I walked out of the Diamond City Complex, my hair messy and cloths disheveled, as I carefully stepped over the uneven foot walk and looked ahead at the not–so–busy road. I often came here to play Badminton with one of my college friends.
I had gotten quite accustomed to the modus operandi of the place, now that it was my second year here, there were tougher times still. With my upbringing done in a faraway place up in the north, this place undeniably had certain insecurities for me. The language was obviously a problem – my Bengali wasn’t quite adequate to blend in among the local folks, and then once again I was unfamiliar with the roads and streets, the culture and trends, the festivals and religion. But I was doing fine.
Now, as much as I’d like to blame everything on my parents for suddenly admitting a girl who spent her entire childhood in the north to a college in West Bengal, the extreme East of the country, they did make sure I wouldn’t have to face that many difficulties by placing me under the utmost care of my relatives – who I didn’t even recognize that well!
But apart from all the awkwardness that ensued after our new arrangement, I eventually got comfortable with them, getting incredibly closer to one person in particular – my grandmother. I had seen her before too, during summer breaks when we’d visit Kolkata sometimes during my school days, but for the first time I was actually seeing her for who she was – and she was beautiful.
I grew up reading books, and quite naturally I had read stories like “The Portrait of a Lady” and “How I Taught My Grandmother to Read”; and astonished, I saw the uncanny resemblance between their narratives and my grandmother. She was hunched, had wrinkles, silverish hair tied in a braid and always wore atpoure sarees. It was strange really, and definitely unintentional. I hadn’t meant to compare, and maybe I wasn’t even conscious about it. But her presence had a unique way of soothing me down. It felt peaceful and tranquil filling me completely with calm and poise. She felt like a story.
My friends back in school always talked about their grandparents telling them stories of their ancestry and how they made the best of achaars and papads in their families. How they’d protect them from the anger and beatings of their parents and even sneak out an extra snack for them. Naturally, I never got to experience any of that, so this was indeed a first. But even if I got incredibly closer to the lady, it wasn’t that we spent all hours of the day together. It’d only be those evening tea sessions when we’d freely gossip away our lives in light hearted jokes and anecdotes; but that still was plenty more than how much I interrelated with the others.
Sometimes, we’d go out to feed our colony’s dog Kaalu (since its fur was a beautiful black, people naturally started calling it that), or when we had to invite the ladies from the neighbourhood for a puja we were organizing. But it was only limited to that – short distances. She was very old. And longer distances wouldn’t have been wise for her to cover – or so the doctor had said.
And that is why I was surprised when I met her in the bazaar, browsing through a fruit stall?
I certainly didn’t expect her to be out in the market looking around. There were many other customers there as well, so the place was pretty crowded and she was just glancing at the stall from behind a lot of people. Maybe she’d have spoken something but when she sensed me approaching the stall, she turned to face me and a wide smile greeted her lips.
Strange. Was she always this happy to see me? I mean, she loved me a lot but a wide grin was not very common on her face. She was a soft smiler.
But anyways, I walked towards her, and she too, decided to leave the stall’s area and approached me.
“Looking for fruits for the pujo?” I asked, grinning.
“Nah. Just thinking if they’ll have Pears in this one. It’s always Apples and Sweet Lime!”
I passed the stall and started walking towards the shortcut–route to home, and my grandmother started following me. I had a hunch that she wasn’t actually going to buy anything, since they rarely gave her any money to keep with her. And the little money my grandmother did save, she’d divide them equally and put it in two gullaks our family had. One had my name written on it, and the other had my brother’s.
“You wanted to eat some Pears?” I asked.
“Well, not exactly…” she wasn’t denying it.
Well, it couldn’t have been helped.
From the next fruit stall that we came across, I had bought two Pears. Strangely, my grandmother didn’t protest. Usually, when I offered to buy something for the elders, they’d have revolted and said that it wasn’t needed, so maybe I expected my grandmother to say something like that. Courtesy, maybe? The elders always did it. But today she was quiet.
And that was strange. Either she really wanted to eat Pears, or maybe something else was bothering her. And, although I really didn’t have a problem buying some fruits, something akin to uneasiness lingered in the atmosphere.
“Okay, did you get scolded or something?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
“No! But they don’t let me have any sweets either!” she frowned.
Oh, so she craved sweets too?
I giggled and linked an arm around hers, “don’t you have sugar? ~”
“Well, one Sandesh won’t hurt…!”
I kept giggling, “now I see. I thought it was strange that you were this far out in the market street, and all alone at that. Turns out that you just got chewed out by your daughter and grandson ~”
I kept the teasing to a minimum, not because I resonated with having so many restrictions on food, but simply because she was my grandmother. She had loved sweets at one point of time, but now she was diabetic.
Although she was right about one thing. One won’t hurt.
We made one last stop before we could finally go home – the sweets shop. And since I was there already, I thought it might not be a bad idea to bring sweets for everyone else at home as well. I had expected my grandmother to jump in and make suggestions on which sweets to buy, but she was, yet again, quiet. She felt so… distant?
Well, not letting those wandering thoughts into my mind, I quickly negotiated with the shopkeeper and bought a variety of Sandesh and Rasgulla. My grandmother just maintained a distance – she didn’t approach the stall, just kept waiting by the light–post – as she kept watching me with a smile. It might look like she was elated for being treated to sweets even though she was diabetic, but somehow her smile felt wrong.
Somehow, it felt bittersweet.
I didn’t say anything. I quickly thanked the sweet–meat seller and started walking towards her. But my grandmother maintained her quiet and started walking ahead. This time, I was the one who followed, but I caught up to her soon enough.
“Okay, so now we got sweets too. Tell me amma, what is wrong?”
“It is nothing” she paused and then turned back, giving me a teasing smirk, “you’re not a miser anymore ~”
Although I could still see the wistfulness behind that smirk, I decided to play along and not make her uncomfortable. “I was never a miser!”
And that continued.
We bantered on our entire way back – just us throwing playful accusations at each other along the way – yet the eeriness remained. And it became even more obvious when I noticed an awfully familiar car parked outside our apartment.
Where had I seen that car before?
I looked over my shoulder and met my grandmother’s gaze – she was still smiling, unsure – and then looking ahead, I stepped in.
“No, it’s just… it’s so sudden and…” I heard my aunt’s voice as a tall gentleman in a semi–formal attire walked out of the room. And I immediately recognized who he was. Our family doctor.
That car might’ve been his then. But what was he doing here anyway?
“I’m sorry. But I can assure you, she went peacefully.” The doctor nodded, with a sorrowful look and then patted my back, before leaving.
“…went peacefully? What was he saying? Is someone dead?” I took another step forward, my face scrunching with worry.
After a while, my aunt finally spoke, “it’s amma, she’s no more… it was so sudden and we just…”
The words had already stopped registering by then. What was she saying? That was definitely not possible!
I immediately turned back and jumped out of the door, frantically looking around.
But she wasn’t there.
My grandmother who I had just walked home with was nowhere in sight. My aunt, worried how badly I was taking the news, rushed towards my side and rubbed my back. And all I could do was clutch tightly at the fruits and sweets I had bought.