Dadu..

Dadu.. I was then just a couple of days old and had come home for the first time from the hospital. You eagerly asked dida (grandma) to dress me up. You wished to take me out in the neighborhood and show me off proudly. In the end, of course you were not allowed to take the newborn out then yet. You had to wait another 2-3 months for the opportunity. Dida dressed me up in a new dress that she had stitched. A little dot of ‘kajal’ adorned my forehead. You gathered me in your arms with lot of care and took me out. Beaming with a proud happy smile you showed me to all your neighbors. Your brand new granddaughter. Your Tup.

After the lunch, I used to lie by your side playing and babbling. I was then old enough to slowly start eating normal food. Dida prepared the feeding bottle with fresh fruit juice. Your task was to make me drink the juice. However, of course I had no intention to do so. I used to try pushing the bottle out of my mouth. And you coaxed me to make the ‘choooo’ sound. The sound as air passes through the nipple of the empty bottle. With all eagerness, I continued sucking the juice to achieve the sound. ‘Choooo.’ I smiled with an enthusiastic happiness showing my empty gums. You smiled looking at me. A little everyday game. A little smiling moment of grandpa-granddaughter.

My babbles had not yet turned into words then. Every afternoon you used take me out in the garden. You introduced me to the nature around us. And I looked around. My eyes full of awe and wonder. ‘That is a crow.’ ‘Look there, there is a house-sparrow.’ ‘This big tree is called coconut tree.’ You showed me. My eager eyes followed your words. I was able to recognize birds even before I knew to speak a word. ‘Where is the crow?’ Your granddaughter’s keen eyes looked around in search and stopped as she spotted one. My gibberish sounds told that I found a crow.

The whole evening I used to crawl behind you as you walked around in the house. My knees and palms black with dirt, my face shinning with smile. And together we created stories. I was too young to remember these moments. Dida told me all in her stories. I have requested her to retell them hundreds of times. I still do. I can feel your loving touch through her words. I can feel you in these stories.

And then I do remember other moments. I remember how every evening you used to take me to the VIP road. We would wait for ma as she returned from work. In the meantime, the glorious red and yellow of the ‘krishnachura’ and ‘radhachura’ flowers had caught my attention. I wanted those flowers and my dadu fulfilled my wishes. I returned home, both hands full of flowers. My face radiant, reflecting their bright colors. And as spring faded away and the flowers stopped blooming, I wished to have the leaves. Compound leaves. I still love those leaves. One day I tore those little leaflets and tried to fill the channel of the sliding door. I can close my eyes now and vividly ‘see’ my two-year-old self, busy with the leaflets. I can ‘see’ it even with eyes open; the moment is so vivid in my memory.

Every day after lunch, you had to get me one guava fresh from the tree. Your Tup’s wish. You gave me my first Cadbury ‘Fruits and Nuts’. I still remember every details of that moment. My excitement and your satisfied smile. I remember you giving me ‘cream cracker’ biscuits. Those are still one of my favorites. After finishing my own fish head, I wished to get the eyes and brain from the one in your plate. I wished to have a bit of the fried ‘neem’ leaves from your plate. To make me take the bitter medicines when I was ill, you had to bribe me with my favorite bitter leaves from your plate! As I returned home after weeks in hospital, you held on to me as a lost treasure regained.

I used to lie down by you, trying to imitate you reading the newspaper. My legs crossed. Often times holding the newspaper turned upside down, I pretended reading the newspaper intently like you. When you turned a page, I turned too. I felt so grown up and proud of me, being able to ‘read’ like my dadu. The books that surrounded you made me interested, and I was fascinated by this world. I am still absorbed in this world of books, often times reading in the same posture as you used to.

I had just started going to school. It was summer vacation. I came to your place and proudly declared that I had learnt singing. Immediately, you kept aside the newspaper in your hand, and pulled me closer. ‘Won’t you sing it for me?’ Showing off my newly acquired talent, I proudly sang ‘Jana Gana Mana’, the national anthem! You were so proud and impressed with me. I always had this habit of telling you and showing you all the new things, everything, happening in my life. I still have the yearning to do so…

I lost you when I was only four years old. I did not understand then what was happening, what is death. The next day I asked dida where you were. She solemnly replied that you went somewhere very far and would never return. I was surprised but somehow accepted it. Without any further question.That day as rain poured down heavily reflecting my loss, I did not shed a tear. I did not even understand the loss. I just remember you lying peacefully in eternal sleep, the house full of people, and the heavy rain. But when I think now, I am almost glad I did not cry. You would have never liked your Tup’s eyes full of tears. I am glad I never really said goodbye, because you never really went away from me.

A child hardly remembers anything from when she is four or younger. And yet I have all these floating images and memories of you fresh in my mind. The moments are so alive that sometimes I feel I can almost touch them. Your love and the memories we created in those short four years are so precious to me. You are so precious. I look at your picture on my writing desk, I feel you close to me. Nevertheless, I still miss you. Because I know back in India, I will just have the big framed picture of yours when I go to your house, as it has been all these years. And here I stand holding your picture, still longing to tell you everything happening in my life. And I do tell. I tell you all about my smiles and tears, all success and failures. Every decision I take, every important moment of my years. Tup still wants to make her dadu proud and share secrets with him... 

And somehow I think and believe that my silent stories reach you. I can feel you with me, looking down at me with a smile. Even though I cannot see you, you are there. Aren’t you dadu? I know for sure that you are there. It is only that that I cannot reach you..

Dadu.. My dearest grandpa..