How I met my Grandma

My parents were quite excited about the visit, luckily it was not infectious. She was going to share my room, eat into my independence; it was easy to dislike her. I had never seen grandma before; she was a voice over the phone and a face that stared back from some forgotten albums. She spoke halting English with an awful accent; I listened and said ‘yes’, not understanding anything. She spoke regardless. Her fascination with my life was irritating, but she never took my hints seriously; and now I have to share my space with her. Life was unfair and I was never meant to comprehend it at my age, it was too early. But children had a duty towards their parents, dad always countered with his favourite propaganda, and we had no room at home. I wished grandpa had not died, she would not have come if he was alive. They used to quarrel when taking turns to have a piece of me, over the phone. He had died before fulfilling a much cherished dream, to see me, my dad said. He grieved my grandpa’s passing over an entire day; he did not go for the funeral. The timing was not convenient, mom sounded slightly sorry, he had just landed a new role and a promotion possibly lay in wait. I couldn’t care less, he was old. Perhaps dad’s guilt trip was now going to intersect with my privacy. But she never wanted to come, dad pleaded then threatened, and I prayed for a home side loss. Mom pleaded, then flattered, then cursed her in our presence. She called her ungrateful and stubborn, and accused me of inheriting that maligned gene. They only wanted to look after her, safeguard her assets along with her wellbeing, since she was old; mom loved to measure grandma’s lack of logic. ‘Don’t invite her at all if you don’t like her’ was my logic, she thought it was screwed up. Grandma lost the fight as did I. They invaded my room and disabled its natural identity, fashioned with diligence over twelve years, my whole life. I sulked in the open; they ignored me with perverse pleasure.

She was tiny, but stood out in arrivals. The three suitcases in the trolley towered over her. Her back bent forward creating a painful and permanent hunch, like one of those sickles they use to cut grass with in her country. A jaded blue saree swaddled her puny frame. Mom threw her eighty kilos at grandma like a runaway train. She survived and crept out only to face my dad who was weeping with perfectly dry eyes. The tears came out uninvited as my liberty twitched in mortal agony. Then suddenly, I felt a callused pair of palms lightly sandpaper my cheeks, I stared down into dark melting eyes sunk in a wizened round face, and a smile that seemed to stretch the furrows on her skin beyond their natural breadth. Her dentures moved insecurely against the gums, but failed to harm that smile, it was too radiant. She did not say anything, I did not say anything, but I hugged her tightly and did not want to let go. My back hurt terribly afterwards.

I didn’t look half bad; the mirror did justice to the jaded blue, I even looked a touch sexy. I never dreamt that I would wear a saree; it is a sacred art as I have come to realise. I want to show her today. She taught me well, she was a patient mentor. Grandma exposed a hidden void in my life, she introduced grandpa and made me miss him for the first time in my life. We transcended our language barrier with mutual enthusiasm. But she kicked me out of my room, even my house. She gave away her wealth to me, so my parents bought a spanking new house. A few weeks later they sent her back, it was for her own happiness they argued. I could see their struggle to believe it. I screamed and cursed and silently prayed for retribution. She hushed me up by placing a tiny finger over my lips. She looked resigned, there were no tears. I shed mine in her place.

The sky was one blanket of unflinching blue. I could sense the sun fried tropical winds punch through the thin silk of my saree, her saree, but I did not feel their pinch. It did not take long for me to reach her. She rested beneath an explosion of jasmine and frangipani. I had the cemetery to myself; I could talk to her in peace and show off her saree, undisturbed. Grandpa lazed right next to her. I sat beside them and talked.