I suppose I’m fortunate to have only happy memories of my childhood left with me. Surrounded by a doting family and a great looking dog, unpleasant ones have over the time somehow faded away. Besides I just don’t wish to look back and relive any.

Today it’s easy to figure out what made my early years so great. Like a superstar she was everywhere, always there, smiling all pervading. How can I ever forget her withered face and corrugated forehead that shone through folds and creases and  a bad dentistry? She was a constant companion –bodily and in other ways till she passed away at a golden age of 84.

My grandma from what I remember belonged to a generation that had lived through two World wars, the tumult of Partition and another couple of Wars-one in the West by an unruly Pakistan and another one in the North across the Himalayas by the belligerent dragon China. The world on this side of the fence had really taken a relentless beating, People were pushed against the wall and had to endure a great deal. Watching over their families was a rough going. Amidst such challenging times she kept her nose clean and minded a conscientious care for her family up to the time her debilities overwhelmed her spirits.

It was a sad and dispiriting gloomy afternoon when the shattering news of the inevitable reached us. Till the end she had never called in a favor and was a proud free-spirited empowered woman her entire life.

 The Joy of Being a Grandson

To assume that the ‘cradle to grave’ age difference between us somehow weakened or clouded our perspectives would be unfair, lest think of, to describe how I see my ‘grandma grandson’ bond today. I was a little kid of barely five then and so wet behind the ears to have any definitive frame of mind. I just had a fifth birthday. Unsophisticated, naive and truly green to understand worldly subtleties, I was looked upon as a starry eyed, innocent kid trying to find his foothold in this incredulous world. Clueless and unmindful I guess I understood only tenderness and warmth then.

Despite prolonged separations-my father being a Police Officer and distantly posted- I immensely enjoyed grandma’s company whenever we would visit her on school holidays. Being one of a dozen grandchildren, I could barely have her company except when the adults engaged in serious talks outside and other siblings were too preoccupied to mingle with her.

As ever, grandma would cuddle me, reach out for home made laddoos and would be so excited to tell me all kinds of stories about her childhood. She didn’t seem to care if any of it made any sense to me. I was just there as a generally happy listener to be easy ears to her reminisces when no one else would. I was the reason for her contentment when she would talk about things profound and incomprehensible to me. All silent I’d be a courteous audience to her recounting. She savored these moments and smelled the roses for all I could make out.  

Born much before the First World War, she had endured an entirely different childhood that was rife with loss, privation and denial. The country was under the yoke of British raj and basic rights of natives were the distressed lot. Privations and disadvantage rode the wave. Clearly her parents couldn’t have hoped to muster enough means and raise her appropriately.

So, grandma never made to the school.

 My Childhood and Grandma – Nostalgia Live-on

Like in typical households, where boys are pampered and favored much more than girls, my grandma had to stay at home to do chores and learn cooking. The only opportunity she could manage to learn a little was when her cousin brother was having lessons with the family tutor. She would shyly sit quietly on the floor at the far end of the long bleak, dimly lit room, across her brother and tutor and listen intently. Interestingly somehow she learned to read and write, even just a little upside down – an ability that later turned out to be quite practical, especially whenever she would try to read and share my story books. Sometimes on weekends she would together with other siblings go to the Zoo – not a stone’s throw away from home but not too far either. There she would sit down cross-legged underneath a tree and musingly watch all the fun going on around her. The faint amusing smile would never leave her face. Even while walking us around the cages or handing out scrumptious wraps of pooris, with flavorful savory aloo fry stuffed within and sweet- sour mango pickle, she would be happy faced always. Perhaps she knew that life is time sensitive and she didn’t want miss a moment of happiness for nothing.

Her soul was something I guess that had struck a note with everyone . Everybody admired her benevolence and caring compassion. I could never forget her sitting comfortably on grass bed handing out to little greedy hands unmindful of the fuss and squabble around her.

During the Partition often life came to a standstill she would tell us. To protect her kids from marauders in the street who preyed on Hindus she would run children underneath her bed and the whole family would stay stuffed like rag dolls together for hours- joking, giggling and whispering funny quips. Many a times they would miss being discovered by just a few inches which grandma with a great sense of gratitude would fiercely claim was a divine favor.

The time would simply rush out of the window and we wouldn’t miss any of the fun!

This is just one of the many stories she would recount over the years. Now that I think about it, her young adulthood and my childhood were worlds apart. Yet something held us together. My childhood was quite happy and fulfilling. I didn’t need to go through the trauma like she did where uncertainty called the shots and fear was in charge. I never faced educational barriers,  ignorance, illiteracy, un-enlightenment  unlike her because since I was born it’s been part of me. When I was younger, I never really had the chance to be myself, sprawl out on the grass, while away my time doing nothing except stargazing or learn the art of hand knitting. All I remember was staying at home, playing with neighbor’s bit older kids or reading Phantom series, something I’m sure she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing.

I guess our different backgrounds were what made her such an interesting person to listen to. Her stories felt like history books coming alive. She was special in so many ways. Her loss is felt deeply by many, but none more than me. She lived a full life and left a gaping void when she left. For a couple of years before the end I had watched her fight off her frailties. She was a rock to the family but fragility had kept her slipping.

A Lasting Tribute

The love of a grandma is unique. It seems like God gave us grandmothers to liven up our lives, to make it more whole, to make us grow into better human beings. For me she meant a great deal in shaping my childhood. I remember sitting in the kitchen beside her and gleefully relishing the sweets she would share with teasing playfulness. Her companionship taught me a lot about love and the meaning of family. In fact, she never was just ‘grand mother’ to me. More than that, she was my guardian, my friend and my inspiration. I miss her dearly. I guess her spirit and strength, lives on in each one of us and in the lives that she touched. She lives on in me and in all those who have been moved by the love, strength, conviction, wisdom, and beauty of her soul.

Love you grandma – You truly were a special, special woman to me! You’re no longer among us but your memories would always live on in me. Thank you for your sacrifices, your care and concern, your love and everything that you did for everybody. I know you are in a much better place. I hope I never forget to be grateful and thankful that I was fated to be your ‘grandson’.

You’re gone but not forgotten grandma! I miss you so much.

Until we see each other again some other time, some other place.

Unaware, unrevealed …in a new way!