Everybody has parents. Not everybody knows who their parents are. Some never know who their biological parents are. Some don’t know any other kind of parents. My point is that those who are fortunate enough to have parents usually form an irreplaceable bond with them. No matter how stable or volatile the relationship may be, you do only get one pair of true parents.
Thing is, the very same logic can be extended to one’s parents as well – leading the discussion to the next generation – grandparents. It is often heard that grandparents are notorious for showering love (both unconditional and supported my gifts) on their grandchildren. In some joint families, grandchildren and grandparents grow up under the same roof, reveling in common joys and mourning common losses.
Of course, all the world’s grandchildren can be easily divided into the bunch who are close to their father’s father and their mother’s mother, and those who aren’t so. If you’ve been following the gist of the last two posts, you’ll probably be able to figure out which lot I identify with. It’s true, distance, time and a significant language barrier all contribute significantly to my abysmal relationship with my grandparents, and to be more specific, both my grandfathers.
Neither of them is alive any more. I knew neither of them well. Both were a bit infamous for their short tempers, both had a lot of grandchildren and, sadly, both have passed away before I could pluck up the proper interest to get to know them better. One of the most vivid images I have of my mother’s father is of him in lounging in his hammock chair in the verandah of the house. That’s pretty much how everyone below the age of 25 will remember him. In my mother’s words, he was a very wise, authoritative man, albeit with a short fuse. I do remember hiding under his hammock chair when I was little, but of course, now the chair is empty, and I am too large for that sort of hide-and-seek.
This is my grandfather's old cane...
My father’s father lived a bit longer. I believe he was 94 when he decided to make his trip. But even at that ripe, old age, nobody really expected it. He was a man who was in the prime of his health for most of his “old” age, and we were all secretly betting that he’d be a centenarian before his time was up. But sadly, that was not the case. Again, he was a powerful head of the family, and according to my father, he worked hard to feed his family of 7 children. But then again, my knowledge of him is limited to the anecdotes I hear from my parents.
Luckily for me, both my grandmothers are alive and kicking. Well, not exactly kicking – they move with a swaying gait that is the norm for people their age. My father’s mother is rather hard of hearing, but that doesn’t stop me from sitting by her side, listening to her recount her tales of years bygone. I serve as her audience of one, because not many people have the time or patience to listen to her any more. Some label her as a bitter woman with extreme prejudices, but the image I’ll have engraved in my mind is probably going to be her beautiful wrinkled face with that smile. I’m sure that if I gave her a white sari with a blue border and got her to cover her head as well, and a rosary, just for effect, she’d look just like Mother Teresa.
My mother’s mother is, in a similar fashion, kind, bent and adorable. She’s walks with a slight hunch, and in recent years, has put on a bit of weight. She used to be extremely involved in housework till a few years back, when age started to play catch-up with her. She’s now taken a backseat and enjoys being tended to, and playing with her great-grandchildren. I love the way she blinks ever-so-slowly, and peers out with her soulful eyes. I often imitate her walk and look, just to induce a smile and a half-meant rebuke.
But the fact remains that I won’t be able to connect with them the same way the rest of my cousins can. The only thing that gives me some comfort is the fact that my grandmothers realize this fact too, are patient with me, and don’t let it come in the way of what precious little we have. I remain in envy of those grandchildren who share a lot more with their grandparents, but I guess that circumstances have precipitated the current situation. And truth be told, it’s a bit too late for any significant upheaval to take place.
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Oh and in other news, as I may or may not have mentioned earlier, it’s really really really convenient to have both my parents’ houses on either side of NH-47. It just makes meeting everyone and shifting from one house to another a breeze, compared to others who may have to arrange for a separate vacation to go see the other side of the family. I just got a National Highway and a bunch of speeding cars to worry about.