The Fog

They garlanded him. Someone clapped. He bowed with a smile. Looked around at the rest of the people around, still beaming. Someone had tears in their eyes. He patted them on the back. "Such is life," he said warmly. "I go, someone else will come in my place, and so on. Even you will go," he added. 

The person turned away, now sobbing openly. He looked at the person who had garlanded him with a shrug and a sad look, as if to say, he had tried his best.

"Papa," the person garlanding him said, "papa, do you recognise me?"

He frowned. "Of course, you are my marketing head! I am retiring from work! Not, my mind!" He chuckled and looked around. "The refreshments for my farewell look sumptuous!" he said, looking at the well-laden table.

The sob became louder. Even the man in front of him seemed unable to contain his pain. "Papa, please, we are at home. These are your and ma's siblings. They are here for you, for us."

Deb blinked. Shubhankar continued, "You have Alzheimer's... it makes you forget and confused. Sometimes you go away and lose your way. Make sure you wear this when you step out."

Deb looked at what he had thought was a garland. It was a name tag. He read out aloud, "Deb Sarkar." The address was given below with a line, 'If you find him wandering, please help him get back home. Or call us.' And the phone number was there. 

Deb closed his eyes for a moment and then looked at his son Shubhankar. "Thank you," he whispered. He turned towards the sobbing woman, his wife. He went up to her. "Maloti, please, no. It's part of aging. Don't cry..."

She clung to him. He patted her and then stepped back in a hurry. "Please give the lady something to drink. She seems very upset..."

He looked around and beamed again. "It has been wonderful, just wonderful, working with you all, knowing you all. I want to personally thank you for making my job easier." He waved towards the table. "Please have your fill. Please stay back and enjoy yourself, I must take leave now." A few teardrops rolled down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them and went to the door.

"Papa, papa," Shubhankar called out.

"I am going for a walk," Deb said over his shoulder and left. Shubhankar ran after him calling out.

Deb stood just outside, looking this way and that. He glanced at his son and asked, "Sir... I... I think there is a park nearby somewhere. Everything seems to have changed since I came here last... Can you tell me which way to go?"

"Papa, come in. I will take you to the park," Shubhankar pleaded. Deb frowned and allowed himself to be taken inside. 

"I am sorry if I am bothering you," Deb said hesitantly. He glanced at the people gathered in the room. He smiled. "Arrey, what's the occasion? All the sisters are assembled here, yours and mine, Maloti? Am I missing something?"

Shubhankar stared at his father. Till today, his father's memory slowly faded in and out. But today seemed to be remarkable. Minute by minute, his father seemed to be moving from one phase to another. His father was nearly 75, but the name tag had reminded him of his corporate days and he thought was retiring. He suddenly recognised his wife and son and then seemed to think they were strangers.

Shubhankar's aunts on both sides were here to show support and it was one of them who had suggested the tag with the address details. Because his father would suddenly vanish from the house. They had luckily found him wandering near the tea stall a few streets away. But, his mother was increasingly concerned that the next time, he may wander farther away and be lost in the crowded city.

Many suggestions had come from all around. A dog to keep Deb company, one pet lover who believed in the healing powers of these loyal beings had suggested. Another uncle countered that he should have an attender to dog Deb's steps, and laughed at his play with words, making the pet lover glare. A third recommended another doctor and so on and so forth. Some suggestions could be attempted, some not. 

But meanwhile, as the family stumbled from one suggestion to another, fog continued to play with Deb's mind. On some days, his mind shone bright and clear, on some days, it remained buried and confused. They slowly learnt to deal with it, though the pain of seeing him deteriorate was hard to see.

His sharp intellect, capacity to learn and incisively decide on matters had characterised this man early on. Born in difficult circumstances, he had risen up in life, built a company, overseen its expansion and retired with an enviable repositary of not only wealth but friends and loyal employees as well.

All the while, he made an attempt to balance his personal life, being there for his wife and children. Not always, but he was there. His wife Maloti was the perfect counterfoil. They created a melodious harmony, embracing each other's flaws and building on their own strengths. They built a warm, welcoming home for relatives and friends.

But with age, as Maloti's arthritis started bothering her, she had to put her own pains and aches aside to watch over her husband more cautiously. She was quick to catch the fog that slowly but surely clouded his mind. She tried to get him interested in crossword, sudoku, reading, learning, exercising - anything to stimulate his mind. But age, alas, brought with it this painful malady that doctors also slowly taught them to give up on.

With him gone figuratively, it was as if she had lost her ability to keep her side of the bargain as well. She was reduced to listening to advice and trying every remedy on earth to keep him close, to prevent him from getting lost forever - mentally and physically. As he started losing his memory, she too seemed to crumble, her emotions seemingly by the fog like a puppeteer pulling his strings.

The name tag was no remedy. Just a way to keep him physically still tied to them, to her. If he were lost, there was some way for someone to bring him home. Or, in a moment of clarity, help him find his way back.

And today, when Shubhankar explained the purpose of the tag to Deb in a lucid moment, the fog seemed to have intensified its activity - as if challenging them to find a way to deal with the vagaries of his memories; as if to tell them, it was still stronger than any of their devices to deal with it.

When everybody left, Maloti sat with her head resting on the sofa's backrest. Shubhankar and his wife Arati came and sat by her, just as tired but to demonstrate support.

For a man who forgot details about himself, what was a name tag? He saw an open door or if he took fancy, he would be off. Watching over a grown man was more difficult than minding an infant! The watchfulness brought on tantrums that they were not prepared for. A grown up child, stubborn as only the old can be, and yet, unexpectedly strong. Pleas, threats, emotional blackmail - all had but temporary impact.

One day, as he neared the door, he saw the name tag handily hanging by a nail next to the door. It was Shubhankar's idea - maybe when Deb was stepping out, he would see it and remember to wear it. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn't.

Today, he smiled at it proudly, thinking of the company he had built and was going to today to attend an important board meeting. He put it on and went out. The weather beckoned pleasantly, and he started walking towards the office. A good nine kilometers away but not even nine yards in his mind. A loud horn disturbed him and he glanced to his right. The avenue, shaded and cool, lured him and he thought of young Maloti waiting for him in the park with the children who would be playing.

He entered the park at the end of the road and walked around. He saw an old man on one of the benches, casually dressed in kurta pajama and reading the paper. An inexplicable weariness settled down in Deb's heart and he sat down at the other end. The two smiled and exchanged a nod. A casual conversation revealed the stranger to be a retired government officer. "I am enjoying life now," he said, pointing to the paper. "Do things at my pace. Have run enough."

Deb closed his eyes, something in him echoing the sentiments. He nodded, "Just what I need." 

He got up, took the tag out and threw it into the dustbin. He smiled by way of taking leave and left the park to head home.

He blinked. The trees looked alike. The traffic whizzing past made him feel giddy. He couldn't remember which way he had come. He went the way his feet took him, walking out into the open skies, befuddled by the tall buildings and the heavy traffic making him run this way and that.

Shubhankar walked up and down the streets, his father's photo in hand. Posters came up, social media posts amplified the search.

Deb wandered freely, his beard and shabby appearance dissuading any scrutiny that may have helped a passerby detected the semblance. The fog shrouded his mind fully. But it bothered him not. For he now believed the skies were his roof, the footpath his bed and the morsels he scavenged his feast. Sometimes memories flashed through. But like lightning, they vanished, making him wonder if it was from a previous birth.

The fog caught Maloti too--as grief, guilt and fear for her husband's fate. She became depressed and bed-ridden. Gloom settled in Shubhankar's mind and a new worry that he may inherit the same forgetfulness sent him pursuing reels and write-ups that informed him of how he could ward it off.

And, what of the fog? It feared none, except death itself--which could snatch its victim away before the fog could kill softly.