A SUMMER INTERLUDE

 

In the sweltering heat of last summer, I went to visit my grandmother.  She had recently undergone surgery and was bed ridden.  She wanted to see her grandchildren and I was free from school because of my summer holidays. It made sense to visit her. So I boarded a bus from the city.

  I arrived at mid day. When I arrived, the sun was in the middle of the sky, the sweet smell of mangoes and litchis filled the air and the ground was abuzz with sounds of dragonflies. The house was an old villa—it looked shabbier than I had seen in childhood. The sprawling garden looked green and beautiful but plants were growing all over the place.

I entered the house. It was cool and airy. I called if anybody was home and when no one replied, I went straight for grandma’s bedroom. She was asleep. I didn’t want to disturb her but something caused me to stay rooted at the spot. I looked at her as I’d never looked at her before. She was in bed; a blanket covered her and only her face could be seen. She looked so frail and wrinkled, almost like a little baby. Old memories of her came flooding back--Grandma oiling my hair telling me panchatantra stories, grandma running around the house brandishing a broom to punish me for stealing mangoes, grandma putting on the purple sari that she looked so beautiful in. All were cherished memories but I had a special memory that I’d never forget for all my life.

 

I never ventured into the kitchen when I was small. But that day the aromas wafting from the kitchen piqued my curiosity. I entered and there she was, my grandmother, fifteen years younger, grinding spices in the mortar. I kept on observing her. She worked in a trance like state. She marinated the meat with the spices, chopped vegetables, put a cooker on the stove and finally glanced at me.

 

‘Madhu, why don’t you sit here?’

 

 She lifted me and placed me in the marble tabletop. She went about her work and talked to me the whole time she worked. Her voice was a soothing mellow. She talked and I listened breathing in those heady aromas. She talked about how she was married off at a young age, how she felt so lucky when she had my mother, how she had high hopes and dreams for all her grandchildren. I never felt as close to her as I felt at that time, at that place.

 

I stood at that spot reminiscing about the old days for how long I have no idea. A cough roused me from my thoughts.

 

‘Madhu, is that you standing in the dark?’, she rasped in a weak voice.

 

‘Yes, grandma, it is me.’

 

‘Oh how lovely that you came to visit me, my dear.’

 

‘Oh grandma, how could I not?’

 

We ended up talking for the rest of the evening when it was time for dinner.

 

‘Grandma, do you remember the mutton curry you made for us a long time ago? It was the best meal I ever had.

’

‘Oh thank you, dear.’

 

My eyes welled up with tears, remembering the times past and the present granted to me. I looked over at my grandmother and she was looking at me with tears in her eyes too.

 

It was a lovely weekend that I spent with my grandmother.

 

I cherish the memories that I have with her and I hope to make more memories with her.

 

Sadly, I haven’t been over to visit her this year. Maybe I’ll surprise her making my own recipe of mutton curry this weekend.