NANAJI
I have come up on the screen with just a topic. Nothing ahead or behind of it. Just a few so-good-to-be-true memories. Let me start by telling you first that 'Nanaji' in our native language is the maternal grandfather. But to me he was ALWAYS more of a father. Above that too maybe. A relation I cannot name. Cannot explain. Until one day when we had visited him and he was parking the car in his clumsy garage and I was on the passenger seat besides. He had now quite often been asking me as to how to cuddle me that I've grown up now. How to show that he still adored me the same way? How to gesture out all the love? Just how? As always I said that I just know that. You don't need to tell me. I know it all. That very day his reply was different. "Pta nhi wo choti bacchi kahan kho gyi jisse mai kandhe pe baitha kr jwal jwal chillate niharta tha. Mjhe bhool gyi wo.Kahin kho gyi wo."
Meaning I dont know where that little baby girl of mine is lost? The one I carried on my shoulder to the river Ganga and she laughed and joyfully cried water water in her cute accent. The one I glanced at as if would forever. She forgot me.
I cannot control on my tears today. Each memory is so deep imprinted. Probably my soul identifies with him. Nanaji thought me as his mother. The one who died and whose soul came to reside in mine. I matched her features too. To him I was the same comfort. I was the same warmth. Mannn,I cannot frame things. Its getting difficult with each sentence. The flow of tears now is faster than the flow of thought. And mind you he is still living a comfortable life in Allahbad, the cultural capital of India.
I remember crying every time with joy seeing him with all his luggage at the doorstep. He came to see me ONLY. I would cry even more severely when he would leave. Pleading and weeping. Saying I wouldn't be able to survive without nanaji. Mom Dad felt I was deprived of something. I wasn't. He was, is and will be so good to let go of for even a second. That to me was love. Unconditional, purest 24-carat love.
Our short fights for the television. He was a cricket maniac. Astrology his passion. Homeopathy doctor, college professor and now astrology being his professions throughout life. His sitting down with the entire family and the Kundlis (horoscope pages of an individual with the predictions of his upcoming life) of each of us and narrated them with full enthusiasm. He had been alluring since his young days. The people, the crowd loved him. He at 76 uses an anti-wrinkle cream. Has every hair on his head black. Is always clean shave. And received us in a proper sherwani (A suit) at the station mostly .But a very difficult person under the home's roof. He was the least of adjusting. But the only person he gelled so well with was me. Nobody knew why.
He has promised me to fund my first Royal Enfield Bullet the day I can even lift it up, driving another thing. He never went late when it was about receiving me from the bus stop. He wouldn't let me carry my bag. Carry anything ever but myself. He was particular on my grooming. He wanted me to become an IAS officer. He wanted me to rise above everything mediocre. Everything conventional. To do the unique. He saw that in my stars. My planets as he said (everything of what I believed in and out) are very amazingly placed. Possessing unusual potential. One in a million case. Such calibre runs in my blood. Nanaji was immensly talented too. Very rowdy and dominating. Wherever he worked without post he used to become the untold boss around. Girls were crazy about him. He had such aroma surrounding him.
There have been instances of him in the past decade of pushing down doors of houses due to some malfunction of locks. People feared him and secretly admired. His teeth till date are all real and strong enough to break walnuts. And yes he is close to 80.
He was a dignified and sophisticated professor at the same time having all the much-needed-then mafias and bullies in his contact and circles. Work then was just a matter of muscle power. Including acquiring degress. But then suddenly one day he suffered a paralytic attack due to High BP. That was scary. I couldn't figure out the rush and the sudden packing and everything. The train journey that very time to Allahbad din't seem to amuse me. But the moment we opened the door to his hospital room I knew everything. I could see it in his eyes. I didnt know what the disease was. Why couldn't he move and why was his speech so disrupted. I reluctantly sat besides. He cried and cried. I couldnt help but watch. I had this fear of being contagiously infected by the same. I refrained from touching his not movable fingers. And was so saddened to see the spark going. His eyes so evidently told that now I cannot push a fellow down. I cannot fight to my hearts content and have gol gappas with my grand daughter.
He was, is and will be the best man I've had in my life EVER. And nobody not even my father,believe me when I say this can take his place. No effing person can conquer life and live it upto his level to be a synonym to life and liveliness itself. The epitome of uncontrollable love, anger, zeal, strength, courage, determination and joy that might astonish you.
Meaning I dont know where that little baby girl of mine is lost? The one I carried on my shoulder to the river Ganga and she laughed and joyfully cried water water in her cute accent. The one I glanced at as if would forever. She forgot me.
I cannot control on my tears today. Each memory is so deep imprinted. Probably my soul identifies with him. Nanaji thought me as his mother. The one who died and whose soul came to reside in mine. I matched her features too. To him I was the same comfort. I was the same warmth. Mannn,I cannot frame things. Its getting difficult with each sentence. The flow of tears now is faster than the flow of thought. And mind you he is still living a comfortable life in Allahbad, the cultural capital of India.
I remember crying every time with joy seeing him with all his luggage at the doorstep. He came to see me ONLY. I would cry even more severely when he would leave. Pleading and weeping. Saying I wouldn't be able to survive without nanaji. Mom Dad felt I was deprived of something. I wasn't. He was, is and will be so good to let go of for even a second. That to me was love. Unconditional, purest 24-carat love.
Our short fights for the television. He was a cricket maniac. Astrology his passion. Homeopathy doctor, college professor and now astrology being his professions throughout life. His sitting down with the entire family and the Kundlis (horoscope pages of an individual with the predictions of his upcoming life) of each of us and narrated them with full enthusiasm. He had been alluring since his young days. The people, the crowd loved him. He at 76 uses an anti-wrinkle cream. Has every hair on his head black. Is always clean shave. And received us in a proper sherwani (A suit) at the station mostly .But a very difficult person under the home's roof. He was the least of adjusting. But the only person he gelled so well with was me. Nobody knew why.
He has promised me to fund my first Royal Enfield Bullet the day I can even lift it up, driving another thing. He never went late when it was about receiving me from the bus stop. He wouldn't let me carry my bag. Carry anything ever but myself. He was particular on my grooming. He wanted me to become an IAS officer. He wanted me to rise above everything mediocre. Everything conventional. To do the unique. He saw that in my stars. My planets as he said (everything of what I believed in and out) are very amazingly placed. Possessing unusual potential. One in a million case. Such calibre runs in my blood. Nanaji was immensly talented too. Very rowdy and dominating. Wherever he worked without post he used to become the untold boss around. Girls were crazy about him. He had such aroma surrounding him.
There have been instances of him in the past decade of pushing down doors of houses due to some malfunction of locks. People feared him and secretly admired. His teeth till date are all real and strong enough to break walnuts. And yes he is close to 80.
He was a dignified and sophisticated professor at the same time having all the much-needed-then mafias and bullies in his contact and circles. Work then was just a matter of muscle power. Including acquiring degress. But then suddenly one day he suffered a paralytic attack due to High BP. That was scary. I couldn't figure out the rush and the sudden packing and everything. The train journey that very time to Allahbad din't seem to amuse me. But the moment we opened the door to his hospital room I knew everything. I could see it in his eyes. I didnt know what the disease was. Why couldn't he move and why was his speech so disrupted. I reluctantly sat besides. He cried and cried. I couldnt help but watch. I had this fear of being contagiously infected by the same. I refrained from touching his not movable fingers. And was so saddened to see the spark going. His eyes so evidently told that now I cannot push a fellow down. I cannot fight to my hearts content and have gol gappas with my grand daughter.
He was, is and will be the best man I've had in my life EVER. And nobody not even my father,believe me when I say this can take his place. No effing person can conquer life and live it upto his level to be a synonym to life and liveliness itself. The epitome of uncontrollable love, anger, zeal, strength, courage, determination and joy that might astonish you.
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