Of cabbages and kings

… the walrus said,

“Let’s talk of many things;

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax,

And cabbages and kings…”

By Ransiri Menike Silva

There were others, plenty of them, occupying rooms that faced an airy quadrangle open to the skies. The grassy lawn was a treat to the eyes of residents, both upstairs and downstairs, except on the days it was to be mown.

Spotting the human ‘mower’ approaching with the tools of his trade, we would retreat into our rooms and barricade ourselves behind closed doors and windows. Then the ordeal began. Deprived of fresh air we would flop down on chairs or beds to watch shreds of grass and grass-hoppers splattering the windows.

When the gentle sliding down of the ‘bits and pieces’ ceased and silence prevailed, a brave person would open his or her door gingerly and then let out a triumphant yelp, “He’s gone!” and we would be left the onerous task of ‘cleaning windows’ like George Formby.

At other times, idling at our respective doors we would enjoy a jolly get-together. We would talk about general topics, the latest news, gossip and other trivialities. The most titillating of these sessions was when one member was away. Then each of us would air our grievances against him or her, and they were many and varied. We laughed a lot to unburden ourselves. There were no snitches, for we knew that it would be our turn next!

We were a motley crowd. There was a retired Bank Manager; a run-away-bride of a railway guard; a widow of a state plantation boss assassinated by rebels; the grand-daughter of one of the country’s greatest patriots; a popular songstress who had sung with C.T. Fernando while still in school; a terminally ill cancer patient; a retired English teacher who conducted classes at another venue. He was well-read and discerning and we would exchange books, with him commenting on my writings.

There was Sammy, a child in a man’s body with an underdeveloped brain, who lived with his widowed mother in the row behind us. She was very protective of him and took him with her everywhere holding tightly on to his hand. But there were times, when she was busy with some household work, he would scoot out without her knowledge and go roaming around the quadrangle. She would panic at finding him missing and come looking for him often to find him at my desk grinning, sipping a drink and drawing pictures.

Then there was the self-appointed manageress whom everyone disliked and ignored. Every evening she would lock herself in and after a bath, don her night-wear and devote herself to religious devotions. She would have already gathered flowers from other people’s gardens without permission. The first indication of her rituals was the scent of incense that wafted out of the window. This would be followed by the chanting of ‘gathas’ that reached us via the same source. At first, the recital would be very loud, then would gradually lose volume to stop in mid-air. After that, total silence. This was puzzling. The housemaid giggled as she revealed the secret. “You know madam, she does not worship standing or kneeling in front of the Buddha statue as we do but reclines in the comfort of the ‘hansi-putuwa’ (recliner), feet stretched out and palms together. Soon she falls asleep!”

In the row of rooms behind us were a bed-ridden retired English teacher whom I would visit for some worthwhile conversation. But she passed away soon after and all the groundwork was attended to by the landlord and staff personally before the undertaker moved in.

Also in the same row was ‘Bhavana Miss’ noted for her hot temper. She was supposedly practising meditation and refused to let anyone disturb her all day. She was accepted as a fraud by all. I saw her only on the day she left. She was in a wheelchair directing sternly the packing away of her things into the lorry. I was shocked at the maliciously expression engraved on her face.

There was also a six-foot-something areca pole who invariably locked herself behind a door painted blue. She was daft, her looniness having its ups and downs. She would dress up in flashy clothes, jewellery, hair decorated with flowers to drop meaningless scraps of notes through other people’s windows. Later I chanced upon her history. Highly educated, her job had kept her away from home for long periods. The lonely frustrated husband finally sought other distractions in the form of her best friend with whom he eloped. This drove her to seek refuge in liquor. She was mentally maimed.

At the time I became aware of her condition she was ‘down’ but not ‘out’, but she began climbing upwards gradually. Finally, she was left with only some minor eccentricities that affected no one. We came to know each other, fitting well into each other’s intellectual backgrounds. On realising my need for good reading material she lent me many worthwhile ones from her well stocked personal library.

One day she had visitors, a father and son, who found difficulty in locating her room, and on seeing me at my door approached me. It was her son and husband! They spent an entire morning with her, taking her out for the day later. Leaving the son to talk to her in his absence, the husband came to talk to me. It is from him that I learnt her story. She was still there when I left, but am often reminded of her upon hearing or seeing her family name, well known personalities in the financial world. The ‘hubby’ left his visiting card with me, he too is a well known highly placed personality!

The next in line is a lively male whose name I still do not know. Not so his family history, which I came to learn later. He could be spotted going up and down several times a day, though he did not join us for meals or associate with any one of us. Once a month his elder sister would meet the landlord to pay his rent and also dole out a little pocket money to her brother, for his personal needs. What were they? We soon found out. It was just one – liquor.

When his pocket money ran out, he resorted to begging – mainly outside supermarkets, at the canteens of business establishments during their lunch break, outside prosperous restaurants to fleece their customers and at major traffic lights. We had all spotted him at one time or another at these locations while driving through.

One day the landlord, awaiting his turn at the amber light of the traffic lights, spotted his tenant approaching him from the opposite pavement, hand extended. He shivered inwardly at the inevitable encounter ahead. Then the light flashed green and he sped away to safety. He was still apprehensive as he related it to us later, “I don’t know what I would have done if he had come up to me and there was mutual recognition!”

Gradually, I learned his story. He was from a high-class family and was highly educated, married with a family to support. Moving in high circles he had been introduced to a few ‘drinks’ by his colleagues. This caught his fancy and his intake increased in quality and quantity until he became an alcoholic. This ruined him and his family, resulting in divorce. That affected him not, but his siblings felt otherwise, for by this time he had also been fired from his job. So they took him under their wing, to protect and care for him, their youngest and favourite brother.

I continued to observe him, walking to and from the gate at various hours throughout the day, swaying just a little. He did not join us for meals and I wondered on what solid sustenance he survived. He was much younger than us and appeared physically fit. On what did he survive? Then it hit me, the ‘bites’ that went with the liquor. At each store, he probably begged for or purchased packets of ‘bites’ which were tasty and fairly ‘filling as well’. I felt a protective fondness for him and whenever we passed each other he would acknowledge my smile with a nod and a sheepish grin, but did not extend his hand to me.