It was a
random day and I was doing some chores around the home.
Out of nowhere
my mind traveled down the memory lane and got stuck on one particular incident;
the day achan (Malayalam word for dad) took me to visit one of our distant
relatives, a grandmother. Even today, I can remember vividly the way her room
felt, the scents, the dim lights, and everything which can represent a
grandmother's room of that era.
With that came
the realization that that room represented one whole generation where people
lived healthy lives and peaceful old age only with minor ailments. In fact my
own grandmother, years later passed away in a hospital. Potentially, that would
be the case for the next generation or even for me.
But that day,
that room represented so much nostalgia that would be lost in time forever.
Hence here I am, trying to capture that day, that experience, in words, which I
feel almost impossible, but hey it’s worth trying.
The
dingy-looking room was lit by some daylight seeping through the door which
opens into the hallway. The room did have a window but it looked as if it was
not opened in ages and the sill was filled with various medicinal oils. The
room itself smelt like a concoction of all those oils. The window was
half-eaten by mites and I could see their damages, making a pattern with holes
and sharp, pokey pieces.
When I entered
the room, she looked a little puzzled, and immediately her face bloomed into a
big smile as she saw my dad and understood I am his daughter. I said an awkward
namaste to her and she pulled me into an embrace telling Naranante mola (Oh you
are the daughter of Narayanan). I could smell a mixture of Bhasmam and the oils
as she placed a warm kiss on my cheek and released me from the embrace.
As she
exchanged niceties with my father, my eyes were wandering around the room due
to lack of any other activity there and to escape the boredom. When we entered,
she did switch on the light which was an old electric bulb trying to light up
the room with its yellow light and failing. All it did successfully was to
light up the cobwebs around its white turned brown lamp shade. I entertained
myself looking at the pattern of the cobwebs and the wavy lampshade for some
time and then moved on to look for something more interesting.
The inbuilt shelf on the wall was mainly filled
with ancient looking books bound in old newspapers. The dust covering the books
made me wonder if that came from outside or the book covers started
disintegrating with time giving away the dust. I guess it was a mix of both. I
so wanted to go check out what was in those books, would there be novels she
read as a young woman or her recipe books? Would there be inland letters from
her dear ones tucked away in the pages of these books carrying a generation
worth of memories? Being the shy kid I was, I brushed away my curiosity and
smiled at the grandma. From the covers of the books which were not bound, I could
tell most of the books were quintessential grandmother stuff such as ramayanam,
bhagavatham, etc.
Now and then,
there would be a question or two from the grandma, directed towards me to keep
me engaged. I answered them not in many words and then returned back to my
imagination. After a while, I started following their conversations. It’s
mostly discussions about the extended family and sharing of old memories. There
were many characters and stories in their chit-chats which made me feel as if I
were a mere speck in the wide web of the family and its stories.
As we got up
to leave, she asked us to wait for a moment and started rummaging through an
array of tins on the other side of the shelf. From one of the tins, she pulled
out a small parcel wrapped in old newspaper and jute. She untied the jute
carefully; by now, I was all wide-eyed to see what was in it. She finally
opened the parcel, took one orange candy, and handed it over to me. I don't
know how, but grandmothers always have hidden candies for visiting kids like
me.
As I look back now, I do not remember the
stories, but I still remember that feeling of connectedness; with people, I
know in person or the personas from their conversations.
After years I
left my hometown for work and I don’t even know where that grandmother is. A few years later, my father passed away putting a halt to the family
visits he used to take me on. We do visit extended family sometimes now, but
it’s never the same. That scents, that warm smiles, and dull lights are
replaced by bright fluorescent lights, vibrant pieces of furniture, and
carefully decorated rooms. Still, I crave for those shared stories and love, in
dingy and poorly lit rooms as the love and innocence were enough to fill the
room and heart with joy!
