It’s 8:48 PM by my watch. I’m sitting alone in my room working on a project. Mom and dad are not here at home as they had to attend some function of a distant relative. So, tonight it’s just the two of us. “Shreya, dinner is ready. Come out within 2 minutes!” her voice echoes into my ear. I shut down my laptop and get up lazily, slide into my slippers and come out of the room into the dining area. There I see her, setting the table. She is placing plates and cutlery on the table: her old and wrinkled hands moving mechanically like they have been moving for the past fifty years. Her face seems expressionless. But as I get closer, I realize that she is humming something in an almost inaudible tone. Perhaps it’s some prayer that she’s singing. She normally does that when she does not have anything much to say- a situation that has been frequently occurring since after grandpa died. My grandmother. That’s who she is.
I have grown up seeing her- every day of my life. When I was a kid, she used to read out to me, the stories of ‘panchtantra’ in a hope that I incorporate at least some, if not all of those good moral values. And after the story followed her customary kiss on my forehead and then a wide smile would stretch across her face: a smile so profound that I won’t trade the world for that.
When I started going to school and even during my early teenage years, I never thought much of her. She would prepare lunch for me and be waiting for me to come from school. Then she would ask my about how my day went and mostly, our conversation would wind up with that. Clearly, I was more obsessed with my own ‘hormonal changes’ at that time.
But things changed.
The death of my grandfather was an apocalypse for the entire family. Personally it was my first ever acquaintance with death. So, yes it had a great impact on me. But there was something else too that changed my outlook- forever. It was my grandma’s reaction to his death. She had been widowed. But she hardly showed it. She did not shed a single tear. All the time, she used to have that serene, tranquil look on her face like that of a child in deep sleep. Since that time, I have felt immense respect for her. I hated myself for not taking her seriously and thinking of her as someone ‘secondary’. Even though it was evident that grandpa’s death affected her the most, yet she seemed to be completely at peace with the whole mishap. A strong lady- that’s who she is: my grandmother.
Now I have started going to college in another town, therefore I don’t get to see her a lot. It’s only during days like these when I come home during vacations that I actually get to spend some quality time with her. No, it’s not like I sit down with her and literally talk. Mostly, I just sit by her side and in my silence, offer her a solace. That’s why I refused to go to that function with my parents. I don’t want her to go to bed alone. I love her for being an epitome of affection for me ever since I opened my eyes. I respect her for showing great strength when ‘strength’ was the last thing to be found anywhere.
And I simply cannot imagine my past, present or future without her!
As we sit down and silently feed ourselves, I’m overwhelmed by my thoughts about her. There is an air of warm silence enveloping the room. It’s comforting. And from grandma’s face, I can see that it’s comforting for her as well. There are no words, gestures or expressions: just emotions floating from one half of the soul to its remaining half sitting right across the table.
I have grown up seeing her- every day of my life. When I was a kid, she used to read out to me, the stories of ‘panchtantra’ in a hope that I incorporate at least some, if not all of those good moral values. And after the story followed her customary kiss on my forehead and then a wide smile would stretch across her face: a smile so profound that I won’t trade the world for that.
When I started going to school and even during my early teenage years, I never thought much of her. She would prepare lunch for me and be waiting for me to come from school. Then she would ask my about how my day went and mostly, our conversation would wind up with that. Clearly, I was more obsessed with my own ‘hormonal changes’ at that time.
But things changed.
The death of my grandfather was an apocalypse for the entire family. Personally it was my first ever acquaintance with death. So, yes it had a great impact on me. But there was something else too that changed my outlook- forever. It was my grandma’s reaction to his death. She had been widowed. But she hardly showed it. She did not shed a single tear. All the time, she used to have that serene, tranquil look on her face like that of a child in deep sleep. Since that time, I have felt immense respect for her. I hated myself for not taking her seriously and thinking of her as someone ‘secondary’. Even though it was evident that grandpa’s death affected her the most, yet she seemed to be completely at peace with the whole mishap. A strong lady- that’s who she is: my grandmother.
Now I have started going to college in another town, therefore I don’t get to see her a lot. It’s only during days like these when I come home during vacations that I actually get to spend some quality time with her. No, it’s not like I sit down with her and literally talk. Mostly, I just sit by her side and in my silence, offer her a solace. That’s why I refused to go to that function with my parents. I don’t want her to go to bed alone. I love her for being an epitome of affection for me ever since I opened my eyes. I respect her for showing great strength when ‘strength’ was the last thing to be found anywhere.
And I simply cannot imagine my past, present or future without her!
As we sit down and silently feed ourselves, I’m overwhelmed by my thoughts about her. There is an air of warm silence enveloping the room. It’s comforting. And from grandma’s face, I can see that it’s comforting for her as well. There are no words, gestures or expressions: just emotions floating from one half of the soul to its remaining half sitting right across the table.
heart warming story
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