PORTRAIT OF MY GRANDDAD

PORTRAIT OF MY GRANDDAD

My grand father had smile on his face. No one saw him become angry. When we were
children and we had our family functions at home, granddad would be sitting on his old bed, legs stretched and the back on a old hard pillow, ever smiling. We kids would take our seats around him, eager to hear granddad’s stories. It was personal story mixed with history. “Granddad! Tell us about Sindabad!”. Another brother would shout, “No, no, tell us a war story. What Hitler did while attacking Russia?”

Granddad smiled. He would get absorbed with his grand sons and grand daughters.
Smile used to say so many things. We could feel, he was enjoying every moment and his eyes brightening up, telling his heirs about past – some bits of family history, some memories of World Wars and often about his romance for Indian freedom movement and nation’s adoring heroes. We used to get tense, forgetting to fight among us. Those were special family occasions. Granddad loved our company.

Granddad had another companion – a walking stick, made of cheap wood with poor
finishing. But he never bothered about his own things and he never asked any of his
well-off sons and daughters for himself. He was a village boy who lived most of his life in brick-iron chained city life. Anyway, that stick was his twenty-four hours’ companion. He used to amuse us, telling about three-legged fox of fables. But sometimes we used to get frightened by that menacing stick, which granddad used to raise to beat us, once in a while. But we never were angry with him. He loved his family and loved one and all. He loved his neighbours and friends – one and all. The word “hate” was alien to him.

He always loved to walk miles and miles and see the world, always that old walking stick firmly held in his right hand. When the neighbourhood crows used to cheer seeing the first rays of the sun, granddad would wake up, pick up his discoloured shopping bag from the hanger and walk down the lane with that walking stick. Before long, he would come back from local market with a bag full of spinach, other leaves, vegetables, potatoes and fresh river-water fish. He would start calling our names to get up. Then he would get back to his usual bed, half-lying in leisure. While sipping hot tea and toasted breads with one hand, other hand used to hold the morning news daily, eyes roving through Newspaper headlines. Lost in his other world.

In the afternoon, granddad used to get dressed after a short nap. Gulped the tea and
would proceed for the near-by lake. Sometimes he used to take me to the lake. I loved those outings. City without greeneries had at least one lake and a beautiful long stretch of garden bordering the lake.
“ Come on, boy. We’ll sit down here.”

There were so many benches around the lake. But he would straight way head for the
special joint for old and retired people.

“ Hi Mani! Today you’re late.”
“I have brought my grandson today”
“ Oh come, come, sit here.”
I would silently sit next to him and gaze at the vast deep water.
“ He is very shy, Mani.”
“ No no, he always keep his grandmum busy with his silent tricks. He takes a few hours to adjust. HaHaHa ”
My cheeks would go red. I would take my eyes off the lake and start looking into the
huge trees and quarrelling birds, while my grand dad would get busy with his friends
talking about their families.

“ No. My son didn’t turn up this Sunday. His mother prepared special dishes and kept
waiting waiting…then she was crying in the night”, oneday granddad would say.

Then one friend would say, “ My son is no different. He is going great in his career and he cannot get time to meet this old father. But I am so glad that he got a promotion. Now he is General Manager – Marketing.” Friend’s face would shine with family pride. My grand dad would smile in admiration. Then he would start repeating successes of his sons and daughters to his friends.
Darkness would embrace the garden, those people would start getting up one by one to
return to their nests.

………

Almost a decade later, I was passing by that lake. Granddad was no more. My nostalgic childhood had left me long ago. Now the lake was calling me. My legs slowly started to move towards the lake and to those benches, my grand dad was so fond of. I was hypnotically walking back to my childhood. Cool breeze from the lake and noise of the birds hypnotised me .But nothing had changed since, though time had moved! A group of old people were still sitting there, speaking among themselves while watching the evening shadow deepening on the water and noise of home coming birds on the trees.Yes I know, time waits for none, but history of people re-cycles again and again.