I am toothless Tangam. Of course I am not mere toothlessness; I am also shriveled skin, snow white whiffs of hair and walking stick. But toothless is what the world sees me first as. No offence taken-in the age when small things in their twenties get dental implants, a nonagenarian without teeth should not cause great visual shock. It makes people wonder why I am not equipped with at least a pair of old fashioned dentures in the new age of multiple dental possibilities. What I eat and how I digest interests everyone. In my early sixties I did try out a pair of dentures. The first ones fell off unannounced; the second threatened to leave my gums permanently ulcered. So I gave up. Anyways I am a free flowing spirit, free flowing like some brands of table salt, or fizzing champagne. So impediments bother me. I do occasionally miss crisp murukkus and the like but on the whole a toothless mouth is, I find, actually helpful. It wards off gustative temptations and also teaches me to talk less for fear of swallowing syllables. A toothless smile is an asset, like untaxable money. It creates a halo of goodwill and trust around the mouth!

Trust is what you need to survive. Trust the Lord, trust the devil, the astrologer, trust your higher, lower instincts, trust your sons and daughters, trust your strength, trust your shortcuts ….anything. When my son was young he would tell me about the ‘survival of the fittest’ theory. With age I realized that survival skills are not only for animals of the endangered kinds, but also for oldies like me who refuse to exit decently before expiry date-forgive the oxymoron!. Survival is just as much a need for today’s toddlers who have to find a foothold early in life.

I have three sisters; we used to be very close when young. Two are in their eighties. Each one personifies a different survival technique. The last one, who was the most pampered of us four, has emerged a real dictator! At 86 she is fit and firm, in health and disposition. She has built an aura around herself which her sons and their spouses dare not disrespect. Though I do think they murmur behind her back. She has her husband’s henpecked attention 24x7. She is high-strung and she is a perfectionist. Imagine the explosive potential! No wonder, she has high BP and assorted ailments which she carries around like qualifications. The third sister, always a dreamer of sorts, is now in a dreamland of her own. She started losing her memory when she was in her early 80s and now at 88, is a happy baby, diapers et al, a digital camera without a memory card! Though people make sympathetic noises about her, I feel life without memory is not all that pitiable in old age. She does not trouble anyone with nasty innuendoes, does not demand this or that, and is well looked after-for the time being. The eldest sister, two years my senior, constantly made wrong choices in life. Though reasonably intelligent, she decided to abide by the decisions taken by her only son and his wife, when widowed. By 70 she was reduced to a wasted human with no mind of her own, let alone money or power. She was my closest friend and role model in our youth; in old age she is my anti-role model. I know now for sure what I do not want to be.
I was always the unconventional one amongst us four. A Leo with real lioness instincts. Oh! What sense of Me I had, it makes me smile now. My father boosted my artistic abilities and was proud of my accomplishments. Marriage did not lessen the lioness in me, because my husband and the family we raised never argued. Our three sons were a lively lot, devoted to me. As my life stretches behind me, like a ribbon of meandering river, I can relive phases of it. Happy, not so happy, wanting, satisfied….from the figure consciousness and complexes of youth to the relief of shrunken breasts and departed tresses today…My husband died when I was 67; people tututted me and made it sound pitiable. On the contrary, I thought it was perfectly ok. We had led a happy life together, he had done his bit without a frown and now I had my opportunity to take charge of the remaining years. The boys were grown up and married. Two of my sisters taught me what not to be in old age. Next best to losing one’s memory I decided, was to control it. As my sons moved to different cities, I chose to be the itinerant mother, like a sanyasin. Or the Time Share Mother. Or the Equal Division Mother-of attention, of troubles, duties, whatever. Anyways it suits me fine to not be in one place for a long time. Look here, I tell myself, you are a fencesitter now. Or a Humpty Dumpty on the wall. Live each day as if it is your last one. Which means that I adapt myself to the ways of the family I am living with then. My eldest son and his wife, though well past their prime, are well known socialites, page 3 and all( thanks to his ‘well connected’ father in law). When I am there, my diamonds and gold come out of the bank locker. As do my gold rimmed glasses and silks. I rub shoulders, so to say, with the cream of high society there. The respect these inanimate things bring is laughably amazing. I become everyone’s ‘mom’ there, though a toothless one. The glitter and glamour don’t not scare me. I make my presence amply felt simply with my aforesaid smile and nods of approval or disapproval. I flow free like the champagne I am served occasionally. My son’s only son is married and lives in another city with his family and we rarely meet.
My second son’s household is a study in contrast to the first. His wife, a self-styled devotee of a certain godman oozes spirituality, or is she spiritual-plated like gold plated jewellery? Whatever, my life changes there drastically. In go the bling things and I am at my humblest. I am ‘maaji’ to the visitors, who are all paranoid about spirituality. My simple white cottons and beiges, along with my toothlessness entitle me to bless visitors. Some even think I can travel into their future! I just shut my eyes and murmur an inaudible syllable or two. ‘learn your lessons and find your way you ignorant folk’ is what I mean to say but they think I have already resolved their problems! Am I tickled to the ribs! It’s wholesome fun. It is an opportunity to observe people and their petty fears and aspirations and superstitions. My granddaughters are married. Our paths cross if they drop in during my camp there. Like meeting at a traffic junction. I refrain from passing judgments about my family members; I flow easy like Holy Water here.
The third son’s household is nice and messy. Their son and his wife live with them too. And the whole bunch of them go out to work, leaving the house in the care of a full time servant. So for me it is mostly about maintaining a working rapport with the maid and ensuring harmony. And to discourage back-stabbing about the mistress(es) of the house. Occasionally I make a small snack for the little one, my great grandson, returning from school to a motherless house. But I make sure the maid is not distracted from her work because of me. Nor the little one. The grandson and his wife are still much in love and come to coochicoo in my room for lack of privacy elsewhere. ‘smoooooch’ he goes right before my eyes! That’s fine with me. Live your Moments kiddos! I tell them. This house has reasonable neighbours, with oldies like me thrown in for good measure. Here I can dress as I please, sari, pants or even Bermudas. So we meet up in the park, hearing aids, sticks et al, schmooze around and amuse ourselves. The fourth floor grandpa is a charmer you know; the dude flirts endlessly. ‘I wish I had known you 70 years ago’ he says from behind his thick ‘cataract’ glasses. ‘the here and the now is fine too’ I reply (without) batting an eyelid! He reserves my place next to him on the bench and you should see the comforted glee on his face when I place a wrinkled hand on his. Maybe one day he will just pop off with the happy memory of this illicit touch.
Oh yes, here I have some young fans who are fascinated, or is it infatuated, with my free flying spirit -like spirals of cigarette smoke. I tell them not to get stuck with hurts, anger, competitions, disappointments and other sticky emotions like love, life-long gratitude etc. They are happy when I go visiting and share happenings and problems. I also meet up with my greatgrandson’s 5 year old boyfriends in their Nike shoes and colourful bicycles and girlfriends wearing backless dresses and high heeled shoes who vie for my attention.

There I am, toothless Tangam. I have bared myself silly before you. The above is my history, or story, or my practical vedanta. You may call it my CV too. 90+ years of experience in the business of life; like some departmental stores exist in the service of society! I have the ability to work my way around handicaps. Weakening senses are simple facts of life to be lived with. Hearing less and less or seeing dimmer and dimmer is perfectly ok. After all at my age there is nothing much which is new to see or hear or even process. Everything, from the recipes on TV to the new age film songs, to stories and saris, husband-wife feuds, husband-wife affections, the ups and downs in prices, in feelings, hopes, deceit and aspirations of people, everything is a cycle. Governments come and go, storms and cold waves and heat waves too. Superpowers collapse, cities are rased; others readily take their place. Krishna and Rama have not made sensational terrestrial appearances in this century that I have seen roll by. You believe in some funda today and think you have found the path to salvation. Till something new comes to help you fumble and stumble and move on. I have seen plenty of old wine in new bottles. Tasted them too. I have also the ability to work myself around those more troublesome handicaps called emotions. I take care not to catch a flu and I take care not to catch an emotion. I dust my mind and heart clean each night before sleeping. As I said, next best to losing the memory card, is to voluntarily remove it each night! Glamour and godman, gossip and grievances are never allowed a night’s stay in my thoughts. What about the sons you may ask. They have their own salads to garnish and their partners to cosy up to. And my little greatgrandson? We are simply co-survivors at either ends of the spectrum.

I have been called zealous, wily, witty, wicked, whimsical, worldly, fun-loving, femme fatale, astute, affable, artificial, amiable, charming, cheeky, and much more with the rest of the alphabets. Like products in the A to Z stores. A lot of adjectives-and attitude- for a fragile 90+ woman I agree. One fall in the bathroom (where else!) and my CV would go bust like an internet scam .

C’est la vie quoi!