(This was written around 3 years back- a few months after my grandmother passed away. This is probably my only post I will not fuss about if it is not read-it is a bit too personal. It is just that one of reasons I am posting it here is that I do not want to lose this piece. Frequent breaking down of my laptop has brought about a sense of loss which acquired a entirely new perspective when I somehow came across this piece.)
It brought flushing inside me memories of my own grandmother, dadima to us. Sometimes it seems that she is just beside me , sometimes it seems it had been ages since she called my name . The funny thing that death is , gives every moment of introspection a dual personality.
Dadima was a deeply religious person , as all the woman of her age generally are. She never had a very happy life- getting widowed at an age of 29. But still she had an amazing rock of belief in Almighty. But what amazes me even more is that why I was able to see these things only after she died. She was so religious that once we tried to tell her that man has reached moon , she said that God lives there and flatly refused to believe that any mortal can intrude his abode. Life was going on and she was just like any other member of my family like my parents or my sister. I did not share any special bonding with her as a lot of people do with their grandparents. But then , she died. Dadima just passed away.
Is was not as if she died all of a sudden . She had been suffering from cancer for 2 years . But somehow it made the inevitability of death strike me . And ironically , life around me changed its meaning for me . The notion of having life around me became special from being routine. Earlier, my parents were too by the way for me , they were there because they were meant to be there, but now they are a gift , because they are with me . Funnily enough it took a death to realise me that. Earlier a seat in bus was too precious ; Now every lady is like dadima. Earlier if a friend broke my heart, I wouldn’t have given a damn , now it cries for reversal of time . Probably, that feeling of loss is etched upon. Saying sorry has become easier , because I have realised that there are far more important things in life than one’s ego and certainly far worse thngs than having it damaged. Earlier friends were routine , they were there because they probably needed me. Now every moment with them is to be cherished , because at some other time , they might not be there. The feeling of being with loved ones has changed its complexion , because tomorrow I might be far away , left with only memories and , memories never suffice. Loss is inevitable , just that notion of bidding adieu has changed. And I thank my dadima for that.
Sonetimes , I think that how crass I have been for a death to make me realise that. But come to think of it, if instead my neighbour’s aunt would have died , would that have made any difference to me ? Never , though I would readily pray hundred times a day for my dadima to make her come back if I could. It just makes me realise that though I never stopped to think of whether I loved her , I probably did, a lot actually, enough to make me love everyone with life . If she is reading this somehow, from any where Dadima, probably , she would understand a lot of things left unsaid. Because that was what she always was. Ethereal in life , larger than life in death . My Dadima.
(I do not remember what it was. There have been so many events which remind me of her, that it is difficult to pinpoint one. Moreover, I have changed a lot since, but trying to change back to those days.)