Soul

Growing up, I never really knew my grandparents much. I knew them in the sense of who they were, where they lived and what they looked like - and would talk to them often, and receive birthday cards and the like every year. I loved them regardless though. They were sort of scary to me, like authority. And since you know me, you know I don't deal well with rules at all. 

Some of the earliest memories I have with my (paternal) grandparents was when they came to stay at our house in Abu Dhabi. I don't remember our time together much, but I do remember being this happy addition to our family for the time they were there. It felt comfortable and it felt warm. Grandad's have this air about them anyway that just screams cuddly and happy, which is exactly what he was like. 

Unfortunately one of the only vivid memories I have about my grandma is when I saw her for the last time at her funeral. In fact that's one of my most earliest childhood memories in general - and not a pleasant one either. I remember not understanding much about death and not really understanding the concept that I would not see my grandma again. I felt no emotion towards it, and only felt sad when I saw my dad and uncles in tears around her. That's quite a poignant thing to see at such a young age. There were other things about her funeral that I remember - such as the smells and sounds around me. But there are so many blanks and blurs that I'm unable to fill it in. Due to this, I've only ever really known what kind of person she was through my family. I get the feeling she was quite strict, but also terribly loving. 

As for my grandad - it's going to be two years since he passed on. I knew him the most out of all my grandparents because I spent so much time with him and lived in the same town. He was everything a grandad could have been in terms of his personality and his humour. He was a vibrant and completely carefree person. I would spend hours with him just sitting around and doing odd jobs for him - like cutting his nails, taking out his (very) old passports or giving him a head/back massage. There were then the mandatory food-runs I used to do for him, for naughty gujarati snacks (fried and spicy mostly), which he would pretty much force me to buy. By telling me I wanted them. When I didn't. He was really smart! He was a massive foodie. Like my father, he also lived to eat. Health concerns could take a toss for all he cared, because he knew he had one life, and it had to be filled with great food! 

I think, what I miss about him the most are his stories - especially about my dad and my uncles/aunt. He remembered them in their childhood so clearly and fondly - it's like he was just there a few days prior. No matter what happened to him in his life, he was never sad for too long and that was an admirable quality. Of course, as the years progressed and his health worsened, he did become grumpier and uncomfortable in general.  

A specific memory comes to mind with him.. It was a couple of months before he passed away, and my sister and I went to see him in hospital one night. He wasn't doing very well, and it was scary seeing him joined to all these strange machines that beeped every now and then, until I realised that it was a heart monitor, and his heart was literally skipping beats. He was in and out of sleep and it was quiet in there. We just wanted to spend time with him so we didn't do much but attend to him if he needed something. After a while, he got up slightly and looked at my sister, piercingly and said, "do you think about your dad?" and I could feel her reaction seeping in to me, as we went back in to his bed and closed his eyes. She stuttered, "Yes, dada, all the time".. And he didn't say a word after that. He just laid there and went in to a deep slumber. There was this look in his eyes, and it felt like there was a purpose to his direct question. But we didn't know what it was, all we knew was that we felt really sad. 

My grandad never asked me about my dad. After his passing, I never once spoke about my dad's death to him and he never mentioned it to me. It wasn't a concious decision or anything, it was just not something we communicated about. All I knew was that a part of him was lost after he lost his son. When you met him though, you'd never really realise that his life was so rich with a variety of hardships and other experiences. He was a charitable man, he always did good and most of all he had this hold on our family that felt like we had this umbrella protecting us from bad storms. 

My maternal grandparents lived in India and unfortunately I didn't see them as often as I would have liked to. I do however remember them very clearly and remember spending wonderful times with them. I was also very scared of my grandad - he was like a militant person, someone who lived by rules (yes, the total opposite to what my very base is made of!) and time. He liked his routine and it suited him well. He would speak to me in English - probably because he didn't want me to butcher Gujarati any further than I would have done in our previous conversation - and it was absolutely wonderful. He was a good man. He used to tell some good stories, especially towards the evening - when we'd all sit together outside in the veranda after our dinner. He'd often just give me money and ask me to go buy treats with my cousins for the whole family - usually vanilla ice cream (you HAVE to taste vanilla ice cream in India, it's am-ah-az-aing. And I'm not a vanilla person). He was very loving and quite an emotional person. Every time we'd leave to go back to Dubai/London, he'd cry and it would move me to no end. I think I get my love for Indian snacks and picky-type food from him.

My grandma was like the fairy godmother in Cinderella. I can't give you a better description - she looked just like her, and was so incredibly loving, patient and good-natured. I never remember her getting angry or being upset when we used to go to India. And oh dear lord, her food! She was the most amazing cook in the world. Her hands had magic in them. She cooked such great food, and I remember overeating, overindulging and hence becoming over-weight every holiday. It felt like pure bliss being around her and the rest of the family when we were there - it was welcoming and so very relaxing. Also, the town they lived in remains to be one of the most calmest places I've ever visited. 

She was completely cute. Short and a bit round, and had these big eyes. I'd pull her cheeks often, and tower over her even at 12. I'd teach her bits of English and then proceed to tease her after for ages regarding something or another. My dad also enjoyed doing that, I hear! But what I remember about her was her happiness - and how hard she worked. She was a great figure of strength for my mum after my dad passed away, but unfortunately memories of her and my grandad being around aren't something that exist in my mind. 

As I grew older and learnt about my grandparents in general - I realised that their lives weren't easy. They had great stories, ones that should have been shared - over and over. They were the kind of people that journalists could sit with for hours on end. That kind of thing.

Often times, I feel like I forget that they are a part of my life. I forget that actually, I learnt something from each and every one of them in some way or another. It saddens me to no end though, that I did not get to spend enough time with them. I wish they were still around so they could witness me growing up, along with listening to all of their lives histories first handedly.

I feel a bit sombre knowing that so many big events have come and gone in my life and yet apart from my mum, the "big" people in my life weren't around to take part in them. Of course, going forward it will only get more apparent - as I get married, or have kids and the like. 

However, there is this space inside me that I know I can go to whenever I wish to - and feel contented knowing that they're all in a better place, and that they were and remain to be some of the most wonderful personalities and human beings I've had the pleasure of knowing and being related to. Now that's a great thought.

Dada and Dadi (Paternal Grandparents)

Nana and Nani (Maternal Grandparents)