The shake-up call

The speaker was very faint, hiccupping the words,

It was years ago that the early morning shrill of the telephone awakened me. I squinted to focus my eyes on the clock; the time read 5.00 am. My drowsy mind hoped Father would attend the phone, and in the depth of my somnolent wakefulness I realised, that Father may have already headed for his yoga session. I scrambled out of bed and took the call.

The speaker was very faint, sobbing and hiccupping the words, “Mano is very serious and she is admitted to the hospital!” I waited, assimilating the information, disturbed, because Mano – her full name Manohari, was my aunt and mother’s cousin, and they were very close. “Who is speaking?” was my only stupid response. The voice said ever so sadly. “Your aunty, Maheshwari Aunty!” the voice prompted. 

“Oh my God!” The voice was now in panic, “They tell me she has passed away!” I was in shock. I said, “Please wait, aunty,” and went to wake Mother up. I told her about the phone call and the news as it happened.

Mother rushed to the phone and smattered away in Tamil. She bewailed the loss of her cousin and that too, she moaned, “So soon in life!” Mother could take it no more. She handed me the telephone and held the wall of the corridor to guide her through her trauma and into her bedroom, where she yelled for coffee to cope with the tragedy on hand.

I saw mother crumble and at that moment I reminded myself that this was the instant when, though still young, I had to help the family out and be strong for them. I went and spoke into the receiver, “Hello,” and as I hoped my aunt was still there. It was in the days when the phone bill was charged by the number of calls made and not minutes, so people spoke for as long as they wished or needed to.

“Mahesh Aunty…” I said tentatively.  “Dear child!” she broke into a sob and narrated all the good times she had had with her sister, the times they had played and recalled the days when they were young brides and a long litany of the fun things they had all done together. I had no idea what she was saying except that she was distressed and I was knotting up sharing her moment of agony. I could see from the corner of my eyes that Mother was pacing to and fro, with the coffee glass in her hand.  Obviously the steaming liquid had not quelled her anxiety.

At that point it struck me that instead of allowing Mahesh Aunty to bemoan her sister, I should ask her whether she needed any help in informing our other relatives. I quietly suggested that if she put the phone down then I could call and inform the others.

“Hey!” the voice shrieked in horror! “Don’t!” it commanded me. “Why not?” I asked.  “Chinu it’s me, not Mahesh Aunty, I’m not dead!” “Huh?” I was confused. “It’s me Manohari Aunty!” The voice finally spoke the truth, “April Fool!” the voice of my aunt Manohari squealed at having us by our heart!

I was indeed relieved that it had just been a prank, but to this day I do not trust her at all, the Queen of pranksters! Come the hot month of April and I remain wary! I arm myself with a vanilla shake and keep away from the phone.