Dadi

Have been missing her (grandmother) crazy ... 


This post shares 3 pieces I have put in place thinking of her .... 

The first one I wrote during 2007 at Baghmara ~ 

Dadi - I love you.

“Nimesh, fetch me a glass of water” she said and I got up to do the needful for dadi. Suddenly it struck me as something strange – giving water to my own grandmother! It was the first time in 26 years that I had seen her asking for water. She always did her tasks herself; I could recall her telling me one evening “somebody who doesn’t even fill his own glass of water cannot to anything commendable in life”. And I remember it for she did not preach but shared as some one equal. In spite of this I have grown up asking her for favours each day.

           

She embodies strength for me, somebody who finds a way out during unforeseen circumstances. She is not scared to speak out - be it about her priorities or simply something she wanted to say. I remember how, during my childhood, she would be beside me any time someone tried to put me down, taking her stand of supporting me – unlike my timid parents. Seeing her I learnt that one is respected only if one respects self.

           

She has this amazing ability to relate to people - from tiny tots to those her age. Basically being able to indulge in non sensical talk depending upon the age group she was interacting with. I remember how I enjoyed movies with her for she passed comments that I would have done else wise.

           

Now, when I am with her I feel very out of place. I cannot see her weak and old - those words still don’t hold true for my dadi. Being near her makes me paranoid to old age and question the “reality” of life. As a result cannot spend time with her even during my intermittent visits home.

           

Today she is forlorn, needs me and here I am - selfishly existing more than 3,000 kms away. 

This during 2010 at Saiha ~ 

Dadi

All my childhood that I had put in with her I had heard her questioning colour, height, social back-ground and yes nose-size of to be brides in the extended family but the day I told her about Roshni her only question was ‘does she know hindi – I want to talk with her’. The non conditioned nature of her love for me strikes me. On one hand it makes me wonder if I will be ever able to love like that and on the other realize that she is the only person perhaps I accepted with all her humane short comings.

I was in class 10 when I woke up late to see her bring my shoes from the cobbler on her return from the kirana store and in college when she cleaned my scooter on her return from the temple.  Years ago I remember how she made omlet when we were alone I wanted to eat it. She otherwise stayed away from eggs.  For all my consciousness and self-reliance I always felt had a right to all she did for me and that it was between us.  I too did my bit. For one the letters from trouble espousing relatives, addressed to her, used to land from the letter box to the dustbin. There is a long list of these day to day incidents and as I talk with mumi and Roshni I see an undefined pride in my bonding with her.

She contributed a lot to what I am and today I realize I embedded some of these traits only because she never tried to teach me of them.  While I am not given much to talking she was stubborn and clear of her priorities. As I write I recall Johnny Depp saying, in one of his movies, there are no rules - no perfect life, there is life and you live it. She lived it and today I am happy at the way she did, how I was a part of it as also that I recall our times together with happiness.

There is a strange emptiness though. A silence around that pinches when there is joy, when we undertake actions we have never done without her, when particular dishes are to be cooked on account of a festival, when I enter her room and see her bed folded, when I talk to mumi over phone almost asking if she is fine ...

And this had been in my mind for quite a while ~ 

Dadi - I miss you


Today I looked fervently in the malls for a jacket and was sad moments after getting it when I pictured the house door locked on my return; you would not be there to see it – tell me how you found it! Each time I got something I used to love sharing the experience with you.

Each time I went home I missed you waiting for me – standing in the balcony. I recall the pain I felt when you did not recognize me on my waving (from a little far) on one of my visits; I had come via Amdavad that evening. Your eyes had gone weak; my dadi cannot be old ~

I miss the small joys that we shared ~ Your getting up on my calling you from the window, just once, on my return from late night movies with friends; way beyond 12 pm ~  My telling you I had gone to smoke when you asked where Sapan and I had gone; never before we had talked of smoking. Sapan shivered and I thought it was only natural to tell you where we had gone.

I swelled with pride each time I held you as we walked the evenings and wished I came for longer breaks; I planned and took a break to be home but it was late ~

I was never alone, whatever I did. I do not have that assurance / confidence now. Years ago you shouted ‘thief – thief’ when the tiny me slipped my hand away from your grip and ran away in the vegetable market at Calcutta and got me back. Tell me what do I do today; I want you back too!