The grandmother’s room

 

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!