A tribute to my grandmother who taught me to stand tall

Every relationship is special but some are inexplicable... this is perhaps one of them.

The doctor has certified that your heart is not pumping blood into your body anymore and the lungs are busy resting... and I have become inconsolable with tears rolling down my cheeks, my glands filled with an emotional outburst and my heart pumping faster than ever…

The fact that you are not around physically is yet to settle in me and may take a few months or a lifetime to come to terms with... what I cannot forget is your voice that is ringing in my ears as if you just called me to drink a glass of milk which no one can make in the world…

A glass of milk never tasted this sweet sans sugar when you made it for me at 4 am before I left for my college...

If this was not enough you would wait for me till late night curbing your sleep only to ensure I had my dinner warm, not because it was heated in the oven but for the warmth with which you served it.

Being a woman is not easy, and you taught me how to stand tall, come what may.

Nanima, you might have been long before India attained independence, it was your thought process that made you more independent than many born in the new millennium too.

At the age of 86, you were the pure pristine form beauty who would shy away from sharing her real age with the doctor every time you went for a thorough check up… I remember you telling the doctor for four consecutive years that you were just 80 year old…

Perhaps you really proved that age is nothing but a number.

The popping up of your eyes on being gifted a new wrist watch reflected how you lived the life fighting against time and yet changing with time…

Nanima, you might have been the mother of three daughters and two sons but the entire family looked up to you more than a mother to every grandchild… I term it as mother of my mother or (mother)2 /mother square.

The wrinkles on your nimble fingers were getting stronger and you getting weaker, however it was your will power that permitted you to embark on a 24-hour journey by road from Kolkata to Rajasthan… a drive many would think twice before taking up.

Will power and stamina are not just words but assets of tough women like you.

An octogenarian who draped her saree without even one pleat going wrong sans pinning the six yards of grace…

A woman stronger than the Wall of China who would fight and win the battle in favour of her grandchildren even when they were the accused… and still remain unapologetic about it was as unique as you.

There is an interesting saying that interest is dearer than the principal for the investor, in that case you were the investor, our parents the principal and we the best interest you received giving you happiness beyond what any calculator could calculate.

So what was it that made you modern despite wearing a saree or rather despite not wearing skinny denim or kurta.

Your sentences made up of rustic marwari words would leave me dumb struck attempting to decode and comprehend them. Not knowing english was never a taboo and nor were the clothes or the hair oil you applied religiously…

It was the love you spread with your touch and even in scolding that reached our heart which never required a single word to express.

The small things you did for me made a big difference in my life…in your presence…and now in your absence too.

So why is it that even after knowing more languages than your basic knowledge, I am still at loss of words…

May be because the brain makes sentences but it is the heart that selects words…