The Lost World of Manikyamani

Manikyamani was a 90-year-old woman who lived in a small apartment with her family. She was always physically present, but mentally, she seemed to be stuck in the past, as if that was where she truly belonged. Her talks were full of nostalgia; her voice was tinged with a hint of longing as she spoke of her mother, grandmother, and countless distant relatives.

Her face, lined with the years, often wore a thoughtful expression, a portrait of the thoughts endlessly circulating in her head. She was not much interested in the news of her age, instead, she liked listening to tales of her yesteryear. For her, a world of social drama and gossip meant nothing great; her mind was focused on memories from another era.

Days went by in a comfortable rhythm. She would spend her mornings watching television, her eyes scanning the screen as she lost herself in stories of fictional characters. In the afternoons, she enjoyed engaging in conversations with her daughter-in-law, son, and grandchildren. Her voice filled with pride as she shared some of her life experiences.

Yet there seemed always to haunt her loneliness, despite the happiness brooding about her. She often spoke of the "gone era" when everything went well and life was easy and filled with more freedom of joy. It was not that kind of sorrow that sat upon her soul but rather some sort of wistful, old longing for something past.

One day, I was sitting with her, thinking of raising a subject that had never been mentioned before: her wedding anniversary. To my surprise, she remembered the date distinctly. When, however, I started raising the subject seriously, I noticed a change in her demeanour. Now she is reluctant to talk about her husband, her voice turning quieter.

This was one of those realization moments that hit me with force. I had never heard her talk about her husband or any member of his family. While she did stories upon stories about her past, she said little about this part of her life.

I was intrigued; so I learned more about the background of Manikyamani. I wanted to know what made her silent. Thus, I took off the conversation on her childhood. She described a warm and loving childhood, full of fond memories with the care of family. Her mother had a great personality that made her quite independent, free, and bold and gave her the challenge to be so.

I noticed a trend as I listened to her stories. She hardly ever spoke about her father even when telling family stories. As though she had mentally disposed of him, considering his absence in the stories she would tell. Upon questioning her she just said, "He was there." Such vague and vague statements scarred me.

I was determined to know more. After some time, Manikyamani confided in me that her father had been a very stern and demanding person. She stated that he placed high expectations on her and never left her breathing space between one expectation and another; thus, she felt overwhelmed to fulfil all the expectations at all times. Generally, her relationship with her father was strained because her father hardly showed her love and care.

The pain of her father's absence had left an open wound in her heart and explained her guardedness about speaking of her husband. Maybe she was related to the chill, that her father showed, with the warmth she wanted from a husband.

Sitting with Manikyamani, I realized that her nostalgia for yesteryears was not an attempt to recreate old memories but rather a way of circumventing the pain and disillusion she had experienced in life. The comfort that coming back to the past evoked in her was like one getting a minute refuge from the present by peeping into the past when perhaps she was at her most loved and accepted.

Then I spent more time with Manikyamani; she told me so many stories and kept me company. She found out that in her life nothing was easy-from the loss of relatives to financial hardship-and yet she remained optimistic about everything.

One evening, we sat together, and Manikyamani started talking about her future. She wished to travel and explore unknown places. In addition, she had to talk about her grandchildren and how they made her life so beautiful and joyful.

But as I listened to those words, I realized that even as she pined for the past, there was Manikyamani who was far from being anyone's poster child for a time warp. She had both known happiness and sorrow and come to appreciate all that life held for her. She had spent much of her years looking back but as well looking forward now, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes.