How the Loss of a Loved One Brought a Profound Change in My Life
A change for which I’ll be eternally grateful
Among all the teary eyes, the first ones I saw were my Nani’s (grandmother’s).
She sat atop a chair right behind her husband’s body.
I approached to touch her feet (a gesture of respect in India), but before I could, she took my face in her hands and cried —
“He loved you the most, but you weren’t there when he took his last breath”.
My soul left my body.
Her words rang in my ears like echoes in a cave.
I didn’t know which emotion to feel — the embarrassment of letting her down or the gut-wrenching pain of losing my grandfather.
I was in a flux of emotions but felt the pain of her words the most.
You weren’t there.
Those words hurt like hell because they were true.
Nana Ji (grandfather) wasn’t well for a while, and despite being aware of his withering condition, I didn’t go see him.
I kept delaying it — kept promising myself that once I’m done with so and so project, I’ll go.
I let work take precedence over a man who loved me, spoiled me, sacrificed for me and bore my tantrums more than anyone else.
The Grandfather of My Dreams
I come from a town (Indore) where everyone naps in the afternoon. Or at least that was the case in 2003.
Picture this — four people in the house peacefully napping after a delicious lunch… and I, the eldest grandkid (who’s supposed to be mature), watching TV.
But I couldn’t help it. Because:
- One — Tom & Jerry was on.
- And two — these were the Cartoon Network days. So, if you missed an episode today, you had to wait till tomorrow.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Unfortunately, the sleepyheads didn’t share my love for Tom & Jerry. Except Nana ji. Well, he didn’t love the cartoon, but he loved me 3,000.
So most times, he would politely ask me to reduce the volume but never forced me to shut the TV off.
There were times when I did get on his nerves. And that meant no Tom and Jerry after school, but it was rare.
Then came nights when I wouldn’t let him sleep without listening to the same set of jokes and stories.
I tricked him by saying — “Bas wo haathi aur cheenti wala suna do, uske baad pakka so jaunga”.
A rough translation — “I swear I’ll sleep after that ant and elephant joke”.
That wasn’t it, though. It was merely the beginning.
And on and on it would go — one joke after the other. I would keep demanding, and he would keep obliging.
He obviously knew the trick, yet he would fall for it. Willingly. And with love. No matter how sleepy he was.
Evenings at his place were filled with Samosas, Kachoris, Sabudaane ki Khichdi — all unhealthy but lip-smacking snacks of my choice.
Everyone else would get one Samosa, and I would get two because I loved it. He knew that and chose to spoil me.
Then came the Kinetic Honda (scooter) rides to school when I would miss the bus, which was always the case.
The summer rides back from school had a mandatory stop for ‘ganne ka rass’ (sugarcane juice) at a roadside vendor.
I could tell a hundred stories about him, but I can never tell him how grateful I am for my childhood.
- For all the memories I carry with me.
- For these stories, I narrate with lit-up eyes, with a smile so rare, with a feeling so deep.
I regret that I can’t convey my love to him.
For the longest time, Nani’s words haunted me, but as I said, it was my fault.
That day, I made a promise — I will not repeat this mistake with my other grandparents.
A little later (2 years ago), I got an opportunity to move to Indore.
It was my chance to keep that promise.
The Weekend Plan That Shocked My Mother
“Saturdays will be for Nani, and Sundays will be for Dadi”, I told my mother.
In Hindi, Dadi is an endearing term used for the father’s mother.
My mom said — “you mean every week?”
Her shock was justified because it was coming from me. I’m someone who used every excuse in the book to not see people in general, let alone my grandparents.
But the change was a long time coming.
I won’t lie, though. It was tough at first. But in no time, I went from ‘I have to make amends’ to ‘I want to make amends’.
I started to enjoy these visits. I observed every little thing my Nani did. What stuck with me was her way of folding her handkerchiefs. The tiny, flowery, pink ones folded with immaculate precision.
It was mind-blowing.
I would always sit beside her because she couldn’t hear very well. And that often left her out of the conversation.
I felt that in her body language and her face. I know how it feels like because I also have a hearing condition.
But I could barely imagine what she went through because this was on top of multiple issues she was going through.
I would take her hand in mine and caress it gently, looking at the wrinkles, thinking what all she’d done for her four kids and six grandkids.
Maybe I could never make up for not meeting Nana Ji the last time, but sometimes she would smile at me, and I could feel her saying, ‘It’s okay, beta’.
Somewhere, in a deep corner, I felt she had forgiven me.
Such is their love. Such is their sacrifice.
Before I well up, let’s move on to Sundays with Dadi.
I had a ritual with her.
Right after touching her feet and hugging her, I’d head straight to the kitchen. Boil water and prepare two cups of tea.
Then I’d take her to the swing in the tiny garden we have in our ancestral home. She’d sip it and tell me about all the new plants in her garden. Her latest accomplishments.
One evening, we spent our entire cups of tea watching a squirrel eat a bowl of rice Dadi had kept on the outer wall. All the while, Dadi would awww at the way she ate.
She talked about her tiny feet, tiny legs, and the rapid pace at which she ate. That day, I saw my Dadi light up like a little kid. I have that memory captured in my heart and in my phone.
So every time I see her now, I show her those videos, and she remembers them like yesterday. She lights up like a kid every time.
Adorable doesn’t even begin to describe that feeling.
These instances made me feel that their demands aren’t huge. They ask for so little. In fact, it boils down to just one thing.
The Only Thing They Ask For
It’s your time.
It’s your presence they crave.
A single hug is capable of giving them a million joules of energy. You have no idea.
I’ll be honest, though. It’s not easy. My stories might make everything sound perfect. It’s nowhere near perfect.
Life gets in the way. You have other commitments. You have kids, a spouse, and many responsibilities and tasks you leave for the weekend.
Sometimes, you think of skipping because you know they’ll repeat the same thing over and over again.
My Dadi does that. And it does get annoying.
But here’s a question you need to ask yourself — the same one I asked myself when I moved to Indore:
Can you bear the annoyance once a week?
I will never see my Nana ji again, and my Nani also passed away six months back. But I can still see my Dadi. I’m fortunate enough to be in the same city.
If that’s not the case with you, it’s okay. But please make sure you see them during the holidays. Don’t ignore them if you’re in their city.
Old age is cruel, and your presence is probably the only thing they’re living for.
Every time I step into the room where Nana Ji shaved his beard with his older-than-eternity razor and a wee little mirror, I travel back in time. Me and my cousins talk about it all the time.
It’s these memories that bring me a ton of happiness, and it’s these memories that I’ll continue to create with my Dadi.
How about you?
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