Analogikal

It had been a while since i remembered my granny; well actively at least. She was the being I was closest to. There’s something about the love of grandparents that truly touches you. It is a love that does not seek reciprocation. It is a love that does not seek favours or modified behaviour. It just loves. And loves till it can love no more.

She was a strong woman. Adept at life and all its challenges. Even in the midst of a marriage that left her unsatisfied, she brought up four wonderful children. Devoid of any vices towards each other or anyone else. I see this as a reflection of the person she was; and the person she still is, through all of them. I spent most of my growing years in her care and company. My compassion for the fellow human is drawn from her. She could give, without careful thought. This was not a fallout from her religious inclination, but her way of thanking the cosmos for blessing her and her family.

My fondest memories about her were Thursdays. The ladies seeking alms would flock from house to house. She knew they would come every week and every week she would give them what they were looking for. Money, clothes, food. Whatever she could manage. Most importantly she would sit down and talk to them. To me this was the greatest thing she could have given anyone. Her time. And she would give them her time and her patience knowing there isn’t much the benefactors could spare her. She would do this with everyone who would come home. She did it regardless of the number of people who swindled, conned and cheated her. To her, the ends didn’t matter. Over a period of time, I grew fond of this habit and would sit down with her through her Thursday rituals.

Later on in life I moved away from home and moved away from her and the values she had inculcated in me. But when she fell ill, I came home. She was ill. She could barely speak. The smile from her face was gone. All the mocking she would do and the toothless laughter that held my world together was gone. I spent most of my time lying next to her or holding her hands. It pained me to see her that way. It was time to move closer to home. When I left home that time I had decided I’m going to move closer to home. Even if it meant a step down in my career. The day after I got back to Orissa, i had to fly back home again. My granny had left us. I still remember my brother’s trembling voice telling me she had left us. I had sat down on a bench and let the void consume me.

36 hours; Two flights, two buses and two cab rides later, I was home. I was late. By then the funeral was over. I remember standing near her grave. Silent, solemn with my brothers. We had all drifted into our versions of life with Ummamma. The cold sea-breeze and the sounds of the waves surrounded us. We stood there and time stood still with us. I wept my heart out. I knew I would miss her like I had never missed anyone else.  I wished time would stop. I was told everyone who had even remotely known her had come for her funeral. Even though they had moved on in life. They came not because she had helped them. They came because she was always there. The greatest gift. I moved closer to home and closer to the things she taught me.

Of late I had been lost. The loss of a love made me bitter. I started questioning the process of being virtuous and doing what is right. When you never get what you desire and deserve, what is the point. Chasing a career and life in a big city was driving this point home every day. The disparity and lack of fairness of it all. Bodies too tired to sleep and voices too feeble to be let out. Then I fell ill.

I was having lucid dreams owing to chicken pox induced fever and medicine induced sleep. I saw Kasmi in one of these dreams. Kasmi was a part of our childhood. The lanky, happy-go-lucky fisherman who brought fresh fish every morning. It had been ages since the last time I met him. He sat me down outside my house and we swapped pleasantries. He asked me where granny was. I told him she’s away. He looked at me. I was visibly sad. So was he. An undefined sorrow was there in the air. He asked me, do you know what made her so amazing? With a trembling voice i told him, ‘Yes, she gave her time to people’. He said ‘No!’. This ticked me off. Does he think he knows my granny better than I do? He didn’t seem to care. So he continued “Well, she did that. But she she did that without thinking whether the person deserved it or not and without expecting anything in return. You see, everyone can be selectively kind. She never used a filter to give”. With this he left. She didn’t qualify her love. I had received from someone who didn’t ask whether I deserved it or not. For large parts of my life, I didn’t deserve it. She gave it nonetheless. I have been a broken mess for so long. Every time she pieced me back together. Without knowing why or how I was broken. In that warm lap with her fingers moving through my hair, with every slow caress, she healed me.

I woke up crying. I missed her more than ever. I felt the same cold void. Yet, I felt a strange sense of direction. The sea breeze and the warm waves. Constants and kindness.