Granny

Once she heard that her second grandchild was going to be born, Zarine immediately left her town in a car with her husband, Pesi and some other relatives in tow. A couple of hours later at Jehangir Hospital, Pune, an ugly bawling baby was put into her arms. She gazed at it with a warm smile but the baby couldn’t care less and continued howling. The newborn didn’t realize that she had been thrust into the most loving arms in the whole world. She didn’t know that she’d be in these wonderful arms only for 14 years. She didn’t realize her God-given gift. The baby was stupid. The baby was me.

During my growing years, Granny was a solid presence in our lives. It didn’t matter that she lived in Lonavala and we in Pune. She and my grandfather made frequent visits, never forgetting to bring a bagful of vintage Granny-Made jams. She was there for almost all my birthdays, clapping happily in the background as I blew out the candles. She was there for my sister’s and my Navjote, watching with tears in her eyes as we were formally accepted into the Zoroastrian culture. And of course, we spent many summers and winters in her home which she kept impeccably clean. An over sleeper by nature, I’d surprisingly always find myself awake at 6 AM at her house. Then I’d run downstairs to the kitchen only to find her asking me, “Milk or hot chocolate?” The answer was always a gluttonous, “HOT CHOCOLAAAATEEE!!!!”
Then I’d sit and watch her make it. Many conversations brewed up here. She often reminded me of the times I had with her, like when I told her to look after my dog’s offspring properly.
“You told me, ‘Granny, this is my dog. Look after him well.’ Have I looked after him well?” She would ask me, with a cheesy smile (a lot of times).
“Yes!” I would reply (a lot of times).
She didn’t need to ask me that. Chico was already six years old and a dog’s version of Arnold Schwarzenegger!

I remember a time we all had gone to her place. We were sitting on the terrace. Granny was her usual happy and glowing self. Baba raised a toast to my sister and me. He said, “I raise a toast to two young ladies who have been brought up so well.”
Then my wisecracking sister replied, “And I raise a toast to four adults who we have brought up so well!”
What fun we had up there, drinking and laughing.
We had to leave early the next day, because our dogs were alone at home. But now I wish we had stayed longer.
We hugged and kissed each other goodbye before getting into the car. As the car moved away from the house, a weird instinct made me spin around to and look hard at granny. I stared and stared at her shrinking figure till I couldn’t see her anymore. I wondered what made me look intently at my grandmother like that. What I didn’t know was that it was the last time I would see her alive.

Two days later, my dad came and woke my sister and me out of our slumber. He looked upset but I didn’t take that seriously. I just wanted to sleep more. The sister followed papa out of the room as I groggily climbed out of bed. Soon she was back, looking stunned and sad.

“Granny died.”

It struck me like a blow. I stood there too shocked to speak and then began to cry. It couldn’t be Granny… It must be someone else’s granny. It was just unbelievable… She couldn’t and shouldn’t die. Not now. Never.
“Granny? Our granny?” I asked, just to be sure.
My sister nodded.

Later I learned that in the previous night, Granny began to feel uncomfortable. My grandfather wanted to call the doctor but she stopped him from doing so. She never complained much. But later, when the heart attack became intense, she told my grandfather to do what he wanted, so he took her to the doctor.
When she was being taken to the ambulance, she told Suroo, the maid, who was helping her get in, “I’m not coming back.”
She was right. The doctors failed to save her and on May 28^th 2002, at 1:30 AM the brightest gem on earth faded away.

The ambulance that was carrying my grandmother halted outside my house. I felt too scared to enter it. One part of me knew that Granny was dead, but another denied it. She isn’t dead, it said, she couldn’t be dead. I wanted to believe that voice. I hoped that the person inside would be someone else. If I entered, the truth would be proved and my hopes, shattered.
I lingered outside for a while till I finally decided to go inside. A body was wrapped in a white cloth. My aunt, who was in the ambulance, pulled the cloth a bit so that the head could be seen. Desperately, I scanned each and every feature of the face. It was pale. Her straight white hair was in is normal puff. Her lips were slightly parted so that a bit of her rabbit teeth were revealed.
It was Granny.

I saw her being cremated from afar. A man came out of the cremation room and handed a container wrapped in a bright napkin. It contained granny’s ashes. I stared at it. It felt so weird to carry her around in a pot. And to know that she was gone for good.

Sometimes I browse around the cupboard and take out a bagful of pictures. I find her in so many of them. I see her shy nine-year-old smile as she dons a bizarre costume, her expression as she holds her first born, my father, and her happiness as she licks vanilla ice-cream. Then I remember all that’s gone; her jams, her sev, her smell, her physical presence.
However, her love has remained intact... For it is embedded in our hearts.