An ode to selfless love…
Earlier today, I saw a beautiful video of a grandmother and granddaughter jiving to the world-famous Despacito and it instantly brought me to tears. I never really had a chance to get over the death of both my paternal grandparents.
I was 7 when my grandfather collapsed right in front of my eyes, right after he had lunch at a neighbour’s housewarming ceremony. Within a couple of days, all his organs failed and he passed away on 5th of June 1995. My younger sibling was too young to understand what was going on and I on the other hand, was confused as hell as to why my grandfather wouldn't wake up. I’ll never forget the day I saw my father break down the night of the funeral and I was still perplexed. I had to take matters into my own hands and decided to write a stinker of a letter to my neighbour who I fondly called “Bowling Thatha”.
Bowling Thatha was none other than A.K. Sarangapani, who was a leg spinner and was part of the Tamil Nadu team that won the Ranji Trophy in 1955. I somehow assumed that it was because of the food that he served at his housewarming that my grandfather was not around anymore. I decided never to speak to the poor man, but it all disappeared the day he walked over to me one day and apologised for what had happened. It was never his fault but this somehow made me feel better.
Fast forward to the year 2005, when my grandmother was terribly ill. Parkinsons had set in and so did Alzheimer’s Disease but that never stopped her from recognizing me (for some thankful reason). My daily ritual once I got back home from school was to sit next to her and constantly babble about school — I’ve been doing this since I was 5 and while I knew she couldn't absorb any of it, it was “our” time together and no one could take that away from me. While she was suffering, I couldn’t help but think of all the good times we had together. I knew I would lose her someday and it was making me restless; a piece of my heart would go with her and I wasn’t sure if it would ever heal.
A History graduate from Kumbakonam, my grandmother was extremely well-read. She, along with my father, taught me how to converse in English. My love for reading was because of her. Her food was to die for — “a big tablespoon of ghee with every meal is good for your bones, kanna” she would tell me and I could never refute. She would plait my hair every morning and that again was “our” time. Bingo, our German Shepherd, would join us. While we spoke, his eyes would dance about wondering what the two human beings were talking about so much, and that too in the morning. I was never a morning person except for when it came to her. But most of all, she loved me no matter what — whether I failed in Math or was just being incorrigible with my mother or to her for that matter — none of it mattered to her. She loved us to bits and that’s all that mattered.
She passed away peacefully on 28th September 2005, when I was standing right at her doorway. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of pain — to watch your best friend go to a better place. I decided to be the supposed mature person and decided to help my parents arrange for the funeral. I remember going to the doctor’s office and asking them to give me a death certificate for her and that’s when it all unravelled. However, I knew I had to be strong. Appa was completely devastated, and so was Amma. My brother was yet again too young to take this all in and he was fast asleep two hours after my grandmother passed on.
I never got the time to grieve because soon after, it was time for my board exams. We then moved to a new house and I was just starting college but I secretly wished Paati was around to see me go off to college and do my own thing. While I did move into her room briefly after she passed away, it felt like she was always with me, guiding me through some of my toughest years.
See, here’s the thing about grandparents — their presence is not bound to their physical selves. For those of us who grew up with them, they become a part of your personality. They bring you up along with your parents, but in a gentler manner; there are no raised tones or rules and regulations, but a more comprehendible approach that we as kids would understand. This doesn't mean that parents don’t do it any better, but there’s that magic touch that I miss to date.
I wish both, my thatha and paati saw my brother and I grow into such strong, independent people. I wish they met my husband because he most certainly would have been a big hit with them.
A piece of my heart will always be missing and that’s okay. Because it belongs to these two :)
