Last night I dreamt of waves rising from the Ocean. As I admired their blue waters and was awed by their sheer height; It seemed like they were going to swallow me whole, but all I could feel was a gentle touch of cool waters at my feet. I was standing in my most favourite home of childhood: my maternal grandparents house.
The dream broke and the day progressed in a daze. While at work and during my commute I kept going back to the dream...what did it mean? Was it a prelude to a danger awaiting me? But the waves did not engulf me or scare me. Why did the waves end at my feet, cooling my heart with its calmness?
I took a moment to interpret this dream, and did what we all do these days to find quick answers - I googled it. I soon found out that the huge tidal waves represent nothing but the overwhelming emotion that I felt from the fond memories I had in my maternal grandparents home as a child.
Everything came flashing back to me. The previous afternoon, I had learnt about my grandfather's (whom I fondly called 'Baba') timely demise. You might think I made an error here of associating the two most unlikely words together: timely and demise. Why would I think his demise was timely?
This was not a mistake. Instead this is a painful - but truthful - admission of understanding that my Baba lived his life fully and beyond. I heard him say many times that he has been very lucky. He's seen all that he could, and most of all enjoyed the company of many brilliant and genius people around him. It made his otherwise ordinary life an extraordinary journey!
He mentioned that he was greatly influenced by freedom fighters in his youth and had participated in some freedom struggle himself. He came to Mumbai with young enthusiasm toward life and as far as I can remember, I always saw the twinkle of that young boy in his eyes!
My Baba was a very simple man, who always had a simple philosophy in his life: to learn as much as you can from people around you. You don't have to be great, but you can achieve wonders by following great standards.
He has led a rather tough life, but I have never seen a line of frustration on his otherwise wrinkled face.
I recall a particular incident that upset him for days. I asked him what happened, and he told me that he had lent 8000 rupees to a person for his daughter's wedding and the person now refused to return the money. After that, I saw him take several trips to that man's home to recover his money. I think that's the first and last time I ever saw him troubled. Eventually I found out that after many months of constant follow up my Baba got his money back! I am still amazed at how he worked so hard and relentlessly for getting back what was rightfully his.
After my grandmother's death some 20 years ago, he could have spent his life in rest and comfort - but he chose to put meaning to his life by helping students and people in need by offering his home as a place to study and flourish.
He always said to me - and I can still visualise him saying this to me - that if you give importance to useless things, you become useless in important things! What a useful piece of advice!
I think my Baba was about 60 years old when I started recognising him as my grandfather. He had just retired from his job as a banker, and I must have been only 3 years old. At a time when a child begins to experience the world outside with an impressionable mindset, Baba was my dearest confidante. I told him everything: from my stupid fights with friends; to how I had seen my parents be intimate with each other (which for a child would have felt rather odd) - but Baba never ever judged or reprimanded me. He always patiently listened to all I had to say.
My grandmother, Aaji, was loving - but less available due to her own sickness. Baba, on the other hand, managed his post retirement part time job at a an NGO , looked after the home (managing everything from cooking to cleaning) and always had enough and interesting time for me.
I really don't know how he managed it all; picking me from school, giving my grandmother her insulin injection for her diabetes, and then rushing to serve her lunch (that he had cooked earlier) ,then feed me and then finally have his own meal.
After winding up the kitchen at 1.30 or 2pm he used to set out for his job and take the journey from Vile Parle to Dadar by train before walking on his foot till the station. I wonder how he did that in the scorching heat of the afternoon.
While we rested and relaxed in the warm afternoons, he worked hard for a mere honorary payment at the NGO. He returned in the evenings with something yummy to eat, filling our lives with contentment.
His returning home was always an unexplained joy to me. At that young age one doesn't realise the fragility of life, the dangers that it came with. I knew he would always be there for me in that home, patiently waiting to listen to me.
I don't know how I will fill the emptiness in my heart when I go to that home hereafter...
As I grew up in my otherwise lonely child life, (I say this because I was the only child of my working parents and I didn't really see them for most of my waking hours), one constant light of reachable compassion was my grandparents home. My childhood flourished there with mythological stories of Ram, Krishna, Anusuya and Savitri that my Aaji told me, but also witty stories of Akbar Birbal and Vikram-Vetal that my Baba read out to me. He taught me how to play chess and how to play badminton when I was very young. He taught me Sanskrit and brought me to a world of ancient literature.
My mother tells me sometime, he used to fill a tub of water and let me play with it to my heart's content without bothering about the mess and extra work that it would create for him. Aaji and I loved ice-cream and we asked him to buy ice-cream for us on hot afternoons, and he always set out with an ice box in his hand. Once I decided to accompany him, and that day I realised, he used to walk along a mile in that sweltering heat to get us our favourite ice-cream.Never again, did i tell him to buy us an ice-cream! I wonder how he never complained of tiredness or fatigue though he was close to 70 years old by then.
Baba was always there for me when I needed him: when I was ten, my father went away to work abroad. This sudden change left me shaken as a child (though I never realised it then), Baba came all the way to my parents home every afternoon to help me with my studies. I remember I had grown so disinterested in studies by then that at one point, I simply dozed off while he calmly waited for me to rise back to my normal self. He never ever scolded or reprimanded or complained. I wonder how much patience he had in him.
I was interested in cooking and Baba always gave me a free hand in his kitchen - this was when I was as young as 8 years old! He let me decide my own menu, draw up and buy my own groceries and cook up my own recipes - and on top of that, he always acted as my sous chef, assisting me in my escapades in the kitchen! I dread to imagine what horrid food I must have made him eat - but again, there was never a complaint.
I think I told him everything from my first crush, to my first heartbreak, to bitter fights as a teenager - and he never judged me. He always taught me values in life without preaching to me. Drawing a simile from an examination paper, he once consoled my friend who had a nasty breakup, ‘some questions in life need to be attempted as a compulsory question and cannot be left unanswered as optional. Selecting a right partner is one such compulsory question, and one must prepare well before attempting to answer it! Wow - what a lovely piece of advice you gave us teenagers Baba!
Whenever I fought with my parents, I would lay awake in my bed and imagine that if I had to leave my parents home, where would I go? I always ended up tracing the mental route to his home. I knew I had the safest place in the world, where I could never be refused refuge! I knew Baba would always let me in no matter what mistakes I had committed!
When he met my to-be husband, he warned him....your to be wife's love is very strange: she once tore my undershirt because she didn't want me to wear it as it was worn out! It's her love, but expressed in a rather aggressive manner - you have to be careful to understand her complex love..
Oh... till this date I am surprised how he turned my mean act of tearing down his shirt into an innocent tale of love! Where did all this compassion come from?
I hated it when he left me and went out for work in the afternoons, and many times I coerced him to stay back. Baba, how did I lose my power of coercion today? I couldn't stop you from leaving me...one last time!
The last time I saw him was at my sons thread ceremony 9 months ago. My only fallback of satisfaction is that my mother told me he attended the entire function and observed keenly as my 4 year daughter flaunted her saree and her naughty mannerisms by bossing everyone around....I think he saw a mini-me in her and all his fond memories of his time with his naughty granddaughter would have come back to him.
Whom should I look at now, Baba, to bring back those warm loving memories of my childhood with you?
You were my last link to compassion that I have lost now...
