In the fond memory of my Grandfather
The rain poured down for a while
And then abated.
As time passed by,
Changes did their job.
Life went on.
People came and eventually, faded into eternity.
Everyday, somebody mourned
For the ones gone, for their loss.
But life went on.
It’s how the world functions. Like time, life doesn’t wait. Very few get a second chance. Over the years, each one of us has to come to terms with it.
Today, the 6th of January is a day, which meant nothing more than just another day, to me till, of course, 4 years back when I lost my grandfather- a significant part of my childhood.
It was a Saturday morning, I remember. My grandfather, who had been suffering from numerous diseases (one of them being diabetes and the other one being memory loss since 2-3 years), had been admitted into a hospital and his condition, as told, was stable. The previous night, my father had stayed in the hospital. Early morning, at six, my tayaji (my father’s elder brother), my mother and I went to the hospital. The plan was to check on my grandfather and pick my father from the hospital. I was quite eager to go and see him. But I wasn’t allowed in the room (the reason given was that I was a child and thus, sensitive to the viruses and bacteria).
Anyhow, I waited in the lobby of the hospital or whatever you call it. After some time, my mother appeared and I don’t know what she said but from what I understood was that papaji’s (I used to call my grandpa) condition was serious and I thought he would be all right. But for some queer reason, I burst into tear.
I remember my mother talking on her mobile to my bua (my father’s sister) in Bombay. Then my other tayaji came with my grandmother. I was completely unable to understand why all the people were gathering in the hospital. It never crossed my mind that papaji could be dead (I mean really, what was I thinking while most of the people were crying- maybe that people related to me are immortal). My grandmother, my father, my mother, my other bua and I were then driven home. My cousin came to me, after sometime and asked if papaji was really dead and I just kept looking at her. That moment, hell broke loose on me. I had never experienced loosing anybody I loved so much.
On asking, I was told he died of heart attack.
When he was being taken away to the cremation ground, I remember crying so bad that my cousins, had to literally drag me into the room where I had told them not to cry, few moments ago.
We had a hawan in the fond remembrance of him, in the morning.
The most painful part is that the last years of his life were very difficult for him. Why was God so unhappy with him? Even when he stood up, he fractured his legs. He had no clue as to who we were.
Some say that it’s a lot better to die than living a life like that. I say, maybe. I really don’t know and probably, never will.
Sorry for being so senti.
And then abated.
As time passed by,
Changes did their job.
Life went on.
People came and eventually, faded into eternity.
Everyday, somebody mourned
For the ones gone, for their loss.
But life went on.
It’s how the world functions. Like time, life doesn’t wait. Very few get a second chance. Over the years, each one of us has to come to terms with it.
Today, the 6th of January is a day, which meant nothing more than just another day, to me till, of course, 4 years back when I lost my grandfather- a significant part of my childhood.
It was a Saturday morning, I remember. My grandfather, who had been suffering from numerous diseases (one of them being diabetes and the other one being memory loss since 2-3 years), had been admitted into a hospital and his condition, as told, was stable. The previous night, my father had stayed in the hospital. Early morning, at six, my tayaji (my father’s elder brother), my mother and I went to the hospital. The plan was to check on my grandfather and pick my father from the hospital. I was quite eager to go and see him. But I wasn’t allowed in the room (the reason given was that I was a child and thus, sensitive to the viruses and bacteria).
Anyhow, I waited in the lobby of the hospital or whatever you call it. After some time, my mother appeared and I don’t know what she said but from what I understood was that papaji’s (I used to call my grandpa) condition was serious and I thought he would be all right. But for some queer reason, I burst into tear.
I remember my mother talking on her mobile to my bua (my father’s sister) in Bombay. Then my other tayaji came with my grandmother. I was completely unable to understand why all the people were gathering in the hospital. It never crossed my mind that papaji could be dead (I mean really, what was I thinking while most of the people were crying- maybe that people related to me are immortal). My grandmother, my father, my mother, my other bua and I were then driven home. My cousin came to me, after sometime and asked if papaji was really dead and I just kept looking at her. That moment, hell broke loose on me. I had never experienced loosing anybody I loved so much.
On asking, I was told he died of heart attack.
When he was being taken away to the cremation ground, I remember crying so bad that my cousins, had to literally drag me into the room where I had told them not to cry, few moments ago.
We had a hawan in the fond remembrance of him, in the morning.
The most painful part is that the last years of his life were very difficult for him. Why was God so unhappy with him? Even when he stood up, he fractured his legs. He had no clue as to who we were.
Some say that it’s a lot better to die than living a life like that. I say, maybe. I really don’t know and probably, never will.
Sorry for being so senti.
can't help it, can I?
signing off........
AKANKSHA.
posted by Shubhi at 8:04 AM
1 Comments:
really nice...akanksha....i really liked it.......srry 4 not writin i promise ill write soon...
shubhi
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