Nobody likes to visit Mr. Chetia.
It was a June night. The time was 11 p.m.
I was taking my post-dinner walk on the terrace like I do every night. Checking in on the seedling trays for any sign of growth, one last time before I went to sleep.
My neighbourhood was a quiet one. Everyone is in bed by this time.
Except Chetia uncle. He has a room on his terrace where he keeps his books and spends most of his time. The lights of that room never went off. The door was always slightly open, and it always glowed like an old television set, playing the same channel over and over again. The furniture layout in his room seemed like (at least from my terrace) it hadn’t changed in decades:
The big painting of a forest. I don’t know if it’s something he painted, or bought, but it still hangs, only a little tired.
Then there’s the wooden alna with clothes hung on them in a fashion that you could tell folding or ironing is not on his chore list. “It’s because he doesn’t have a wife na.” our help Ruma would sometimes add to her list of complaints about him.
Her list grows
long, when she’s shelling peas, or peeling garlic cloves.
more aggressive, when he falls behind in paying her salary.
His green umbrella hanging behind the bedroom door. The big kind, with the handle. The kind you picture retired uncles to carry. It’s a miracle how the same umbrella has lasted him this long.
If the umbrella was home, Chetia uncle was home. If it wasn’t, he wasn’t either.
You see, in this town, people not only carried an umbrella when it rained. It was pretty common to carry it against the sun too. You would see most people on the streets carrying one. When not carrying it over our heads, we use it to point at things at the vegetable market to ask “Eitu kiman ke disaa?1”. We also use it as a suggestive weapon in arguments on the streets. **Or, use it as a real weapon in public buses. In fact, the other day, a brave lady was on the news for putting a man in the hospital.
Woman breaks man’s genitals with umbrella - the news read.
_________
For nearly 25 years I have never really spoken to him, but only admired his terrace garden from a distance, particularly his orchids. They were all hung from a setup he made himself against his terrace parapet. Six horizontal bamboo poles, each about 10 feet long, placed 1 foot away from each other, and supported by 3 vertical bamboo poles, two on the ends and one in the middle. Our terraces were at the same level - two stories above ground, and were separated by only 3 feet and a jamun tree growing on our property. Which, to my mother’s disappointment - delivered fruits to Chetia uncle’s terrace. The tree canopied over his orchids, giving them the perfect ‘dappled sunlight’ environment orchids love.
As a child, I would use a stool to stand near the parapet and lean closer to his terrace to get a whiff of the blooming foxtails and cattleyas. Smelled like a mix of honey, vanilla and cinnamon - or, as I used to describe it as a child - like heaven!
Once, I teetered dangerously close to the edge when, unexpectedly, he appeared right before me. As if hiding under the parapet just to catch me stealing his fragrant air.
He was an odd man. He kept to himself.
Didn’t speak much. Had unibrows.
And honestly, looked a little scary.
Then he changed my mind last year.
_________
It was 2021 and I had just moved back home after 13 years of being away. As I was settling in, the second wave of covid hit the country, and another partial lockdown followed. I tried to make the best use of my time with a little project - started clearing up the store room on our terrace, in the hopes of turning it into a reading room for myself, with a little easy-to-care-for garden outside. As I spent the hot afternoon cleaning up and planning things to buy for the room, the warm air brought in a familiar heavenly smell, and with it, memories from a forgotten side of our terrace. I stepped out for a break and walked towards the edge where Chetia uncle kept his orchids. I see his collection has expanded in the last 20 years, and the older ones have multiplied. I started wondering how he has been keeping them so healthy in this heat. The temperatures in our town have gone up by at least 10 degrees in the last 20 years.
Suddenly, I was startled by a voice —
“Have you noticed the pair or barbets that are nesting in Baruah’s mango tree?”
I tried to figure where it came from when a figure suddenly stood up. Chetia uncle, in a khaki shirt and shorts, a camouflage cap, and binoculars, pointing at a tree 20 feet from us, and looking at me expecting an answer.
“A pair of baabet? Sorry?”, I asked, confused. I hadn't succumbed to the allure of birdwatching, yet. I had no idea what a Barbet was.
“A pair of Baar-bets. Blue-throated barbets to be specific”, he said.
“Here look.”
He handed me his binoculars over the 3 feet gap between us.
I took it and followed his instructions -
“First, focus on the top third of the Mango tree.”
“Yes.”
“Now, see the solid branch going through the center? Slowly move towards the right of that, you will see a crooked Y-shaped branch growing up.”
“Yes, I see it.”
“Just watch the area where the two arms of the Y meet. Blue-throated barbets are green and easy to miss when they are amongst the leaves. But if you are patient, you will spot them when they move their heads to display a beautiful blue throat and a little bit of red on their crowns.”
I held the binoculars steady, and kept watch.
The leaves were moving in the wind too, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for.
After a long minute, I saw a little leaf that seemed oddly ‘too green’ compared to the other leaves. And as I focussed, I saw a little blue and then a little red!
"I see it!" My extra-shrill squeal surprised us both. “How come I have never seen this bird in the area before?”
“You have never really looked”, he said with a hint of a smile, which I have never seen on his face before.
_________
Since then, our conversations grew a little longer each time we met, just like the hot June days. I was spending long hours fixing the room and would often see him doing a thing or the other on his orchids.
“They need more care in this horrid heat.” He said with his natural and familiar frown. He looked like Eustace from Courage the Cowardly Dog, I thought.
“Even the vandas are struggling, can you imagine? The vandas!!” he angrily pointed his water gun at the blazing sun, and then shook his head several times with a tsk-tsk-tsk, as he carefully treated his orchids with a fine mist of water.
_________
“Uncle, I am planning a small garden out here.” I told him one day. “Was wondering if I can add an orchid to it. I have never had one. I am told they are really difficult to care for.”
“Difficult?! Dhei! Kune koise?” he asked.
“You can go wrong with other plants because you can’t see what’s happening under the soil, you don’t know whether the roots are asking for more water, less water, if there is a fungal infection, or a family of pests eating it up. Orchids on the other hand are an open book. Their bare roots will always tell you what they need.”
_________
One day he startled me as I was trying to net some jamuns on my mother’s request.
He popped-up from under the parapet again.
“Have you seen fireflies?” he asked.
“Of course I have.”
“No I mean have you seen them lately.”
“Oh.” I just realized I haven’t seen fireflies in years. “No. I think the last I saw them I was in school.”
“Hm. I remember your frontyard back then used to attract a lot of them. Especially during monsoon. I used to come here after dinner to watch them. From up here it used to look like a galaxy, a sky full of stars but just two floors below me”
It’s true. Our plot had a massive frontyard about a decade ago. A small cemented pathway led to the main door and on either side of it were wild grass, that grew really tall in the monsoons, and hundreds of fireflies would hover over it for some reason. I got really excited by the memory. I never really paid attention to it then, but today, I would pay to watch a field of fireflies, really.
_________
In all these years, I never wondered what he did for a living. I found that out through the stories he shared now. Stories about his days as a forest ranger in Nameri. About the elusive white-winged wood duck he tracked everyday for 15 years of his life, the leopards they rescued from the villages, about his friend Pupu who they called the wild elephant whisperer. About a majestic melanisitc tiger that he swore he saw multiple times, but the department never believed him. “Unfortunately there were no trap cameras in those days to prove my words”, he sighed. “One day, I will go back to live in the forest again.”
_________
A few month’s later, the lockdown eased, and I started getting out of the house more often. Which meant far less interactions with Chetia uncle. Even he moved about quite a bit. I would often see his study door locked and his umbrella gone. Sometimes, I do not see his umbrella for days, and when I do, I see him too.
One Sunday, after a long time, I found him on his terrace, tending to his orchids. He always seemed a little rough and exhausted when he returned, but strangely - happy.
“Where have you been uncle? “
“Just went to see some friends”, he would say with a shrug and a smile. Always the same answer. Not a detail more, not a detail less.
“I always wonder. Don’t your orchids need watering when you are gone?” knowing fully well that he doesn’t let Ruma anywhere near his orchids.
“I have cared for them for years. They are fully grown, healthy epiphytes. They take in whatever they need from the humidity and the rain. In fact, a little dry spell does them good, builds their immunity you can say. And as far as nutrients go, my friend here takes care of them for me.” he said looking up to our Jamun tree.
“The tree?” I asked, “What do you you mean?”
“Well, all my orchids are wild orchids I collected from the forests over the years. They don’t need special fertilization like commercial hybrids do. My little feathered friends who come to snack on the jamuns leave a little poo or two over the orchid roots. And that’s all they need.”
“Oh, so wild orchids are much easier to care for then?”
“Only after years of care. The city environment is a very extreme climate shift for them. I tried to give them a similar environment, again, thanks to my friend here..” he looked up at the Jamun tree again, “and observed them very closely till they got adapted. Adapt. Evolve. That’s what nature does if you give it some time and love. You wanted to get an orchid, didn’t you?”
“Yes I was thinking about it.”
“I can teach you a few things before you decide what you want to get you know.”
“Really? Oh that would be so helpful!”
“Good. I will see you here tomorrow at 9 am.”, he said before he hurriedly grabbed his binoculars and ran to the other side of his terrace as if he heard something.
I forget what a strange old man he is.
_________
We met almost everyday at 9am on our terraces. I woke up at 8, made myself a quick omlette, brewed a good cup of tea*,* grabbed my notebook, and ran upstairs to always find him looking shaved, showered, in his khakis and waiting for me. He clearly took it more seriously than I did.
We both stood on our own terraces, 3 feet apart, while he picked up his orchids, one after the other, told me it’s name, and told me a little story of how he found it in the wild-
A cattleya that he found stuck to his sock when he took his pants off for a shower, at the end of a week long expedition inside Pakke. A dendrobium that he rescued just in time, stuck on a log that was on a bonfire pile. A giant vanda that he found with a fungal infection in Pupu’s farm, and climbed a 30 meter tall coconut tree for.
The first month was stories and instructions. Then he explained the climatic conditions each orchid came from and what we can do to try and mimic it as much as possible - watering schedule, humidity, amount of sunlight, and most importantly - whispers. “You would be surprised at how well plants do when you whisper a few words of encouragement or sing them a little song.” I almost laughed but he was serious.
_________
Over a few weeks, I got pretty good with them. They were, like he said, an open book. They tell us exactly what they need, if you were willing to observe. He slowly started passing me his orchids with tests.
“Tell me. How much water do you think this Dendrobium needs?”
“Why do you think this Vanda has a few brown spots?”
“What do you think of this Cattleya, do you think it needs anything today?”
And I would reach out for the orchid, observe it and respond
It looks pretty dry, plus it’s just mounted on wood, and it’s quite sunny today too. I think you should dip it in water for a good 5-10 minutes and let it have a good drink.
I think they are sunburns. Because the spot is only on the surface, and not under the leaves. You should probably change it’s location to a slightly shaded area, and avoid water sitting on the leaves.
It does look like it needs watering, But it’s potted in bark so I would probably give it another day. Moreover, it’s cloudy today, might just rain in the evening and that would take care of it.
_________
“It’s time for a real test.” he said one day. “I am going to see my friends next week.”
“Oh! Uncle that sounds lovely.” I said with a smile.
“Anyway. Would you mind taking care of my orchids? I would feel better knowing someone is looking after them. Ruma has the keys.”
“I can do that.” I said.
“Great. And didn’t you say your birthday was on May 15th? Here, I have something in here for you. Open it on your birthday.”
Oh, you would be gone for that long? Well, enjoy your time away uncle!”. I waved at him as he was walked away back into his study.
_________
From the next day, I would visit his terrace when Ruma came in to clean his house. I made a schedule with her. The only downside is having to hear her mumble about him while she cleaned.
Ruma has been taking care of his house for as long as I can remember. She complained about him incessantly, but when he fell sick, she would take leaves from our place to go look after him.
We hear both of them fighting about silly things from our kitchen window, but she never forgets to use our oven to make him a cake on his birthday.
I think she too, pitied him, like most people did. Everyone feels bad for a lonely ageing man with no family after him.
_________
On a very rainy April day, I was in my room reading. My room was an extension into the ground floor garden, built much after the house was constructed. So it had those aluminium roofs that made a ruckus when it rained. My mom cannot stand being in my room when it rains. It’s impossible to hear anything else, which I find oddly soothing.
But today I heard something. A voice in the kitchen speaking without a pause. They had to be really loud for it to be audible from my room, so I got up to check.
It was Ruma. Crying to my mother.
“..I mean he was an odd man, but he was a good man you know. Poor sir, had nobody, absolutely nobody!” She howled.
“What happened?” I asked the room.
“It never occurred to me till my husband mentioned it. Sir has not told anyone where he is going, it’s been 4 months! Could it be? An old man like him, decided to..?.” she started sobbing again. “I think something terrible has happened to sir. What do I do?!”
“What are you talking about? Maa! Ruma is mad. He said he is going to see his friends. I imagine it must get lonely for him at his age. I am not surprised that he wants to live with company.”
“HE HAS NO FRIENDS! Nobody like to visit him. In all these years not a single person visited him! Nor does he have a phone! Oh poor sir. Terrible. Something terrible has happened.” she went on again.
“Ruma his umbrella is gone!” My mother and Ruma both looked at me confused.
“Who takes their umbrella with them when they go to kill themselves. Don’t be ridiculous, and shut up, because I am trying to read.” I mumbled and went back into my room.
I would be lying if I said the idea did not disturb me.
_________
Ruma was not the chatty little lady anymore. Still, she religiously came with me to uncle’s house.
“Who am I cleaning this house for? He is not coming back.” I can see her fighting back little sobs while she cleans. Someone planted a horrible thought in her head and I don’t know how to help.
“Ruma can I tell you something?.” I asked her. “He left me a letter. Or something. An envelope.”
“What?! Why didn’t you say? Let’s open it, maybe it says where he is. I can go there with Rupom and check on him.”
“Tomorrow. It’s my birthday tomorrow. He asked me to open it on my birthday.”
_________
15th May.
I did not wait till morning, but I waited till 12 am to open it.
“Dear Amy,
Happy Birthday. I hope my orchids are well, and you, even more so.
I won’t be back. Been a long time coming. I want you to have my orchids. All of them. And I want Ruma to have the house. The will has been formalized and my lawyer will contact her soon when he is ready.
Best,
Chetia Uncle.”
I stared at it for a good minute.
‘Been a long time coming’? What does it mean?
Could it be?
Did he really..?
And this is his last..?
But he said he is with his friends.
.
.
.
Only a few minutes into my birthday, and I cried myself to sleep.
_________
Next morning when I told Ruma. She thought I was making fun of her plight.
“No Ruma look, read his letter.”
“I can’t read cursive, Maina.”
“It says - I want Ruma to have the house. That’s it, he did not explain anything else”.
She sat down on the murha. My mother rushed into the kitchen to get her a glass of water. First she looked like her recurring nightmare finally came to say hello. And then she buried her face in her palms and cried.
To my surprise, Ruma cared more about him being gone, than the house. I guess uncle knew her better than I do. And she really does deserve a better life. And the house would probably help.
“Ruma, you take the day off okay?”
_________
The next day, Mom and I accompanied her to Chetia uncle’s house. She wanted to host a small puja for him. We helped, and invited a few neighbours.
As we followed the deu’s instructions, I was still re-reading his letter in my head. A part of me just won’t accept it. I know he has gone away to be with his friends. But everyone seems to have made up their minds.
Ruma’s husband started using two rooms on the ground floor for his printing business. He could finally let go of the rented place in the bazaar and save some money. But they did not use the house for anything else. Ruma would punctually arrive at the same time everyday, clean the house, water the plants and kept it exactly as it was. I continued to visit in the afternoons when the sun is at its peak, and would check up on the orchids.
“Why don’t you shift them to your terrace Maina? Won’t it be easier?”
“No. Not yet.” I said. I did not have the heart to displace them. She made a face. Like she knew what I meant.
“Wait let me make you some lemonade, it’s too hot. Can you do me a favour? Can you refill the bird feeders? They are on the other side. Fill them from the blue drum near his window, there’s seedmix in it.”
His study was located at the center of the terrace. The orchids were in the front of the study room, while there was another side at the back of the room, accessible by a narrow corridor between his room’s wall, and the terrace parapet.
“Sure.” I said.
I wonder why I have never explored the other side. I was always curious because that side was invisible from our terrace. When he asked me to take care of his orchids, that’s what I did. I thought it would be disrespectful wandering about, knowing he did not have a taste for intrusion.
Suddenly, I hear a loud took-a-rrook took-a-rrook.
That’s a blue throated barbet calling. But it sounds so close.
I tried to be still and quiet and looked around.
And there it was, perched on our jamun tree, barely 10 feet away from me. I have never seen it up so close. It allowed me to gawk at him for 5 seconds before taking off and entering the narrow corridor, as if reading my mind, and showing me the way.
I carefully, and quietly followed. Crossed the 20 feet long corridor and reached the other side. I had to fight my way through a thorny vine that seemed to be intentionally blocking the way.
.
.
.
Oh. Goodness.
I must have walked through a magic doorway.
I felt carpet grass under my feet. Surrounded by possibly a hundred trees along the perimeter of the entire terrace with a few dozens in between. Dwarf varieties I assume, but they were all high enough that their combined canopies made the temperature drop by at least 4-5 degrees. All just flowering and fruiting away. And on them, were hundreds of feeders for birds. Filled with a seedmix of different grains and nuts. It was like uncle had laid out a buffet for all his feathered friends!
His feathered friends.
His friends.
His friends!
“Aaa!.” I let out a gasp that sounded louder in my head, but was really just a wispy exhale.
I found myself wondering and smiling like a fool.
I always thought he goes to meet his fellow rangers or maybe his school friends or something.
Its so funny isnt it? We humans always think of our kind first don’t we?
I felt a strange kind of happy.
I filled the feeders one by one.
Then I lay down on the grass for a long time.
Watched the bees labouring away,
and the birds eating all the fruit.
I think he really went off to be with his friends :)
