When I look at my son, growing up day by day while we are busy at work, I can’t help but count his blessings..in the form of his lovely grandparents. He has two sets of loving grandparents who dote on him…when I see their bonding with each other; I often recall what I had heard many years back…
The cream on the milk is dearer than the milk itself….
which means, grandchildren are loved more than our children itself…
My mind rolls back to my childhood, a favorite place to be!
I had lesser blessings than my son does, but nevertheless, I was blessed with a set of maternal grandparents who in spite of their limitations did their best to make my childhood a wonderful time to be in.
My grandmother came from a tiny village in Karnataka called ‘Kundapur’. She was the eldest of the three siblings but did have two elder step sisters. Her mother (my great grandmother) who was a Matric pass of her times took her marriage to a widower, as a blow to her ego and lost her mental sanity. So these kids were left to the mercy of their grandmother and elder step sisters for their upbringing. My grandmother ‘ Radha’ was married off at an early age to my grandfather, more as an off loading of duty than as an association of matches. My grandfather, the youngest of 5 sibblings, though eleven years elder to her, was a loving and dutiful husband. Thus a small town girl entered the big city of Mumbai after her wedding and found life was a totally different ball game here. People did not have the time to stand and stare…she encountered many difficulties of the city life but it only made her will to survive stronger than ever.
She was 45 years old when I was born. She used to finish her daily chores and walk a mile to see me every single day. As I grew older, I began to visit their home every day while my parents were in office. At that time I must be about three years .
While my grandfather taught me to play chess, badminton and read out stories from witty deeds of Raja Vikramaditya and Birbal, my grandmother loved to stick to the Indian mythological epics. I still remember the strong impressions made by her stories of Lord Krishna and his ras leela and the sagar manthan whereby Lord Shiva volunteered to drink the poison before the life giving Amrut could be churned out…
She did not stop at that though; she ensured that at least once in two months, she took me along for a mythological movie in town. These were mostly south indian movies, I guess dubed in hindi or Marathi…the names were hilarious but I still remember the likes of Satyvaan Savitri, Anusuya etc. I used to be enthralled to see the picturisation of heaven and hoped I would visit it soon too…The theatre visits were always accompanied by candy ice creams and a sumptuous vegetarian lunch at any udipi restaurant…
As I grew older, I began to realize that my grandmother was always a heavy diabetic and used to be on an insulin dose every single day. With that condition, came the hospitalization and need for a strict diet.
But my grandmother, who was a die -hard foodie, never really cared for a healthy diet! Not only did she buy great amount of snacks and sweets, she ensured that every person coming to her door step did not go away without a stomach full of snacks and savouries. And mind you, this did not apply for only guests and relatives, it applied to any salesman, any road side urchin, any beggar who stepped in her door!
This is not an exaggeration, and due to this practice of hers, people in the neighborhood almost labeled her as a crazy woman. On returning from school, I used to see some roadside workwomen sitting in my door step and I often felt nauseous with their sitnk, while my granny fondly served them tea and biscuits or whatever else was available at home. I hated her hospitality at those times, but she really taught me the meaning of the saying “Athithi Devo bhav” (The guest is the God).
She ensured that every married woman was offered kumkum before she left the house. She often told me she wanted to die a ‘saubhagyavati’ ie die while her husband was still alive. Every Friday she purchased loads of fragrant garlands and distributed to all women who encountered her that day.
Though my grandmother passed away more than a decade ago, I still feel her warmth close to me.The day she died, my grandfather sat quietly as the rituals were being done. I held his hand in mine and couldn’t help shedding tears of loss for a childhood so naïve, so pure that would never come back.
Love every human being irrespective of their caste or creed and treat life as if it’s a celebration is what I learnt from her life.. Even today, when I see the likes of batliwali, amaaswali baiee, I feel my grandmother would have loved to have them over for a cup of steaming hot coffee and a heart to heart chat!
I was really blessed to have a unique grandmother like her!
