Operation Missing Ma: A Cinematic Mystery

It was a serene and lazy Sunday evening, the type when you wake up after a satisfying post-lunch siesta and you suddenly remember  that there's no house-help tonight, and you decide impromptu to go out for dinner. The dinner was awesome,  and at 10:30 pm, the eatery was serving it's last few customers. And then… my phone rang; my youngest brother was frantic - our Ma's phone was switched off from 7:50 pm onwards! He lives a thousand miles away and he would call Ma atleast a thousand times daily to report about the irritating neigbours and the itchy mosquito bites. 

I told him to calm down and called Ma. Her phone was indeed switched off. Unusual. And worrisome. I live ten kilometers away from Ma's place, and I didn't utter a word as my husband zoomed over the newly -emerged potholes towards Ma's home. 

I called my cousin who stays nearby. She checked  the front door, and it was locked  from outside.  The lights of the house were on - another red-flag as Ma wouldn't keep more than two lights on (to save electricity). Cousin Laju further reported that the main gate was unlocked,  again an aberration from the all-weather strict nine o'clock gate-locking protocol of Ma's. It was well past 11 p.m and panic had seeped in by then.

In our household, Ma disappearing without leaving a trail was like the Prime Minister going on a solo backpacking trip without Z+ security. Within minutes, a full-blown family emergency was declared.

“She’s been kidnapped!” My elder son announced, dramatically from the car's rear seat.  “She might have joined an old-age home! She was doing the rece on a few nearby ones the last time I had a talk with her. Actually her daughter is rude to her at times,” my husband said grimly, casting an accusatory glance at me.

Meanwhile,  cousin Laju was joined by my brother's childhood friend Pinchu who had literally carried his toothbrush with him as he was contacted by my brother halfway through his night- brushing ritual. In the meantime,  the resourceful me called up Ma's neighbour, Ma's close friend. No, Aunty wasn't aware where she had gone. Another neighbour informed cousin Laju that Ma was seen leaving home alone late in the evening. 

At this point, we all had lost all logic and dignity.I reached the premises and the eerie humid night with ominous black clouds created instant hysteria. Cousin Siki from next door almost fainted dramatically, even though she’s rough and tough. My younger son offered to put up “MISSING” posters with Ma's photo from her WhatsApp profile where only half her face was visible.  I scrolled through my phone's gallery in order to find a suitable photo to share with the cops. Flashes of an old Doordarshan programme came alive - Gumshuda Talaash Kendra, Daryaganj, New Delhi..As I was about to file a missing person complaint, cousin Laju was frantically Googled “How to install GPS chip in moms without their knowledge” 

Then, just as one well-wisher was preparing to set up a candlelight vigil and someone else was about to watch an episode of Crime Patrol with a similar missing person storyline, in walked Ma! In a soft silk saree with the remnants  of a popcorn packet in her hand. And behind her, her elegant maternal aunt was waving bye-bye to her from a new sedan.

“Ma! Where were you?! We thought you were abducted , or were sick while out for dinner with friends,  or what not!”

She blinked at us coolly,  took out the house keys from her clutch, and said, “Calm down. I went for the evening show of the latest Assamese blockbuster "Bhaimon Da" with your grand-aunt. You people go out with your own friends for movies, and when I go out you all never let me watch in peace , always asking questions and creating a scene. You all go now. It's time for me to sleep.”

I stared, open-mouthed. “You didn't even tell us?”

She threw me a look of utter exasperation,  and with that, locked us out of the premises like nothing happened, humming the film’s melodious song, leaving behind atleast seven emotionally scarred and popcorn-betrayed children, relatives and neighbours who still haven’t recovered.