A Request

It all started with a request, one that she held dear and really hoped would come true. A tiny, yet unreasonable request; that her first-born grandchild would be a boy. Of course she didn’t get what she wanted and after I was born she’d face many a times where she wouldn’t in fact, get what she wanted.

Growing up, I barely knew her. We’d have conversations that didn’t hold any value. I say this because as I look back, I can’t remember even a single one. Yet that was not how our relationship was meant to be and as fate would have it, I had to leave my home and move into my grandparent’s house.

As the years passed, she took great interest in all the cultural activities that I took part in as a part of school and fiend interest things like my career choices and subjects that I wanted to major in. She’d delight in every recital, choir performance, play, dance class and performance that I was a part of. She’d sit proudly in the audience and shower me with praises once I was done. However, for her, my choosing the arts as vocational path didn’t quite cut it.

She held dearly onto my aptitude for the sciences and hoped I would become an engineer. However I had different plans and she’d have to understand that her request for me to let go of my interest and passion for an intellectually and financially ‘appropriate’ career was something she’d just have to settle without.

That was far from stopping her, as I took up the social sciences and she saw my interest in social work, she decided that I should join the Indian Administrative Services just like my second uncle who was ‘doing really well for his family’ she would say.

“It’s too late for me now Nanamma. I’ve made up my mind on what I want to be. You should try with your other grandchildren, they still have a couple of years left to make life decisions, shape their minds!” I would joke, and she would react with her signature exasperated “Pah!”

 She watched me pursue my dreams as I made the decision to follow the footsteps of my father and choose the corporate world of advertising.

When the time came to leave home and study copywriting, she showered me with all the blessings that a grandmother could give her granddaughter. She also took her one last chance to whisper to me,

“It’s not too late you know, you can still become an IAS officer”

I laughed and with a big hug and a promise to return soon, I left.

I wasn’t the best granddaughter to her, I barely kept in touch with her and despite that being a habit of mine, it did hurt her and I remained oblivious. I’d get a reminder every once in two months to call her. It was usually an angry one from my father after hearing his mother ask him what I how I was doing, and I would promptly call her and listen to her yell at me for the same for a good two minutes. I would then get five minutes to tell her how my course was going and in those five minutes, I’d have to explain to her for the umpteenth time about what advertising really is. She’d never understand and would quickly change the topic to all the trivial things that I was missing out on; marriages, fights that the maid’s daughter was having with her in-laws, random newspaper articles, etc. This would go on for 30-45 minutes and while I listened to a woman who loved to talk, I’d drift off into a world of my own hmmm-ing now and then so that she’d think I was still listening.

What she doesn’t know is that as she indulged, my creativity fueled. It was during one such conversation when it hit me. I was just like her! I loved telling stories. So, I vowed to put my creativity to good use and befriended the art of embellishing. I would listen to these inane happenings that was glad I didn’t have to witness first hand, and think of ways to tell the same story in a more captivating way. I wanted my stories to be dramatic enough to keep my audience hooked till the last word. After all, my career would depend on it.

The course soon ended and I got a job in Mumbai. I went home for the last time to pack the remaining of my things and leave. I could see that she’d rather me take up a job in Bangalore, but yet again she’d have to settle for my way. It was something she was getting used to and so this time she didn’t push me.

Months later, I met her in Mumbai. I was living with my aunt and she had come down to visit her beloved daughter. I didn’t get to spend much time with her despite my trying hard to. A new job filled with deadlines and unreal expectations that I had of myself, made me dive into work and the new life it had to offer without worrying about its repercussions but she saw that I loved it and so she never said anything.

It was time for her to leave and she asked me to sit with her for sometime. I was more than happy to. I missed home a lot and the new one I had come into just couldn’t compare. Sitting with her felt like home. She looked at me long and hard and I thought I was in for it. Another unreasonable request; quit your job, don’t work so hard, join the administrative services with better benefits, the works.

She took center stage and I let her make yet another request.

“Move out.” She said. “I want you to get your own house. You must learn how to live alone and you’ll learn a lot. It will be hard but you must do it.”

I stared at her awestruck.

“Don’t worry about saving money right now, enjoy your life while you can and don’t compromise. There will come a time when you should start saving for the future, when the time comes you’ll know. It will be a decision that you make.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening, who was this lady, and what had she done to my grandmother?

“Always put safety first and don’t trust anyone too easily. Go, have fun, do whatever your heart desires, but put yourself and your safety first. Okay?”

I don’t know whether this qualifies as good or bad advice, but it moved me. For the first time in all the years that I knew her, she made yet another unreasonable request that my mind wanted to reject right away but couldn’t because she spoke directly to my heart.

She saw what I needed the most, despite my mind making up excuses to not pursue any of it, my heart wanted all of it. I smiled and gave her a hug. She wasn’t talking to daddy’s little princess who didn’t know of a life devoid of luxury and comfort; she spoke to the strong, confident and independent woman inside who desperately needed a chance to shine through. A strong, confident and independent woman just like the one inside her.

A couple of weeks later I flew in to Bangalore to celebrate a momentous day for my father and there she was, with a look that meant business.

“Have you found a place for yourself yet?” she asked, and then listened patiently as I went on a rant about the rent rates in Mumbai and the shoddy condition of the apartments. 

“Don’t worry you’ll find something, and you must find one soon.”

The weekend came to an end and I had to leave, I had tears in my eyes.

“I really miss home.” I said. “I wish I could stay here for longer.”

“You’ll be back soon, and then you’ll stay here for much longer.” She replied warmly. 

True enough, I had to return a week later, again with tears in my eyes. My grandmother had passed away. She kept her word. This time I stayed there for two weeks, 13 days to be exact…

She was right, about learning a lot, after all I learnt more about myself in two months of my living alone than I had in 22 years. So, fighting all my disbelief in religion, I went with my parents to fulfill her last request, and journeyed to the Triveni Sangham for her last rights. Even though there is no scientific proof of the existence of a river named Saraswasti, for her I believed. And so, as per her wish, we put my Nanamma Saraswati to rest, in the Saraswati.