They say grandparents are the most loving when it comes to their grandchildren. Having spent most of my childhood with my grandparents, this holds true for me. After we moved out of our home, I looked forward to spending every available holiday at my aaji-ajoba's.And because I had the most attachment to aaji I felt that I would do this forever and ever. Some part of me secretly always felt that she would, rather should, be immortal and I would care for her and live with her forever.
Over time, with my childhood phased out that attachment as well. We lost ajoba but somehow with immense strength, aaji carried on. When earlier she'd tease me about me growing up to be "someone big", today she teases me, mostly over the phone I notice now, about boys and marriage.
As I became more and more caught up in a whole web of new people, friends, work, basically being an adult, the position at which I held my dear aaji descended. Gone are the days I'd wait to spend all holidays with her, gone even are those days I'd regularly call her, just to be willingly chided about career, and well, marriage. Foolishly, I assumed she'd be fine, she'd be the same as I'd remember her from a few years back.
Today, something pulled out all of those memories within me. In a bus full of women well-dressed headed out to change the world with their serious-looking office attire, I came across an aaji. For her, it did not matter that nobody offered a place to sit, it did not matter she would fall thanks to some rather lovely driving displayed by our drivers, nor did it matter to her that she had many things to manage even as she had hardly boarded the bus.
For her, all that could possibly ever matter was her two little grandchildren who she saw to, were secure, comfortable and at ease. And I couldn't help but try and picture the look of contentment that would have crossed my aaji's face when I called her this morning just to say, i miss you!
Over time, with my childhood phased out that attachment as well. We lost ajoba but somehow with immense strength, aaji carried on. When earlier she'd tease me about me growing up to be "someone big", today she teases me, mostly over the phone I notice now, about boys and marriage.
As I became more and more caught up in a whole web of new people, friends, work, basically being an adult, the position at which I held my dear aaji descended. Gone are the days I'd wait to spend all holidays with her, gone even are those days I'd regularly call her, just to be willingly chided about career, and well, marriage. Foolishly, I assumed she'd be fine, she'd be the same as I'd remember her from a few years back.
Today, something pulled out all of those memories within me. In a bus full of women well-dressed headed out to change the world with their serious-looking office attire, I came across an aaji. For her, it did not matter that nobody offered a place to sit, it did not matter she would fall thanks to some rather lovely driving displayed by our drivers, nor did it matter to her that she had many things to manage even as she had hardly boarded the bus.
For her, all that could possibly ever matter was her two little grandchildren who she saw to, were secure, comfortable and at ease. And I couldn't help but try and picture the look of contentment that would have crossed my aaji's face when I called her this morning just to say, i miss you!
almost brought a tear to the eye... made me miss my aaji, I fondly called her Maa... :-)
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