Courtesy - Muse India: Issue 39, September/October 2011
Book Review
Harish Trivedi
Exit-stance
A Play
The Sharonom Media Group (2011)
895 Kentshire Drive, Dayton, Ohio 45459-2327
Pages 46+ :: Price $15.95
ISBN 978-0-578-07767-3
Drama of an old man refusing to die and hell-bent on living
Here lies OM.
OM.Com!
OM, calm at last and silenced forever!
Life has deserted OM; and Death, as always, has won!
His body was burnt not at the stakes
But at an electric crematorium. And
What remained was a heap of ashes
Salvaged from an ass-hole.
An ash hole for an asshole!
Finally dissolved with the five elements.
The above seriocomic poetic epitaph is scripted by OM – for himself, the only protagonist in the melodramatic one-Act monodrama - Exit-stance – who lives his final days in a nursing home for assisted living; and is torn between life and death, between traces of hedonism and shadowy spiritualism; and who suffers isolation and loneliness. And the character, who has none to turn to, presents us with a lot of gallows humour. In one moment, OM is curious about - and wants to see - his own death. So he says:
“No one has ever said what it’s like to be dead. I want to enjoy my death. I want to be fully aware of my final escape, the ultimate liberty!”
But in another moment, he is dead scared of death; and is insistent on living out. What for? Yes, he wants to enjoy the life the way he wants to. His libido is aroused when the nurses attend on and touch him. “… a mere thought of lust and sex keeps me alive!”
But soon he realises, albeit fleetingly, and despairs: “But what good is lust when youth has fled?” and taunts himself, “What a pathetic and perverse craving for human touch!” But is sexual urge an abomination or an abnormality for a man of his age? OM answers: “Lust and desires are normal feelings. And I think I am too just f…ing normal!” Mind you, this is not the only time OM chooses the four-letter word; he, in fact, suffers from oral diarrhoea of them. The doc tries to dissuade him from the compulsive addiction, but to no avail, for habits die hard, much less the instinctually obscene ones.
We’re treated to bouts of bawdy jokes, every now and then. He even makes fun of his name OM – the sacred Hindu syllable as well as an acronym of how he is called, Old Man. In a disgusting mood, he has this dig at his name: “I am not THAT OM! Instead of ‘OM tat sat’, I am OM tat shit…”
When it comes to the male doctors, he feels “like grabbing the crotch of a student doctor and squeezing his balls” whenever he is “upset and angry.” But the sight of a female nurse turns him on. “If this is a nursing home then why a big bosomed nurse hasn’t nursed me?” he longingly rues.
By now it’s evident that OM is certainly not in the class of a Tennyson’s Ulysses synonymous with a spirit of adventure and the concomitant heroic struggle or of a Hemingway’s Santiago, a symbol of stoic and silent struggle. OM, no doubt, has no nobler goals for the remainder of his life, yet he wages a struggle - a paranoid mental conflict; and also suffers an ethnic conflict and a cross-cultural dilemma, having his roots in India – though untraceable – but living in America. He pooh-poohs the various racial and sub-racial identities, and asks – why can’t all of us be just humans - for he finds himself to be neither an American nor an Indian? Despite his quarantined existence, “deaf and legally blind” status, a life of vacuum, “Isolation, desolation, frustration and anger,” and his body being “nothing but an ill-smelling heap of bones, skin and blood,” - he is hell-bent on surviving and continuing to live … to enjoy the good things of life!
And OM, by that very token of being an ordinary mortal like most of us, is a representative of a massive majority. So everyone can relate to and touch a chord with him. It’s how Harish Trivedi - the playwright – moulds the character of OM, in a postmodernist universal cast influenced as he is by Nobel laureate Samuel Beckett in whose birth centenary homage he wrote this play.
It needs guts and creativity of a high order to write a full length piece on the travails and derisive idiosyncrasies of a typical old man and the dreadful old age. The author has, evidently, succeeded in closely and deeply studying the geriatric psychology from various angles. He extracts the secrets from the darker recesses of the protagonist’s subconscious and makes him boldly and unhesitatingly vent his feelings.
No wonder, Harish Trivedi could bring it off what with his credentials. An Indian American – living in the US from mid 1960s – Harish has a doctorate in Theatre and Communication and is an associate of the Dramatists Guild of America. He is also a prolific journalist-poet-writer-translator – with his works appearing in English, Gujarati and Hindi. He is the founder Trustee & Chairman of the India Foundation in Dayton, Ohio; “his plays have a distinct Indian ethos” appealing to the “sense and sensibilities of viewers and readers… in the US,” says the author’s profile appended in the book.
Not everything OM chants can be dismissed as senile balderdash. Some of his observations stand out as a testimony to his wide reading, poetic taste, wit, experience, and keen observation of life. We also perceive that he is ‘bipolar’ – tossed between American materialism and Indian spiritualism, though he quips he is ‘multi-polar’ to the doctor’s diagnosis that he is bipolar. Tongue in cheek, OM remarks that the staff at the nursing home “changes frequently and fast – even more often than my bed sheets or towels.”
OM draws a nuanced distinction between freedom and liberation, while in an extreme mood of dejection. “I don’t need freedom; it is meaningless! I need liberation, liberation from my self.” All of us know that in our world - a topsy-turvy world full of hypocrisy - appearance need not be reality. See how OM puts it: “People are always pretending. Life itself is pretending – Pretending, masking, and hiding!”
Also notice how effectively OM portrays the monotony of the grind of a life lived cosmetically: “I used to go to a spa every day. Going around the jogging track, walking or running on the treadmill, lifting weights, riding a stationary bicycle… doing all that and still remaining in the same place.”
OM’s mind goes through a chiaroscuro of memories – of movies, music, books of literature, great personalities; as a result we’ve a quotation to suit his every mercurial mood. Being an American Indian, his mind sweeps across the Western world as well as India. Scriptures like the Rig Veda, the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, aphoristic literature like Bhartrihari Shataka, movies like Gigi (English) Jagate Raho, and Mera Naam Joker; diverse personalities like Mahatma Gandhi, Ezra Pound, Robert Frost, PB Shelley, Neil Armstrong, Mata Hari, Freud, Descartes, Maurice Chevalier, and Clarence Day are paraded before us.
All this hyperactivity of his mind erases the timelines for him so much so he feels that he exists “in a timeless zone!”
OM’s self-unsettling loneliness causes a mental drift in him. He imagines things; he sees a cat that isn’t there; and even plays with it, only to drive it away. He is ‘the Duke of Darkness’ and “a camera obscura, a dark chamber with a lens that has turned things upside down.” At the same time, his bizarre and disjointed thoughts sometimes glimmer with coherence and agreeable reason.
Mortally afraid of death, for all his iconoclastic philosophy, OM panics and collapses on seeing (in his hallucinations) a duster plane hovering over him. When he comes to, he flies into a flash of eschatological spirituality and reconciliation by invoking the Holy Grail, the Five Elements and the Shanti mantra; but even before the chant is over, he swoops down onto his wonted earthly bohemian reality where he belongs and declares “I do not need to find any holy or unholy grail… for me it is always going to be singing and dancing…,” unmindful of his irreversible physical limitations! So go on and celebrate the bacchanalian revelry!
Thus, “Important is the OM’s universality… He is a kind of everyman ranting about the injustices of life. His ethnic identity fixes the play in reality, but the specific Indian identification of OM transcends mere individual concerns…,” remarks Dr Robert Conrad, Professor Emeritus, Dept of Languages, University of Dayton, Ohio, and he proceeds to teleologize the character’s raison d’être: “OM maintains his dignity with irony and humor as he confronts his end. His disquieted suffering and his methods of coping provide a bitter hope to all who face the last stage of existence.”
The strength of this one-act & one-character play lies, perhaps, more in its performance than in its reading as a closet drama – unless the latter is taken up with necessary breaks, for otherwise the reader could feel some monotony however powerful the monologues are. The writer has incorporated elaborate stage directions; and set the play, aptly, in a late winter night. Following these directions and with assured technical effects, histrionics, and music regularly fading in and fading out - the punch and poignancy, the absurd and the black humour would briskly come into bold relief in performance. And yes, the play has a good track record: having been staged at Clayton and Cincinnati, Ohio; while the author rendered its staged reading at a theatre in Mumbai, sponsored by the government of Maharashtra.
Showing posts with label Muse India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse India. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
'The Sahib's Dilemma' by Harish Trivedi
Copyright ©2011 First published in Muse India, May/June Issue
(Note: The octogenarian head of a penurious Indian American family finds it very hard to make both ends meet in the times of recession, and so no option but to bid goodbye to his two equally old pets.)
The news reports say that the national poverty level has reached nearly to fifteen per cent.
That may be so, but that figure probably does not include these folks we know only as the Sahib, his Missej* and their two cats - Baboo and Raja. Even in his own neighborhood somewhere in the Ohio suburb no one seems to know this family except as ‘that fellow from India and his cute wife’.
The Sahib family is living below the poverty level forever. His ridiculously low pension is not even good for their mortgage payments.
Baboo is nearly 70 years old in cat-years (fifteen-years in human years). He has arthritis, has lost his sense of smell and has a slightly impaired vision. He was also born with a neurological condition that has affected his walking. Baboo does not have any Medicare and has no HMO (Health Maintenance Organization) to cover his health expenses.
During the last few months only, the Sahibs have spent nearly $5,500 on Baboo’s health.
The Sahib is in his early 80s but he still looks youthful. His Missej is in her early 70s and looks fifteen years younger than her real age.
After being daily bombarded by the media with the news of various companies down-sizing, the layoffs, the rate of unemployment, the ever increasing rate of bankruptcies and foreclosures across the country, the Sahib was inspired to do something about his own ever increasing pet maintenance expenses and the couple’s nearly evaporated 401K account (Pension fund).
So one night, the Sahib called a little family meeting.
The Family Meeting:
The Sahib called Baboo and Raja and explained to them the state of economy, the ever-increasing expenses and the family’s very limited financial resources.
He said, “You guys are brave even though Raja runs away and hides under the bed as soon as hears the door bell ring. You have been a lot of fun and a lot of trouble too. We all have had wonderful time together the past dozen years or so. You know that, we all know about our fun times together. But I have to tell you some thing. It is very difficult for me to do this, but you know, nothing lasts forever. Even all-good things come to an end some day. I think for you guys, that day is today.”
He continued: “You have no idea about the bad condition of your Sahib’s finances … All you know is eating fancy foods, napping, eating fancy food and napping, eating fancy food … That’s the only thing you know. But let me tell you that time is over. I had to make a very tough decision. I do not know of any proper way of telling you this but I have to tell you …”
The Sahib’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and continued –
“I have decided to let you guys go. You two will have to find something else to do with your lives.”
There was silence. Absolute silence. Only audible sound in that room was that of the Missej’s sobbing …
There was no evocative music to enhance the somber mood of that moment. The silence was very striking and unbearable.
After listening to his Sahib with open ears and closed eyes, Baboo, the bright one among the two cats (that is bright one compared to Raja), jumped down from his chair, came limping near the Sahib and said -
“How can you do this to us? What about all the joy and pleasure we have given you all these years? What about the guests I have hurt with my claws and scarred the hell out of them… What about my jumping and general running around the house? I did that to amuse you with my galloping gait. What about my informing you when the mailman or a delivery guy came to our door? Raja and I always sniff the newly delivered packages and make sure that the contents were safe for all of us. I have even let you take my videos when I was relaxing or cleaning my paws and my face ... I always stopped from my singing when you interrupted me by yelling at me.
“Some times when I am at the window of our dinning room and talking with the dogs next door you often shouted, ‘Stop it Baboo …’ And I always stopped… I have always obeyed your orders. Have I ever complained about anything? Don’t these things count for any thing? You cannot act like all those big corporations…you have to take our age, loyalty and love into consideration, after all we are a FAMILY, don't you understand that simple thing?
“And, tell us, who is going to adopt us old cats? Where are we supposed to go now? Do you want us to die under a car or die of a disease or you want us gassed by that inhumane Humane Society? C'mon, we know you are a kind-hearted man. We have heard Mom call you a Softy … Please, please, won’t you allow us to stay here, just for a few more years?”
Raja ever so royal and loyal had decided to find a place near his Sahib - or Saabjee as his Missej called him- with one of his paws in his lap. As usual Raja was sound asleep. As sound as only a cat could be… No one was sure if Raja had listened to any of the things that his Sahib had said…
By this time the Missej was to the last piece of her second box of Kleenexes and uncontrollably sobbing. Her nose and eyes had turned red. Baboo's nostrils were flaring (that can only be detected by the observant eyes of his Sahib or his Vet Ms Dawn). His pink nose had turned to apple-red. A tear or two had surfaced and were trying to roll down Baboo’s eyes.
The Sahib’s face had turned ashen gray. His hands were trembling. A sense of embarrassment and overwhelming feeling of guilt had taken over the Sahib’s usually calm and composed demeanor... He felt as if his heart had stopped. He could barely breathe… He tried to get up from his couch, but could not. As if all the strength from his body had drained out. Finally, with great effort the Sahib tried to stand up again and in the process he lost his balance and collapsed on the couch. The Missej requested her Sabjee not to move away from the couch. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of water for her Sahib.
Sipping some water with his trembling hand, the Sahib was quiet for some time, as if reflecting about all that had happened during the last few minutes. He looked around the room and finally looking at Baboo and Raja the Sahib said something that only this Sahib from India could say at that time -
‘Okay, you guys never asked us to be with us. We brought you here to stay with us. I believe in fate.’
The Sahib remembered the day they had brought Baboo home. The images on the Sahib’s memory screen rapidly moved backwards to the day when they had spotted a little kitten in a parking lot of a hotel where their guests were staying.
Baboo had then looked like a little panda cub… His eyes were matted and barely open … he came staggering near their car … The Missej picked him up, looked up at the kittens belly area and told the Sahib, ‘It is a BOY… We got to take this little guy home.’
She thought of a suitable Indian name for the little guy and came up with Baboo. And the little guy thus became Baboo. They thought that Baboo might be missing his siblings, so the Missej picked up Raja from a pet adoption agency. There the volunteers called him Neville. And the Missej changed Neville to Raja…
The film in the memory stopped there … The Sahib looked at Baboo and said,
‘We have had a great time with both of you. Your first Christmas and the photo session with Santa at the pet store, new collars … the warehouse full of toys that you guys never played with… The annual shots, monthly pedicures, the catnip treats…’
‘My heart tells me that we have owed you something from our past incarnations. The Missej and I are just paying our Karmic debt by taking care of you. By having you here, we are not doing any favors to you. We are just repaying what we have owed you… You guys came into our lives because of some good Karmic deeds you must have performed in YOUR last incarnation. Everything happens for a reason.’
The Sahib paused for a moment. There was a total silence in the room. He continued,
‘You guys win! You guys were meant to be with us. You will be staying with us. You will be staying with us forever …’
The Sahib wiped his eyes, looked lovingly at Raja and Baboo with a steady gaze.
The Missej was still sobbing.
Raja jumped down from near his Sahib’s side and ran towards the hallway as if signaling to Baboo that the game of chase was on.
The Sahib remembered a few lines of an old Indian movie song … ‘Life is now infused with new hope,Brothers, the days of sorrow and sadness are ove r…’ (Dukhbhare Din Beetore Bhaiya … etc.
A faint smile emerged and a soft glow could be detected on the Sahib’s face. He got up from the couch and started to walk slowly towards the bedroom.
And while walking, the Sahib said to himself, ‘Sahib, now you better think of doing something about the Missej ...’ No, that’s not true. Only a silly writer can think of such humor.
The Sahib loved his Missej too much to entertain such thoughts. He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. His mind was numb … He was in no condition to think about anything at that time.
And before the Sahib could reach the bedroom, the Missej grabbed him from behind … The Sahib was startled and looked at his Missej… the Missej wiped her tears and said in a choking voice, “Hubbyjee, you know something? You are the greatest Hubby in the world!”
The Sahib slowly turned around, put his trembling hand over the Missej’s shoulder and pulled her close by his side and they continued walking towards the bedroom.
If this was an ordinary story, it would have ended with the predictable coda, ‘The Sahib, his Missej, and their two cats – Baboo and Raja lived happily ever after.’
Raja and Baboo do not know what was going on in their owners’ lives and we have no way of knowing what was going on in the Sahib’s mind.
Tomorrow the sun would rise in that Ohio suburb as it always has all over the world. People in that neighborhood and across the world would carry on with their lives as they have always done and one only hopes that the Sahibs too would live their anonymous lives as they have always lived …
END
* Some people in India pronounce Mrs as Missej.
(Note: The octogenarian head of a penurious Indian American family finds it very hard to make both ends meet in the times of recession, and so no option but to bid goodbye to his two equally old pets.)
The news reports say that the national poverty level has reached nearly to fifteen per cent.
That may be so, but that figure probably does not include these folks we know only as the Sahib, his Missej* and their two cats - Baboo and Raja. Even in his own neighborhood somewhere in the Ohio suburb no one seems to know this family except as ‘that fellow from India and his cute wife’.
The Sahib family is living below the poverty level forever. His ridiculously low pension is not even good for their mortgage payments.
Baboo is nearly 70 years old in cat-years (fifteen-years in human years). He has arthritis, has lost his sense of smell and has a slightly impaired vision. He was also born with a neurological condition that has affected his walking. Baboo does not have any Medicare and has no HMO (Health Maintenance Organization) to cover his health expenses.
During the last few months only, the Sahibs have spent nearly $5,500 on Baboo’s health.
The Sahib is in his early 80s but he still looks youthful. His Missej is in her early 70s and looks fifteen years younger than her real age.
After being daily bombarded by the media with the news of various companies down-sizing, the layoffs, the rate of unemployment, the ever increasing rate of bankruptcies and foreclosures across the country, the Sahib was inspired to do something about his own ever increasing pet maintenance expenses and the couple’s nearly evaporated 401K account (Pension fund).
So one night, the Sahib called a little family meeting.
The Family Meeting:
The Sahib called Baboo and Raja and explained to them the state of economy, the ever-increasing expenses and the family’s very limited financial resources.
He said, “You guys are brave even though Raja runs away and hides under the bed as soon as hears the door bell ring. You have been a lot of fun and a lot of trouble too. We all have had wonderful time together the past dozen years or so. You know that, we all know about our fun times together. But I have to tell you some thing. It is very difficult for me to do this, but you know, nothing lasts forever. Even all-good things come to an end some day. I think for you guys, that day is today.”
He continued: “You have no idea about the bad condition of your Sahib’s finances … All you know is eating fancy foods, napping, eating fancy food and napping, eating fancy food … That’s the only thing you know. But let me tell you that time is over. I had to make a very tough decision. I do not know of any proper way of telling you this but I have to tell you …”
The Sahib’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat and continued –
“I have decided to let you guys go. You two will have to find something else to do with your lives.”
There was silence. Absolute silence. Only audible sound in that room was that of the Missej’s sobbing …
There was no evocative music to enhance the somber mood of that moment. The silence was very striking and unbearable.
After listening to his Sahib with open ears and closed eyes, Baboo, the bright one among the two cats (that is bright one compared to Raja), jumped down from his chair, came limping near the Sahib and said -
“How can you do this to us? What about all the joy and pleasure we have given you all these years? What about the guests I have hurt with my claws and scarred the hell out of them… What about my jumping and general running around the house? I did that to amuse you with my galloping gait. What about my informing you when the mailman or a delivery guy came to our door? Raja and I always sniff the newly delivered packages and make sure that the contents were safe for all of us. I have even let you take my videos when I was relaxing or cleaning my paws and my face ... I always stopped from my singing when you interrupted me by yelling at me.
“Some times when I am at the window of our dinning room and talking with the dogs next door you often shouted, ‘Stop it Baboo …’ And I always stopped… I have always obeyed your orders. Have I ever complained about anything? Don’t these things count for any thing? You cannot act like all those big corporations…you have to take our age, loyalty and love into consideration, after all we are a FAMILY, don't you understand that simple thing?
“And, tell us, who is going to adopt us old cats? Where are we supposed to go now? Do you want us to die under a car or die of a disease or you want us gassed by that inhumane Humane Society? C'mon, we know you are a kind-hearted man. We have heard Mom call you a Softy … Please, please, won’t you allow us to stay here, just for a few more years?”
Raja ever so royal and loyal had decided to find a place near his Sahib - or Saabjee as his Missej called him- with one of his paws in his lap. As usual Raja was sound asleep. As sound as only a cat could be… No one was sure if Raja had listened to any of the things that his Sahib had said…
By this time the Missej was to the last piece of her second box of Kleenexes and uncontrollably sobbing. Her nose and eyes had turned red. Baboo's nostrils were flaring (that can only be detected by the observant eyes of his Sahib or his Vet Ms Dawn). His pink nose had turned to apple-red. A tear or two had surfaced and were trying to roll down Baboo’s eyes.
The Sahib’s face had turned ashen gray. His hands were trembling. A sense of embarrassment and overwhelming feeling of guilt had taken over the Sahib’s usually calm and composed demeanor... He felt as if his heart had stopped. He could barely breathe… He tried to get up from his couch, but could not. As if all the strength from his body had drained out. Finally, with great effort the Sahib tried to stand up again and in the process he lost his balance and collapsed on the couch. The Missej requested her Sabjee not to move away from the couch. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of water for her Sahib.
Sipping some water with his trembling hand, the Sahib was quiet for some time, as if reflecting about all that had happened during the last few minutes. He looked around the room and finally looking at Baboo and Raja the Sahib said something that only this Sahib from India could say at that time -
‘Okay, you guys never asked us to be with us. We brought you here to stay with us. I believe in fate.’
The Sahib remembered the day they had brought Baboo home. The images on the Sahib’s memory screen rapidly moved backwards to the day when they had spotted a little kitten in a parking lot of a hotel where their guests were staying.
Baboo had then looked like a little panda cub… His eyes were matted and barely open … he came staggering near their car … The Missej picked him up, looked up at the kittens belly area and told the Sahib, ‘It is a BOY… We got to take this little guy home.’
She thought of a suitable Indian name for the little guy and came up with Baboo. And the little guy thus became Baboo. They thought that Baboo might be missing his siblings, so the Missej picked up Raja from a pet adoption agency. There the volunteers called him Neville. And the Missej changed Neville to Raja…
The film in the memory stopped there … The Sahib looked at Baboo and said,
‘We have had a great time with both of you. Your first Christmas and the photo session with Santa at the pet store, new collars … the warehouse full of toys that you guys never played with… The annual shots, monthly pedicures, the catnip treats…’
‘My heart tells me that we have owed you something from our past incarnations. The Missej and I are just paying our Karmic debt by taking care of you. By having you here, we are not doing any favors to you. We are just repaying what we have owed you… You guys came into our lives because of some good Karmic deeds you must have performed in YOUR last incarnation. Everything happens for a reason.’
The Sahib paused for a moment. There was a total silence in the room. He continued,
‘You guys win! You guys were meant to be with us. You will be staying with us. You will be staying with us forever …’
The Sahib wiped his eyes, looked lovingly at Raja and Baboo with a steady gaze.
The Missej was still sobbing.
Raja jumped down from near his Sahib’s side and ran towards the hallway as if signaling to Baboo that the game of chase was on.
The Sahib remembered a few lines of an old Indian movie song … ‘Life is now infused with new hope,Brothers, the days of sorrow and sadness are ove r…’ (Dukhbhare Din Beetore Bhaiya … etc.
A faint smile emerged and a soft glow could be detected on the Sahib’s face. He got up from the couch and started to walk slowly towards the bedroom.
And while walking, the Sahib said to himself, ‘Sahib, now you better think of doing something about the Missej ...’ No, that’s not true. Only a silly writer can think of such humor.
The Sahib loved his Missej too much to entertain such thoughts. He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. His mind was numb … He was in no condition to think about anything at that time.
And before the Sahib could reach the bedroom, the Missej grabbed him from behind … The Sahib was startled and looked at his Missej… the Missej wiped her tears and said in a choking voice, “Hubbyjee, you know something? You are the greatest Hubby in the world!”
The Sahib slowly turned around, put his trembling hand over the Missej’s shoulder and pulled her close by his side and they continued walking towards the bedroom.
If this was an ordinary story, it would have ended with the predictable coda, ‘The Sahib, his Missej, and their two cats – Baboo and Raja lived happily ever after.’
Raja and Baboo do not know what was going on in their owners’ lives and we have no way of knowing what was going on in the Sahib’s mind.
Tomorrow the sun would rise in that Ohio suburb as it always has all over the world. People in that neighborhood and across the world would carry on with their lives as they have always done and one only hopes that the Sahibs too would live their anonymous lives as they have always lived …
END
* Some people in India pronounce Mrs as Missej.
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