Silver hair framed a fine boned face as Lady Jerbai Homi Mody (better known as Lady M) sat daintily eating her papaya and sipping coffee from a green and gold breakfast set. Her slender blue-veined hands were almost transparent where the pale winter sun caught them, toying with the sparse breakfast on her plate.
"Come on darling, one more piece. Now don’t be a naughty girl and waste this,” coaxed her ample-bosomed companion and caretaker. "Go to hell!” snapped the old lady. The companion’s chin quivered and her hand flew to the heaving gold cross on her chest, as if to protect it from this blasphemy. The Lady let out a tinkle of silver laughter to show no malice was intended. "Don’t worry,” she said. "They won’t let you into hell. You’d spoil the devils’ fun with your prim righteousness.”
"Abdul,” she ordered the bearer imperiously, when we were ushered into the room, "Memsahib log ké liyé plate lagao (lay plates for the guests).
"Thank you Lady M but we have already had breakfast,” my sister said.
"So what. Khao aur piyo aur mauj majaa karo (eat, drink and be merry),” she sang out, tapping a tune on her plate with a silver spoon.
Lady Mody (above) and alongside, seated (extreme left) with her family
The buoyant sails of her spirits seemed suddenly to go limp and she lapsed into silence. Whether the little outburst of song had tired her or whether memory of some bygone time had enveloped her, we could not tell.
While we talked and asked about her health, she seemed not to care. Then looking up slowly she fixed her keen eyes on us and said, "You have shared with me this morning of your time, your youth and your radiance. It might mean nothing to you but it means a great deal to me. Don’t ever stop doing that. Life is for living and loving and giving. It is measured not in hours or days but in the smile you bring to another’s face.”
With another of her quicksilver changes of mood she laughed aloud. Delighted at her patient’s good humor, the companion chirped, "Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep and you weep alone!” The Lady stopped laughing. She looked at the empty plates around her and then down at her own with the forlorn, uneaten pieces of papaya on it. Sadly she intoned, "Yes. Weep and you weep alone; eat slowly and you eat alone.”
We were fascinated by the frailty and strength of the lady in front of us. We had been told that she was as eccentric as an eggplant but we found in her a rare wit and wisdom. She wore her aristocracy with the same ease and unconscious pride as a matador wears his cape. Age had not withered her. On the contrary it had tempered her to the quality of fine steel.
Now, in the twilight of her life, Lady M was old but not abandoned for her sons were devoted to her. Her mind was clouded as it wandered through the corridors of time but song and laughter were never far from her eyes and her lips. I felt truly rejuvenated in the presence of this 86-year young lady.
We knew this time with her was precious as we might never see her again. We asked her what the secret of her youthful spirit was; from which hidden spring did she sip the nectar of life. "Cling to no one or to no thing,” said the Lady with a sparkle in her blue eyes. "Take life as it comes and know that you make your own joys and sorrows.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand she indicated that breakfast was done. Abdul pulled back her chair. Her attendant, loath to see the last two prunes lying lonely in the bowl, popped them into her mouth, made a sign of the cross in thanksgiving for the Lord’s gifts and followed Lady M out of the room.
Many years have passed. Lady M is no more. But the lesson in life that she passed on lives with us, growing more meaningful with time.