A still from Iris

In the last issue of Autumn Flush, I was flippant about the Vedic wedding mantra (dasasyam putran dehi, patim ekadasyam krti) in which the bridegroom asks Indra to bless his wife with 10 sons and asks to be her 11th son in his own old age.

Brigadier S.P. Bhattacharya’s book entitled In the Line of Alzheimer’s: The Mission Continues, in which he describes how he has cared for his wife, an Alzheimer’s victim for 15 years, made me eat my words.

I know of few husbands or sons or indeed wives and daughters who would take on such a daunting mission with such love and practicality.

The book is a guidebook for others in the same position. Many will recall Iris, (made into an equally compelling film), John Bayley’s similar record of caring for his wife, Iris Murdoch, Oxford don, philosopher, novelist and Alzheimer’s victim.

Bayley, himself an Oxford literature man, wrote with elegance: the brigadier’s well-wrought narrative is instantly accessible homely prose. It has been published by the Calcutta chapter of the Alzheimer’s and Related Disorders Society of India with which he is closely associated.

Various stages of the disorder are carefully signposted. He still feels guilty about Stage 1 when he failed to recognise the symptoms and frankly records other errors along the way. His wife, a Presidency College contemporary of all-time greats like Amartya Sen and Sukhamay Chakravarty, had always been a great reader and became an army wife with elan: a bright and gregarious person. After his retirement and return to Calcutta to their Salt Lake home, she immediately involved herself in social activities, including organising and taking part in quizzes.

Sudden mood swings, forgetfulness and unaccustomed anger were early signs he failed to recognise.

Alzheimer’s, he assures you, is not just forgetting where you put your keys: there are far more confusing memory lapses as large chunks of that part of the brain that stores information get wiped out.

There is LIFO: Last In First Out, when the newest bits of information are the first to leave the minds of Alzheimer victims.

A violent phase, a reclusive phase, and then the gradual retreat, first into her younger days, and then into her childhood, all are carefully documented, sometimes through her love of music as western music is replaced by Rabindrasangeet, until one is down to nursery rhymes.

From an articulate person to someone who loses all her vocabulary, he feels his wife receding from him but welcomes with joy the “great-granddaughter” she has now become.

High expectations of alternative medicine were dashed until he realised that creating a safe cheerful environment for the victim is the single most important aspect of the management of this irreversible dementia.

The book is movingly dedicated to “Sukla, my soulmate, as she fades away, and to all family carers who cannot afford to fade away.” It is wonderful that the Brigadier extracts joy from an otherwise hopeless situation. The most beautiful line is inscribed on the back cover: “caregiving to an Alzheimer’s patient need not be struggling through the storm only, but it’s possible to enjoy a bit of dancing through the rain as well.”

At 84-plus, the Brigadier continues with good humour to wage a positive battle against the most-feared problem of aging. I salute him.

The writer, a former professor of English at Jadavpur University, can be contacted at sajni.mukherji@gmail.com