Time Waits For Women

Anyone feeling alone?

We have known those dreadful times when we feel all alone even in company. Ever noticed people looking lost in a crowded city?

All those lonely people, where do they come from? To whom do they belong?

The Beatles made music out of this predicament a long while ago.

There’s a face standing under the streetlight, by the crossroads, which cries out his desperate need to talk to somebody.

So tell me who doesn’t need a friend?

Then, there are those other times you want to talk nothing to nobody, nowhere, not at any time.

A deep sorrow, a sudden breakdown, an unbearable disease, bringing forth a resonant cry in the heart hammering in the bitter untruth that you’re all alone, it’s YOUR battle and YOU fight it alone. It’s as though your heart, afraid of breaking, can never learn to dance again and makes you reluctant to open up to strangers.

There comes a time when the man in your empty nester life, your sole adult companion, is watching non-stop football or a contentious news channel and you’re in another room, mindlessly watching a stupid sitcom.

Don’t get me wrong, life is still good. You have no complaints but there’s no one to give you the giggles, the belly laughs. Belly laughs are good to keep your blood pressure down.

Ya, I’m talking about the past 60s.

A couch surfing philanthropist at heart, Anina, was at this stage in her life when she felt the crying need for a support group. She fell into the clutches of Whatsapp technology, explained to her by tech savvy friend, Teevy.

So it birthed. The pangs were at first uncertain. But in faith, Anina started adding all those who went to school with her, far away in Trivandrum, in the sixties. We called ourselves the HolyAngels, and prided ourselves in the fancy convent school we studied at.

Suddenly women from as far away as Kansas City to Boston, from Abu Dhabi to Mumbai, from Manhattan to Trichur, all got connected by this social medium. The mood was unsure. There were the quiet ones who never got along with the noisy ones, couldn’t stand Ms.Know it alls. But who cared now? Time and space had evolved into something unfathomable. Everyone was in their mid sixties, with belly blobs sticking out at the wrong places.

What followed was a bombardment of good morning or goodnight blessings as each woman wended her way in their different time zones of the ever-turning earth. With one touch of a chubby finger, a prayer, a good wish, some photographs whizzed across the universe. It was all good and very soul satisfying tho' some never bothered to watch inconsequential videos. Nobody was preparing for her Phd anyway.

Then followed math puzzles, geographical riddles and pictorial quizzes where the greying reader had to work out the solution and tap in the answer in five minutes.

All good for the brain, the wise one said.

There was a race to get the right answer first, especially among the more competitive ones. You were duly applauded for your super smartness with a few emojis or emoticons- 5 handclaps, 6 thumbs up and a few namastes.

What would you not do to keep Alzheimer’s at bay? So here were mothers getting lost in its maze.

You had to be good natured enough to accept reprimands from across the ocean if you spent too much time watching mindless TV serials.

The excuse that time was in your favor was not accepted. Yes, your darling husband was packed off with a nutritious lunch leaving you free to lounge on the sofa till his return.

Then the sportier of the 60s women would tell all lazy bones to get off the couch at once.

“You need to lift weights. Your flesh sags. Get up right now.” Mia’s order reverberated in the brain just like Sr. Zovi’s did, in those bygone schoolgirl days of telling tales and biting nails.

Mr. Whatsapp became every woman’s faithful friend. You touched, you felt, you held it close to your heart or ear. It made you belly-laugh, snigger, snort, frown and laugh again. Made your dying hormones jump in glee. Good recipes were exchanged and thanks, duly accorded. Photographs showing off culinary skills were posted. Food pics were allowed, but NOT religion. These friends weren’t permitted to advocate any sort of religious leaning. But at the root of each person’s mental makeup, it held a very important place and Anina feared that it was religion that divided the best of friends. Surely man-made religion does that. But not the all-embracing relationship with the Almighty Creator of the Universe.

So each one dogmatically stuck to her own comfort zone beliefs, screwed or otherwise.

Then came funnies where husbands were ridiculed to a doable degree, which made their long-suffering women applaud in empathy. Herein husbands, who had the good sense to laugh at themselves, deserve full credit for they never publicly ridiculed their wives. But women could go hours talking about how their man would hustle from wise to fool moves as snakes amongst ladders.

“He left the fridge wide open all night.”

“ Mine dropped rice on the new scrubbed floor.”

“O mine is forever forgetting his keys.”

“Mine sends his wallet for a wash.”

“Mine is forever messing up passwords.”

The more socially aware women would share vital information of important govt. websites and while in the process, some hacker sites were also foolishly albeit lovingly shared.

If posts got unnaturally lengthy, we’d clamp a fine down the miscreant’s cries.

Lurid jokes, of the now, were a total no-no by the moral police of the WhatsApp group. Thankfully!

When someone’s elderly parents suffered from Alzheimer’s, or a sudden stroke, or living alone, we were informed of the good daughters who ran from home to hospital looking after their aged parents. Everyone chipped in a compassionate word or two which brought strength to the burden bearer.

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long, the weary women could turn to the little phone in their hands and know that love could be shared, and was not a commodity just for the lucky and the strong.

And the phone would declare his love message. It was like an undeclared oath.

“Here I am, to always stand by your side. I’ll be there in your darkest night… I’m here till the day that you die.”

Everybody needs encouragement and so the group showed up, nightly, to offer it.

It was like going to a club of sorts while you lounged in your nightie and no lipstick. Nobody cared if your pjs were from the 90’s or your hair looked scruffy. If your breath stank, nobody could sniff.

So we enjoyed the corny jokes and camaraderie of our school friends from fifty odd years ago. We had grown to be strong, resilient women. Some of them had been recently widowed but quickly got back on their feet.

Among us, you could spot the gentle Florence Nightingales, the teachers or artists. The musicians, doctors and poets; dreamers, singers and bakers- all joined by one common medium- WhatsApp!

However women, with caustic tongues, were dealt with caution.

With true friends you have the freedom to be a jackass and still be happy. It leaves a permanent joyful mark. As a natural fallout of our connection, we were able to gather together for our 60th year of celebration. The girls travelled from far and near. The reunion was held at a beach resort and it was a day of great joy. We laughed ourselves silly and even played a game where we, sixty-eighters, rolled on the floor.

Many people will walk in and out of your life, but it’s the faithful friends who will leave their footprints in your heart forever.

As Mowgli says, that’s what friends are for.