turnover I ask him if he would like to go to the "really big park". He says yes, and we drive to it. That is the easy part. Getting him thru' chained gates, walking down an incline and wheeling his wheelchair on rough red sand takes effort. But, what the heck, he loves the 3 km "walk" in the park.

On our way home, here is how our conversation goes:

Anna: Sangeeta, you are great!

Me: Really? What did I do?

Anna: You are great!

Me: Thanks Anna. But you have to say that! You are my father.

Anna: No, I don't have to say that.

Me: Fathers always think their children are great.

This goes on for a while. Then Anna changes tack.

Anna: You are very patient. 

Me: Yes Anna, I am.

Anna: You have listened and replied to all my questions and comments today.

Pause.

Anna: You are schtopal.

Me: Schtopal? What does that mean, Anna?

Anna: I don't know. But it says what I mean.

I have no clue what he wants to say. I think of all the possible words in Tamil, Kannada, Hindi, and English that "schtopal" sounds like, but for the life of me I cannot come up with a single word or phrase. I even google it with no luck. Yet Anna is clear that it describes what he wants to say.

Perhaps Anna's Parkinson's and Dementia brain is creating a new language!

Anna's Reaction To The Surgical Strikes In PoK

The last few weeks have been more challenging than usual.

Then yesterday's surgical strikes in Pakistan occupied Kashmir (PoK) shows me a glimmer of my father that I haven't seen in some time.

Anna has been slowly recovering from his 20-day hospital stay. His stamina and humour have not returned to what they were earlier. Incidences of disorientation and hallucinations have increased. As has his slurring and inability to find the right word for things he wants to express.

Then there has been my illness. The hip and leg aches that woke me up in pain in the middle of the night for months, is diagnosed as urinary tract infection (UTI). I have been on medication for over a month now. Most common and effective medications didn't work to reduce the infection, and I ended up being allergic to the medications that did work! Today is day 7 of a 10-day regimen of twice daily shots of Amikacin 500mg. And we are not sure if Amikacin will work either.

When I meet Anna in the evening (after my painful evening shot of Amikacin), I find him looking blankly at the TV as NDTV re-plays the news on the surgical strikes on terrorist launchpads in PoK.

Me: Anna, did you follow the news on the Indian Army's strikes in PoK?

Anna (looking at me, confused and worried): We are at war with Pakistan?

Me: No-No, Anna! We are not in a full-scale war with Pakistan.  

I snap my fingers to get him to focus. And then point to the TV. Look at the TV, Anna.
I pause while he focuses his eyes on the screen. See the Indian Army conducted surgical strikes against terrorist launchpads in PoK, early this morning. It was very successful.

He watches the news for 10 mins, mildly interested. And then falls asleep.
I do some household chores and then wake him.

Me: Anna! Anna!!
I am greeted with a beaming smile

Anna (making a victory sign with his hand): Congratulations!

Me (confused): Congratulations for what, Anna?

Anna: We won the war!

Me (huh?): What war Anna?

Anna (excited): We won World War II !! 

Photo: https://thechampagneaddict.com

I am still absorbing this when he says, So how are we celebrating? Let's have champagne.

Me: Anna, you can't drink champagne.

Anna: We should celebrate with something.  Pause. Champagne or coffee.

Only my father can equate champagne with coffee!

I then spend many minutes explaining the surgical strikes, restating slowly what has been playing continuously all day on TV.  This time he seems to understand.

Anna: It's good that we are in Bangalore

Me: Why, Anna?

Anna: Pakistan's nuclear warheads can't reach Bangalore.

Me: But Anna, we are in Delhi.

As soon as the sentence leaves my mouth, I Gibbsslap* myself!

Anna (now worried): Pakistan will fire a nuclear weapon at us!

Me: No-No Anna. They won't. It is easier to say that, than to actually fire a nuclear weapon.

Anna: All they have to do is load a 747 with nuclear warheads and bomb Delhi.

Me (not sure it is so easy to load nuclear warheads onto a plane): No Anna. I bet the other nuclear powers are already talking to Pakistan to prevent the use of (nuclear) weapons.

Anna (really worried): They are saying that they will use nuclear weapons!

Me: Anna, that is only sabre-rattling by the Pakistanis. They won't really use nuclear weapons. 

This goes on for some time. I tell him, with a great amount of assumed authority in my voice and tone, that the US, Russia, China, and France are all talking with Pakistan to prevent the use of nuclear weapons. For some reason, he believes me.

I know he has calmed down when he tells me that he wants to sleep. And does. In the blink of an eye. The threat of nuclear war put to rest.

* Gibbsslap - a term used to describe NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs slapping the members of his team on the back of the head if they're getting off topic or if they're just acting like idiots in general. Watch the video.

Anna's Mind Time Travels At The Speed Of Sound

Anna's been home for 12 days, when he spikes a fever (101° F) and his congested chest breathing and coughing starts up again. The symptoms are similar to the symptoms that landed him in hospital last time. So I call the doctor who listens to me patiently and prescribes medication for the weekend. I am told to bring Anna to the hospital on Monday. It takes two hours at the hospital to find out that Anna's chest is clear but he has an infection.

Anna has little recollection of his stay in hospital and seems more disoriented and forgetful than normal. This is common with Dementia patients - physical illness negatively impacts mental acuity. I have dealt with this before and think I am ready for any disorientation, delusion, or hallucination to follow.

I am wrong.

I drop Anna at home at 1:30pm. I have lunch and just about sit down to relax when the phone rings. The attendant tells me that Anna is agitated and refusing to eat lunch. I ask him to put Anna on the phone and spend 40 mins with him on the topic of money.  From "all my money is lost" to "I have no money here" to "what happened to my money" to "I am a pauper". I patiently explain to him that his money is in the bank, that no money is lost, that I manage his money, to ask me if he needs money, to trust me.

He still refuses to eat unless I show him where the money is! I tell him that I will show him his passbooks when I see him later. So I gather my laptop and hoof it over to his flat after a nap (I so needed a nap!)

Anna: Bandiya-Amma? (So you've come)

Me: Yes Anna.

Anna's staff tell me that he had custard 'n banana for lunch. Milk, sugar, fruit - good calories as far as I am concerned. Not really lunch as far as Anna is concerned.

Photo: The Times Of India

Anna (very upset): Sangeeta, I have lost all my money!

Me: What money, Anna?

Anna: Money that was in the house.

Me: Anna, household spending money is with Tairas.

Anna: I need money for my expenses too.

Me: Yes Anna. I have that money. I manage it for you.

Anna: Where is the money?

Me: Anna, the money is in the bank. I take it out from the ATM when you need it.

Anna: Where?

I soon realise that Anna does not understand the concept of banking. So I explain basic banking and how we can withdraw deposited money from an ATM machine. He is somewhere in his childhood where there are no banks and definitely no ATMs.

Anna: Now I understand why Padu says he carries no money. He uses that machine (referring to an ATM). Anna's younger brother, K V Padmanabhan, passed away in April 2009. Anna thinks Padukaka is still alive.

Me: Yes, Anna. He uses an ATM.

Anna: So have we done the division.

Me: Division of what, Anna?

Anna: Amma's things. Are Krishna and Padu here?

My grandmother, Ananthalakshmi

For a couple of seconds, I think he is talking about my mother. He isn't. He is talking about his mother and the time just after her death in 1984.

Me: Yes Anna. What do you want with Krishna and Padu?

Anna: Has Amma's jewellery been divided? Are they happy?

Me: Yes, Anna. My grandmother probably had only one chain and nose ring, & one pair of earrings and bangles when she died.

Anna: Do I have money in the bank?

Me: Yes Anna.

Anna: Will it be at least Rs. 3,000/-?   He says this in a tone that implies that Rs. 3,000/- is a very healthy bank balance.

Me: Yes Anna. I don't want to confuse him with real numbers that are healthier.

Anna: Oh OK! That is good!

Me: Anna, are you feeling calmer now?

Anna: I need some money to spend.

Me (showing him the money in his wallet): Anna, you have Rs 570/- in your wallet for spending.

Anna: That is not too much money.

Me: Anna, the rest of the money is in the bank.

Anna (after a long period of silence): I wanted to ask you all this before now, but you had told us not to discuss money when other people are around. There are always people around.

My Mother, Sarala

Yes, I had. My parents would discuss money matters in rented taxis all the time. I had to sit them down and explain to them why this was dangerous. I literally forbade them from talking about money unless they were alone at home!

Me: Anna, you remember that!?

Anna: Yes, you just told us. "Us" is my mother and him. I had probably told them this the early 2000s. My mother passed away in 2011.

Anna: What is my net worth?

Me (not sure what time period he is in and what an appropriate number is): How much do you think it should be, Anna?

Anna quotes a figure that is a few lakhs. I agree.

Anna: What about the safety deposit box?

Me (after I tell him where it is): Why do you want your safety deposit box?

Anna: Amma's jewellery is there. But, it should be empty now.

Me: Yes Anna. Remember after Amma died (in 2011), I cleaned out the box and divided all her jewellery between the children? There is nothing there now.

Anna smiles at this: Good.

This goes on for hours. The theme is money but the time frame moves years, forwards and backwards. Seamlessly. Constantly.

I wonder who he thinks I am. Not Sangeeta, as I do not exist in all the time periods in his mind.

I am really exhausted at the end of my visit and so happy he decides to nap before dinner.