Everyone falls and eventually, they rise up. But sometimes, they lose something too precious that holds ties to the deepest chasm of their soul.
Very few people come across people who know every inch of their personality. The others hope to find them…in soulmates, love or partners. Most of the times its people who’ve seen you grow with a piece of them in you, who know you better. Its like a seed from their being that gets planted in you when you’re conceived and as you grow in the womb, it takes root. And once you’re born it starts showing up as traits. And the seed-bearer is similar to the seed-creator. To me, my Grandmother was the seed creator. And I bore a few traits of hers or so I’d like to believe. She’s always been close to me. She knew by the way I walked into the house whether I’d gotten myself into trouble or hurt myself (in the process).
If I won, she’d be the first person I’d run to with medal. She’d bless and cuss in the most colourful language your ears would have ever had the luck to hear. There were these long afternoons that I hope I never forget in life : these made me the person who I am. My Mother’s given me knowledge, too. But my Grandmother imparted these values in me that became who I am. I have countless memories to share with you to show you what she means to me. I still remember her sly smile as she’d pop in a piece of her favourite plum cake in broad daylight, in front of us all, daringly despite her diabetes. Like anything under the sun could stop her from living her best life.
She was the root of the entire family. The bravest, the most brazenly amazing and kind. I feared and love her the most. When she breathed her last (away from me), I was broken. I’d never experienced a loss like that before and I was numb. In a shock and mechanically, I did my duties (calling and informing the family of the loss). It was her funeral in less than 12 hours of the announcement of her death. People actually crowds milled to our House within minutes of it. From far and wide. My Mother and her sisters were sitting around her. She held them. And now they had lost their Mother. I didn’t have the guts to face my Mum. I knew she was closest to Gran. My Grandpa was a stone. Arranging the funeral. Probably letting his duties come in between him and the awaiting grief. To this day, he sleeps every night looking at her picture and speaks to her before leaving for Office. That’s a love realised with time.
But I never got to say Goodbye. All I have is her memories… LSO the one she had of er life that she shared with me. And that’s more precious than anything else. Its legacy.
When they took her away, the sun set. With time every one picked up the pieces. Some were broken inside but they stood up, any way. And life went on until one night I got an email. One that changed how I looked at myself. I believed myself to be a loser after failing to recognise the dreams and hopes of the people around me.
A poem I had submitted the previous season had got selected for publication by the British Council. And I didn’t remember which as I had sent everything I had, just as any other desperate writer would.
The month passed and it was the Book Launch in the British Council Media Room in Chennai. My Mother accompanied me. It was the first time I rode all far away in the scooty (without a licence, I was hardly 17)
Names were announced and pieces read out whole Mum and I sat at the very end of the room looking at an unfamiliar world of the Literati. Though voracious readers, we didn’t belong to the world of the elite people with words on their sleeves. Who knew that was the very beginning. But at that moment, apprehension took its place in my Mother’s mind as she realised my name was not being announced and the programming would end soon. I sat there taking it all in. My mother knew what it would do to me if I were to find out this was just an error on their part and I was here for nothing.
So she signalled to the lady who’d shown us to pur seat. And the lady calmy smiled back as Shreekumar Varma Sir took to the podium. He wore his specs and said that there was this one piece he liked and also it’s introduction was well thought of. And then he began speaking the words. Words I’d written at God knows what hour. And he began the poem. And noe I realised which. My Mother knew with my excitement that it was mine so she listened intently as someone read my words out for the first time.
I saw her from the corner of my eyes. There is no other feeling in the world like seeing your parents be proud of something you’ve done. I realised she was tearing up. And it was not only pride but a shade of reminiscence in her eyes and I paid attention to my lines. And suddenly everything fell into place. This was the poem I’d written with probably some little thought of live in my mind but it perfectly spoke of the love I had for my Grandmother and how I’d like to steal her back from the Heaven’s above.
At that moment, I realised. I realised that every little thing I’d ever done or will ever do has its consequence, a certain manifestation. If there is an intent, there is an effect. Magnitude, boundless. Its in the moment and my life changed. I never took my writing seriously until I saw it tear up my Mother sitting next to me. My words moved people. What else could I ask for?
That moment I looked up. I knew what I was sent here to do. To write, to express. To live, to experience and show the world that its possible and that reality is a fiction of our mind.
Now is yours. Today will change tomorrow. And tomorrow will always be too late. Let the moment seize you.
( Housing.com gave me the little pish to write this one out. Check them out : https://housing.com/lookup )
I love you, Nani. And Mummy, I’m sure you’re making her so, so proud right now. I love you.