An old woman speaks to a young boy, her grandson. She leaves behind a whole lot. A sensitive short story, by Shivani, exclusively for Different Truths.

An old woman, about 67 years old, passed away peacefully under the moonlight, cosy in her bed, last night (two minutes silence out of respect). What an abrupt start to a story, right? But read on. She loved Kishore Kumar, Amitabh Bachchan, sitar and maybe me, her grandson, Hardik.

She was my grandmother, her life was a series of outgrowing events and ridiculous thoughts. She loved only a few things mentioned above, out of which, we came to a conclusion, that she was very much interested only in artistic and pleasing things, like theatre and music. She was very dramatic too, which might seem obvious.

She was my grandmother, her life was a series of outgrowing events and ridiculous thoughts. She loved only a few things mentioned above, out of which, we came to a conclusion, that she was very much interested only in artistic and pleasing things, like theatre and music. She was very dramatic too, which might seem obvious. She had all the good things in life, grew up in a big mansion, married the richest businessman in town, had four children, who indeed had children, me being one of them.

Everything was good. She was spiritual too, extremely stereotypical, against love marriages and in a search for doctors, lawyers and engineers for her grandchildren. Sounds like something that all of our grandparents did, right?  Moving on, she had a good life and a long one too. One thing she wasn’t good at was expression. She was an extremely stern lady, rude with words and straightforward in her statements, without giving a try to understand the situation. That made us laugh too, when we were children of eight to twelve years, as she would scold and taunt our parents and make silly jokes on them unintentionally.

There were obviously exceptions like her wish to travel around the world and learn a new language other than English, she knew quite a bit of English but wanted to learn something like a fancy tone, Spanish or Russian. She always wanted to travel, but life passed her by and her desires too.

All her dreams and aspirations of life had come true. I mean, she was happy too but there was one thing that she wished she could do. But going by the universal saying, “We don’t get all that we desire and we don’t dream all that we achieve.” There were obviously exceptions like her wish to travel around the world and learn a new language other than English, she knew quite a bit of English but wanted to learn something like a fancy tone, Spanish or Russian. She always wanted to travel, but life passed her by and her desires too. Always caught up with something or the other, sometimes no one even bothered to check up on her wishes and take her around, since everyone got busy with their own lives, running around and not being aware that life is passing them by too. You know, just like most of us, living in every time, except right now. She was always curious about everything around. Her little autorickshaw drove to the local mandir or the saree store excited her the most. She was also quite wise, you know, very powerful, vocally, and didn’t even look as old as she was.

It was one night, in September, I came back from a long day at the office, where I was taking an internship. “Hardik, beta please come here for a second, may I talk to you?” I was tired but again out of due respect and the fact that for the first time she was not rude to me, I just went into her room. I think for the first time or the second, as I entered her carpeted room, it was very strange to enter the place, like the vibe of it — it almost felt like I entered a different era like moved back in time, there were just three-four things of extreme importance (for my grandmother) kept there. In the corner, there was a big table, with a mirror placed neatly on it. Next to the mirror a vintage music recorder, like I said she would listen to the radio or Kishore Kumar all day. There was a scent of simplicity creeping onto the bed, where she was also sitting. An aura filled with spirituality. Many religious books were kept on her side table, and obviously a table, where her dearest gods resided as statues. In front of them a stand for incense sticks and diyas and a 108 beads mala. I saw all of it, absorbed myself in the simplicity, right back from work. I was tired but also inquisitive to know what she had to talk about to me (the grandson she understood the least and rarely even called upon him).

Now that she made dramatic hand gestures and made me sit on the floor, next to where she was sitting, because she believed that otherwise, I would fall asleep. I agreed. I really wanted to know what it was going to be about. I sat there, there were two minutes of complete silence, then she started talking.

Now that she made dramatic hand gestures and made me sit on the floor, next to where she was sitting, because she believed that otherwise, I would fall asleep. I agreed. I really wanted to know what it was going to be about. I sat there, there were two minutes of complete silence, then she started talking. She started with a statement, “Life is given only once and half of mine is gone.” I knew from that statement that she was going to touch upon a very sensitive topic which all of us are scared to touch upon, the end of life.

She went on, “Hardik I am so much older to you but to you, I am going to talk about my life because there is no one I have to talk to about it and I think I don’t have a good bond with you. I have always ignored you because of your silliness and unexpected behaviour regarding activities that matter to me, so I want to share a part of me with you as much as I do with my sons and daughters. I see my husband in you, having a similar carelessness of thoughts and young emotions. When I lay down every night with no one beside me I feel that life has passed me by in millions of ways. Every day, a part of life passes you by and all you have to do is make the most of it. In my younger years, I would not care so much about things that right now I wish I could turn back to, now that my body has changed and my skin had folded into wrinkles defining the coming end of these bones and this heart. I realise that I kind of miss my life, as I would love to turn back time and live a little more every day. Feel a bit happier in my younger years. And even though I might seem as stern as a stone but even stones disintegrate, even the hardest gems crack away, and old age will creep into you as smooth as water.

“Now that I see myself in the mirror every morning, I have a fear deep down and insecurity that I have become so fragile, so delicate that my body has shrivelled up and creased in my forehead, with my thoughts, my thoughts wandering around how old I feel and might break any second, just like a mere pot made out of mud. Though it feels great to look back and see how far I have come and embraced this state of mine…”

“Now that I see myself in the mirror every morning, I have a fear deep down and insecurity that I have become so fragile, so delicate that my body has shrivelled up and creased in my forehead, with my thoughts, my thoughts wandering around how old I feel and might break any second, just like a mere pot made out of mud. Though it feels great to look back and see how far I have come and embraced this state of mine. But, again thought of turning back time lurks within my head and possesses me to think of all the times I would get my long thick black hair oiled every week, go out to buy sabzi with my father, drape myself into my mother’s dupatta just to feel older. But now that I am much older, I can’t play on the swings just to feel much younger. Right? And Hardik, I know this might not matter to you but I am grateful that you are listening.”

I was trying to sit calm and collected but somewhere deep down I knew this was the impending end of my very dear grandmother. She ran her fingers through my dusty, a little sweaty hair (which really did not matter at that moment), sighed and continued, “Remember that our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once and before you know it your heart is worn out and as for your body, there comes a point where no one wants to look at it, much less want to come near it. Right now whatever I am feeling, I can’t tell if it’s regret or just sorrow. I won’t kill the feeling. I will never. Because to feel nothing, so as to not feel anything, what a waste! I am soon going to pass away from here. Someday, when my eyes hurt to open and my throat hurts to breathe, I will go to a place that people call heaven or even a better place but all I want to tell you is let me die in peace. Don’t rush me through the corridors of the hospital, screaming and stressing out, look beta, my time has almost come and I will die anyway. I would love to be left here in my bed as my soul ascends into the clouds, looking down upon all my dear ones, blessing them with every teardrop they shed. This is not a race to survive. Bodies give up when it is time and now it’s late at night. My heart told me to tell you all of this and maybe I might not even wake up the next morning. It looks like today I did not have the energy to eat, as it hurt my fingers and my jaw. I didn’t tell anybody because I know maybe this is the end and somewhere my sixth sense told me to tell you. Maybe this is the last conversation I am having with a human being. And I want to dissolve completely and utterly into peace after this. Good Night, beta, I am putting myself to sleep.”

Her eyes slowly shut and merged smoothly into her wrinkled face and she went into a deep sleep. She was still breathing. I could hear it. But, maybe these were her last moments, you never know. As I sat there collecting myself and all of what she had just told me, I learnt a big lesson.

Her eyes slowly shut and merged smoothly into her wrinkled face and she went into a deep sleep. She was still breathing. I could hear it. But, maybe these were her last moments, you never know. As I sat there collecting myself and all of what she had just told me, I learnt a big lesson. Life has to be lived, not merely exist. She wanted to turn back time. She really couldn’t. I have a lot of time still left.

Tonight, I learned a lot. I saw a lot. Almost felt the power of her as she spoke. The aura was different. It was all a different vibe, as she talked and I sat there shedding tears sinking into all that she had just said. Maybe grieving but the thoughts were different, some of which I cannot even seem to explain. It was as though she had already died and it was just her soul talking to me, so frail and so fragile…

An old lady, about 67 years old, passed away peacefully under the moonlight, cosy in her bed, last night. She loved Kishore Kumar, Amitabh Bachchan, sitar and maybe, even me. Peace!

Photo from the Internet