Aamoi

Mom was unwell. I got to know when she was recovering. When I called she was sleeping so didn't want to disturb. Next day, she called me and I knew she was feeling better. A little breathlessness due to weakness, but otherwise cheerful enough.

During this time mom's little helper was in charge. He cooked (with some help from dad) and cleaned and ordered mom to eat. "You are not going to recover otherwise", he made it clear to her. Mom, stifling her grin, nodded in all seriousness.

Aamoi then landed up and cooked some tasty and strength regaining food for mom and she felt really good, she said. I was surprised. Aamoi wasn't well herself. The last I heard both her kidneys were damaged and she herself didn't think she would live very long. Not too long back, she had come over, in her weak state, to eat her favourite but advised-against dish. Mom made it and she quickly licked her plate clean before her husband came to pick her up.

Aamoi is mom's friend. It's not her name. We just call her that. I don't know why we didn't call her "aunty" like mom's other friends. They were together in college and in the hostel. In fact, they share the same name too. Except for a couple of years when my parents moved to some strange place after marriage, mom and Aamoi have even been living in the same town. When they were in different states, I guess they kept in touch somehow.

Aamoi's husband managed a tea estate and I remember countless parties we had. Mostly at their bungalow. They changed a couple of houses but each time it would be a sprawling wooden bungalow on stilts. Below, the cars would be parked and there were rooms called 'servant quarters' in those days. The wide wooden stairs lead to grand living quarters. There was an open patio followed by cozy carpeted rooms with fireplaces. Lot of plants around. There was also a glass walled patio where parties in winter were enjoyed without the biting cold. And in summer, you could get lost in the huge gardens. Only laughter and music were heard.

Aamoi was an excellent host. She looked like an actress, so beautiful with her short hair that turned outwards. She had 3 cooks whipping up the most delectable dishes, but for us kids she often cooked herself. Delicious treats that children so love. Her elder son was a special child, disabled. He's still one of my favourite people. Such innocence on a 30 year old face! The daughter and my bro fought like cats and dogs but still played together. And there was a youngest son too.

Some years back, Aamoi's daughter was murdered. By the son-in-law. It caused a lot of sensation and, instead of a husband-murdering-wife case, blew out of proportion and got ugly. Aamoi and her husband never recovered. After that, they lost their balance. Not mentally, but somehow they aged and looked like they had given up on life.

"Why is she not picking up the pieces and getting on?" I asked mom, unable to bear seeing her like that. And one day, mom trusted me enough to tell me, "It's not easy. Aamoi has never found much happiness in life. Her husband had an affair with her own sister."

I was dumb founded. Her handsome husband, Taawoi, (yes, we call him that, maybe to match Aamoi!!) wasn't what he seemed to be? All my childhood memories got distorted. I remembered him dancing with Aamoi, pulling mom to dance too. He looked and behaved like an actor and always smelt good. We kids loved him so much. Then why? I guess I will never know any more.

I have asked Aamoi to come to Bombay, promising to take her to the best doctor who will cure her of everything. She laughed and I saw her eyes light up for an instant as she looked at me fondly. "Did you hear what she said? Go to Bombay with her! I will. I will."

I am suddenly glad Aamoi has mom close to her. And mom has her. I am glad of a friendship that has lived with them. I am glad they have each other to pour out their hearts to. In times, good and bad, I think they have proved the friendship adage true.