It was in January 2019, that I visited a hospice in Ooty. It also gave me an opportunity to try out my new car. A group of us had raised some funds for the hospice which took care of old people and we thought we would hand over our little contribution in person. Our employer had added a handsome amount to the collection and our Regional Manager was travelling with us to deliver the cheque. The weekend before Pongal was approaching and Ooty would be crowded, as people would swarm there in droves. The roads from Coimbatore and Mysore would be clogged too. So we decided to go a few days early to avoid the weekend rush.
When we passed Mettupalayam and started driving towards Coonoor, we felt a perceptible drop in temperature. That was quite normal and usual when we left the plains and started ascending the hills. The increase in elevation and dense forest cover, not doubt, had a role to play. But I had never felt so cold on that route earlier. I had to roll up my windows to avoid shivering. I suspected the light woolens we were wearing might not be sufficient for the night ahead of us.
We were discussing the modalities of presenting the money. I got an idea and said, "Why don't we hand it over to their oldest resident? After all, it is an old age home."
The boss, hugged his jacket a little tighter and nodded approvingly, adding, "That's a nice t-t-touch!"
Mr. Chatterjee's teeth were chattering due to the frigid temperature.
When I asked her, over dinner, whether she had been to Scotland, which was obviously the source of her surname, she said, "My late husband Sean, had taken me to Drumnadrochit once. We had stayed for a week and walked along the shores of the loch every day. I like the place but was disappointed for I did not get an audience with our legendary neighbour Nessie. I wish I had seen her. But what I miss most about Scotland is the snow. How I wish it snowed in Ooty!"
I got busy trying to compute Stella's age. Even if she had been born twenty years later, she would be 170 – definitely more than 150!
I wrote "CL+? Date?" on a paper napkin and pushed it to her. She reached for the little sling bag that always hung by her side, pulled out a pen, wrote something on the paper and returned it with a conspiratorial wink. The paper now read "CL+?" "EVER". It also had a heart drawn in red, accompanied by a smiley and a few Xs, and followed by the words "Will you be my Valentine this year?"
I smiled back at the young lady and nodded, wondering whether the red colour was from a pen or a lipstick.
Post Script:
Today's the date of our date. It is also her favourite author's death anniversary. I am at the hospice in Ooty. I am shattered to see Stella lying. I gaze upon the young lady lying in repose, a serene smile on her face. She has gone to Sean during the night. As my hand placed the red rosebud that I had carried for her across her chest, I was sure that she must have seen, if she could see through her closed eyelids, a silhouette of Nessie. And thus fulfilled another of her wishes* ...
* I am not sure if her wish of snow in Ooty was really fulfilled. "It might have just been frost, after all," naysayers may say, adding, "Everyone knows it does not snow in Ooty," but any doubts that may arise may be scotched on the authority of a lady with Scots blood in her.
Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.
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When we passed Mettupalayam and started driving towards Coonoor, we felt a perceptible drop in temperature. That was quite normal and usual when we left the plains and started ascending the hills. The increase in elevation and dense forest cover, not doubt, had a role to play. But I had never felt so cold on that route earlier. I had to roll up my windows to avoid shivering. I suspected the light woolens we were wearing might not be sufficient for the night ahead of us.
We were discussing the modalities of presenting the money. I got an idea and said, "Why don't we hand it over to their oldest resident? After all, it is an old age home."
The boss, hugged his jacket a little tighter and nodded approvingly, adding, "That's a nice t-t-touch!"
Mr. Chatterjee's teeth were chattering due to the frigid temperature.
**
It was at the hospice that I met Stella Urquhart. She was introduced as an Anglo-Indian and as the oldest inmate, the person designated by the hospice to received the cheque. I found her to be of sharp intellect, though frail in structure. No one knew her correct age, as there were no birth certificates in those days,. Nor did the local church records have any mention of her. But she was definitely the oldest person in the hospice. The fact was attested by none other than the second oldest person in the hospice, a person who did have some record of her own birth. This lady, who was 99 as per church records, had on several occasions mentioned that Stella had taught her English in her teens as a private tutor. This conclusively proved Stella was older that the second oldest. But no one knew her real age.
When I asked her, over dinner, whether she had been to Scotland, which was obviously the source of her surname, she said, "My late husband Sean, had taken me to Drumnadrochit once. We had stayed for a week and walked along the shores of the loch every day. I like the place but was disappointed for I did not get an audience with our legendary neighbour Nessie. I wish I had seen her. But what I miss most about Scotland is the snow. How I wish it snowed in Ooty!"
Someone remarked, "I have never heard of snowing in south India. Wish it had snowed during Christmas!"
Stella responded, "The newspapers mentioned that it had snowed in Munnar just a couple of days back!"
"May your dream of snow in Ooty come true," I said, and asked her out of curiosity, "How do you spend your time? Which newspapers do you read?"
Her reply was quite perceptive: "I read Wodehouse. Nothing can beat him for humour. I get several newspapers, but they are quite biased these days and are always promoting or debunking some point of view based on their political leanings."
She continued, "I read all news with a pinch of salt because they exaggerate so much. Politicians 'slam' and 'mock' each other, and call each other names on a daily basis. The courts 'pass strictures' daily, though nobody cares about it or bothers to follow its rulings."
Then to my delight, she confided, "It is for the crossword puzzles that I ask for the papers, not for the news. I really enjoy them.They give me a lot of pleasure everyday."
I bent my head towards her conspiratorially and confided, "I too am into crosswords."
"Which setter do you like most?", I asked.
She replied, "I specially like Gridman in The Hindu. He has a wonderful way with words."
I said, "I have had the pleasure of meeting Gridman a few times and have enjoyed every minute of our interaction."
She requested, "I would like to meet him too. Since I don't travel out of Ooty, could you please try to bring him here some day?"
I replied, "I certainly will. Though he is over 70, he still travels quite a bit. I am sure he would love to meet you."
"Sounds like an interesting young man," she observed.
She said that she had heard that I was interested in music and that I played music on my mobile phone too. She asked me to play something. I pulled out my phone and played a few bars of 'Auld Lang Syne'. The eyes of the old lady with Scots lineage became moist, as she murmured her thanks.
"Which setter do you like most?", I asked.
She replied, "I specially like Gridman in The Hindu. He has a wonderful way with words."
I said, "I have had the pleasure of meeting Gridman a few times and have enjoyed every minute of our interaction."
She requested, "I would like to meet him too. Since I don't travel out of Ooty, could you please try to bring him here some day?"
I replied, "I certainly will. Though he is over 70, he still travels quite a bit. I am sure he would love to meet you."
"Sounds like an interesting young man," she observed.
She said that she had heard that I was interested in music and that I played music on my mobile phone too. She asked me to play something. I pulled out my phone and played a few bars of 'Auld Lang Syne'. The eyes of the old lady with Scots lineage became moist, as she murmured her thanks.
As we retired for the night, I resolved to spend some more time with Stella and find out what kept her so sharp at an age when most had memory and reasoning issues. It was a very cold night and the fireplaces in the rooms definitely contributed to our comfort.
**
When we gathered for breakfast the next morning, we were informed of the incredulous thing that had happened during the night. It had snowed in Ooty. A thin blanket of white was visible on the lawn. It was the topic of discussion at the breakfast table and we recollected the previous night's conversation.
Stella was excited. "Your good wishes have worked," she told me.
Stella was excited. "Your good wishes have worked," she told me.
She continued, "But this is too little to be enjoyed. It used to snow heavily in Mussoorie when I used to stay there. Himalayan hill stations are something quite different."
Our boss, who claimed to have slept in due to the extra-ordinarily cold weather turned up at the breakfast table. I knew his excuse was fake. He always rose late and often snoozed in his cabin.
He was also a person with quixotic logic. Seeing the snow, he asked, "How come it is getting colder in Ooty than ever before if the world is going through global warming?"
Stella had a ready answer. She theorized, "This must be due to eruption of Anak Krakatau in the Sunda straits near Sumatra last month. The ashes from the eruption must have created a dust cloud leading to drop in temperature to its west." She smilingly added an obiter dictum - "Both Sunda and Sumatra start with my initials, SU!"
The boss was unconvinced. He said, "That's in Indonesia, isn't it? It's probably too far away to matter."
Stella struck to her theory and explained, "Volcanic eruptions in Indonesia have caused tsunamis and other climatic disturbances in India several times earlier too. Nothing is too far for cataclysmic natural events."
The boss argued, "But has it ever snowed in South India because of that?"
Stella patiently explained, "A couple of years back, some newspapers reported that it had snowed in Madras two centuries back as a result of the dust clouds, formed by eruption of Mount Tambora, which traveled towards India.'
The boss pulled out his tablet and browsed online to cross verify this statement. He rebutted, saying, "It says here that temperatures did go down below zero in Madras in 1815 and lakes froze, but it was unconfirmed if the reports of snow were true."
Stella, not to be beaten, hammered in the last nail in the argument, saying, "I don't know where online sources get their information from. They just tend to quote each other or cite unnamed sources. But, Mister, I assure you that it did snow. And I can give you the source of my information unlike your untrustworthy media. My mum was twenty at that time and she told me that it did snow in Madras in the last week of April, 1815. Are you telling me she was a liar, young man?"
I got busy trying to compute Stella's age. Even if she had been born twenty years later, she would be 170 – definitely more than 150!
The boss too had independently performed a similar computation and with an incredulous look, had asked, "I don't get it. Then you must be over ...?" He did not complete the sentence.
She continued, "My younger brother Douglas McDonnell was serving in the army during the Mutiny and later settled down in Darjeeling after buying a tea estate called Hogmanay. I have letters from him, which I have not disclosed till date, which can convince you. I am sure you can also verify the dates from the land documents in Darjeeling if you wanted to."
"Do you want to carbon date me?", she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Do you want to carbon date me?", she asked, arching an eyebrow.
I wrote "CL+? Date?" on a paper napkin and pushed it to her. She reached for the little sling bag that always hung by her side, pulled out a pen, wrote something on the paper and returned it with a conspiratorial wink. The paper now read "CL+?" "EVER". It also had a heart drawn in red, accompanied by a smiley and a few Xs, and followed by the words "Will you be my Valentine this year?"
I smiled back at the young lady and nodded, wondering whether the red colour was from a pen or a lipstick.
**
Post Script:
Today's the date of our date. It is also her favourite author's death anniversary. I am at the hospice in Ooty. I am shattered to see Stella lying. I gaze upon the young lady lying in repose, a serene smile on her face. She has gone to Sean during the night. As my hand placed the red rosebud that I had carried for her across her chest, I was sure that she must have seen, if she could see through her closed eyelids, a silhouette of Nessie. And thus fulfilled another of her wishes* ...
* I am not sure if her wish of snow in Ooty was really fulfilled. "It might have just been frost, after all," naysayers may say, adding, "Everyone knows it does not snow in Ooty," but any doubts that may arise may be scotched on the authority of a lady with Scots blood in her.
Please read more about her brother's story at Hogmanay Estate
***
Copyright notice: The contents of this blog may not be used in any form without the express written consent of the blog owner, who may be contacted at kishoremrao@hotmail.com.
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