Grandmas for Ever

   Grandmas for Ever

We all have (or once had) grandmas.  Their mere nearness is an assurance of an unequal sense of security. Their love for children is selfless to the core. They even pay for an affectionate kiss from a child. They have an amazing and unique collection of model stories, episodes, legends, and narratives about ideal characters which has the potential to shape the tender mind of a child to develop a positive and humane attitude in life for all the time to come. This not only builds their characters but they also become a future national asset. No one will always be with us in flesh and blood, but their sweet memories will always remain. 

This is an old episode. Hey, it would be old only, if it relates to grandma. But this is not always so, particularly for those grandmas who have many grandchildren. For some, she would be middle aged one while for others she would really look like the grandma. When grandmas get annoyed sometimes, you know how they would scold- go away, you mope, don’t even come to me when your mother thrashes you.

Grandmas, too, are of several types. They all are nouns. No, not that female barber in Hindi, but noun of ‘parts of a speech’. There are others too. Yes, but they are all very positive in thinking. Most often, it is seen that parents almost always see drawbacks in their children and never miss any opportunity to find fault with them. But yes, they will have all praise for other’s children. Perhaps, this may not be the case now in young parents of the present time, but surely, this was the case in our times. Contrary to this, grandmas always saw all virtues in their grandchildren only. Come any sound of a cry, they played havoc in the house. They immediately moved to the house of the neighbor to remonstrate with the mother of another child even if the fault lies with their own child. Often, after the remonstration, the grandmother and the child both came back happy. The custom of remonstrance was perhaps aimed at placating the crying child because, after some time, the grandma and the women of the neighborhood were seen talking of goodwill for each other.  No doubt, this also became a bone of contention for a rivalry between the neighbors on some occasion.    

Now, you might have known the type of this class of grandmas. We called it ‘Adjective Clause type grandmas.’ Most grandmas are part of this class, yes they are different in their ‘degree’ only. For example, some are ‘positive’ some are ‘comparative’ and some others are ‘superlative ones’. You might ask how to identify them? So let me clarify, I do not have any distinct definition for these types. To know the difference you have to live this kind of life, have to go deep into your past and when you come out smiling, I bet you will forget about the definition and distinction. ‘Positive’ and ‘Comparative’ grandmas are alright, but ‘Superlative’ grandmas are the landmark for the residents of streets and Mohallas and their grandchildren are identified with the names of their grandmothers. As stated before, all grandmas are positive only, yet the grandmas with several grandchildren do become comparative in their own homes. When Chunnu performed massage to the feet of the grandma, he was praised and this annoyed Munnu. Now what to do with Munnu, ultimately, the grandma has to go and pacify Munnu. My grandma was also somewhat like this only. Her grandchildren were very dear to her. No one should mistake this that others children were not dear to her. For this reason, she was grandma to all the children of the village. In fact, she never tolerated anyone beating the children. She used to become infuriated and out of control.

Well, since the story pertains to grandmas, so there ought to be at least one incident. In those days, in villages, going to the marketplace was no less a celebration. From early in the morning, the house used to be full of hustle and bustle. Ladies in the villages were especially very happy as they rarely went outside the boundary wall of the house. It was called a Mela (fete). Girls of minor age with ghee, wheat flour, karahi (iron pan) and a bundle of dry twigs of the tree on their head led the group. This used to be done to offer halwa-poori (pudding and deeply fried chapatti) to the goddess in the temple. Vegetables were also cooked, but the raw vegetables were purchased in the market. This narration is just the passing one, the incident is something like this:

On one evening, grandma was getting ready for the market. I was a small boy of six years of age but could understand the sentiments well. Going to the market means walking. There was no question of any conveyance in those days. I had seen no vehicle except the bicycles. I just asked grandma, “Grandma, may I accompany you?” She said, “Yes”. This was utterly unprecedented for me. I just couldn’t believe, yes in one request! I asked again, “Grandma, are you sure?” “Hey, I did say yes”, said she. My joy knew no bounds. I was on the seventh sky! Whenever I recall this incident even today, I bow with gratitude and eyes get filled with tears. Yes, I say this even at the risk of being labeled as a weak personality.

Grandma and grandson were now on their way to the market. I was walking in step by step harmony with the grandma, sometimes ahead and sometimes behind her. We were walking on zig-zag tracks. The pathways were very narrow or should I say narrow baulk inside the fields. On both sides of these baulks, the crops of wheat, gram, and mustard were thriving. Sugarcane juices were being cooked on the small clay kilns and the sweet smell of the jaggery was in the air all around. But these things were of no concern to us. These were the routine sights for us in our villages. I was just desperate to reach the market at the earliest. On seeing a village near the market, I said, “Grandma, there are many houses made of bricks in this village.”  “When you are grown up, you can also make houses of bricks and cement”, the seasoned grandma immediately quipped.  Little did I know then what was growing up!

When you are about to reach a market, it becomes evident that the market is not far away. Some pucca houses, whitewashed shops, and advertisements printed on them are sure indications of a marketplace. Anyways, crossing the dry ravine and nullah, we entered the market. I don’t exactly remember what the articles grandma bought were and neither was my interest in those articles. After purchasing all the household articles, grandma reached a cloth shop.  

In those times, the customers or the villagers had their fixed shops which were patronized for several decades. The customers would automatically reach that shop. The shop owner would also sell articles on credit and say, “Don’t worry about the money, you just select.” Grandma bought some kinaris (dirty white color cotton Sari with border). Later on, these Saris were dyed yellow converting them into a ‘piyari’ as they were called then. I very lightly asked grandma, “Grandma, please buy a Ganji (vest) for me.”  What could the poor grandma do? She perhaps thought of me that a small child, and that to her own grandson, had walked so long and asking a mere vest. She could not refuse and asked the shop keeper to show a vest for me. There were several varieties of vests in the shop, but it requires money to buy! In those days, in villages particularly the aged persons used keep their money in khoont (tying money from the corner of pallu of the Sari/dhoti). Keeping purse was not common for the simple reason that people had no money to buy a purse for keeping the money! She put her finger on the cheapest looking one and asked the keeper, “Give this one, how much does this cost?”  The keeper replied, “Ten annas.” The grandma, perhaps, did not have ten annas left with her and she did not want to buy on credit. The keeper was interested in selling on credit so that he could soon be free from the customer, but the grandma didn’t budge. 

So she started negotiating the price as a matter of compulsion. After a very hard bargain, the shopkeeper agreed for eight and a half annas, but grandma was not satisfied and was unwilling to spare even a single pie more and stuck to eight annas only. The shopkeeper got sick and ultimately bowed before the wishes of my grandma. All other customers were looking towards grandma. I was getting nervous at this bargain and kept my eyes downwards to see the floor of the shop. In my estimation, the shopkeeper agreed not because he got some margin, but he couldn’t risk displeasing a regular customer and that too an aged lady. Most importantly, his time was getting wasted. The deal was finally clinched. Grandma paid eight annas and the vest was mine. Although I wanted to wear the vest, grandma forbade me saying ‘not here’. I didn’t react. I knew the vest was mine.

Now, it was time to go back to our village. The Sun was about to set, but I was not at all worried. My grandma was there with me! She asked me, “Will you eat something?” Although I was a small child but could understand well that how could Grandma buy me something to eat. Had she got enough money, why indulged in such a hard hitting bargain? I remained silent, but she understood. She took me to a sweet vendor’s shop. She bought Jalebi for two annas and gave the entire Dona (a bowl made of broad leaves of trees found locally) of jalebi to me. I ate as much as I could, but still, enough was left in Dona. She herself did not eat any. The leftover Jalebis were wrapped in a new Dona and put into the bag. Now we were on our way to home. I asked grandma in the way, “Grandma when you had ten annas with you, why did you bargain this hard with the shopkeeper?” Grandma put her rough yet a very loving hand on my head and cheeks and said, “My child came with me this far on foot, how can I take him back hungry and thirsty?” We both had pleasant chats in the way and reached home.

I couldn’t understand the real love showered on me and meaning of what grandma had said, but now when she is no more with me, I feel her presence with those words reverberating in my ears. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. But that’s in no one’s hand.

I bow to her memories with reverence and my heart fills with joy and gratitude.