A SANCTUM IN SENILITY

The cool wind breezing through the window ruffled my hair and gently pushed it onto my face. I smiled, my eyes remained closed, as a couple of cool fingers touched my skin and lovingly brushed the hair off my face. I half-opened my eyes to look at them. The touch of the weak, wrinkled fingers seemed like the best thing in the world, for me, at that moment.
It was raining cats and dogs, outside. The streets were filled with water and the trees were swaying, as if dancing with merriment over the onset of monsoons. I opened my eyes and started bursting the little glistening water bubbles that formed on the window grills, listening to her soothing voice going on in its usual sing-a-song manner, as her fingers continued running through my hair. "...and then," she said, "you fell down and cried the whole day. I had to hit the floor so hard that there were cracks in the tiles and only then did you stop crying." She laughed and I looked up at her face; her toothless laughter seemed like the purest and the snow-white hair flying in all directions possible seemed the most beautiful thing in the world, for me, at that moment. I listened to her soothing voice, my head in her lap, as she went on narrating little stories about my childhood, as if they were the best things she'd ever seen.
"Is this what heaven is like?" I wondered. This woman had seen so much in her life, faced hurdles, fell down again and again, got hurt, yet, every time, she got up and fearlessly continued her journey of life.
Here she is, in the last phase of her life, full of wisdom, heart hardened with all kinds of experiences.
Yet, here she is, a little child bubbling with joy and enthusiasm unlimited, as she reveled in her memories of my childhood.
Feeding me, narrating stories of kings and queens to me, cradling my head in her laps, relaxing with me are the things that she enjoyed the most.
I was lost in my thoughts and then gradually dozed off into a light sleep right there in her lap and occasionally in my sleep, listening to her still going on and on about the first time she had fed me baby food or laughing at the silly jokes that I had cracked back then...


Inspired from my Grandmother, my friend, philosopher and guide, the best grandmother in the world!

ARCHAIC ROMANCE...

"We'll be back soon, mom!"
"See you grandpa"
"Bye, granny"
I stood there, on the porch, waving happily. He stood beside me, doing the same, smiling. My bigger children sauntered down the walkway, noisily, chatting, joking and laughing as their children- my grandchildren skipped and hopped around their respective parents. The air was charged and lively. I just caught a glimpse of my youngest daughter, who was now eight months pregnant, clasping her husband's arm as he led her on slowly and my eldest son slapping the youngest one playfully on his back and the whole group erupted in another fit of laughter, as they rounded the corner and disappeared.
Silence...
I stood for a few seconds looking at nothing in particular, smiling contentedly and turned to him to make some remark on how nice our kids had turned out to become. But the porch was empty. He was gone. I hadn't realized when he had gone in, so noiselessly. Didn't he share the wondrous sight i had just enjoyed? Or didn't he care?
A not-so-uncommon remark of my feminist sister crossed my mind. "Men," she said, "are emotionally dead human beings."
I walked back into the house, into the bedroom, deep in contemplation, to check on the twins. The twins- a boy and a girl, only a few moths old, belonged to one of my daughters. They were left behind under my care. The original plan, an evening walk for my pregnant daughter and her husband, when materialized, embraced everybody else, leaving out the two too young and two too old people in the house.
I stared at the twins sleeping peacefully, marveling at them, when I spotted a faint smile on the boy's sleeping face. I was overwhelmed. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but my grandchild had the same smile- the smile I had grown addicted to, after all these years. It was 'his' smile. Now, I looked closer searching for any other similarities between the little boy and his grandfather. There was a sound outside and when I turned back, I realized that it was soft music. As the much familiar notes filled the air, I sprinted into the living room. It was a mess-ribbons, balloons, remains of food strewn all over. The huge banner screaming, "WELCOME INTO THE FAMILY, TWINS!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!" was half trailing on the floor, its other end still managed to hang on to the temporary support on the wall. Amidst all this turmoil, he stood there, as if unaffected by it, oblivious to it, his eyes on me, smiling. Looking at his smile now, I was surer that it had passed on to his grandson.
"Remember the song?" his voice barged into my thoughts. Of course! Could I ever forget it? This was the song we loved to dance to. This was the song we had first danced to. Hell, this was the song we had ever danced to. But it was so many years ago. Back then, I was young, energetic, beautiful. Now, I was old, tired and well... not so beautiful.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when he had walked towards me and stretched out his hand and said the famous words, "Ma'am, dance?" His first words I'd ever heard, many years back. Then, I was a lot shy and hesitant. Now, though I was shy, I was sure and happy to oblige.
He gently took my hand, placed it over his shoulder and I buried my face in the hollow of his neck, feeling against my cheek, his steady pulse-a contradiction to an erratic one, back then. I felt his arms tightening around me, the same way as they had always done, as if protecting me from the world. The strength of his embrace was still the same. He held my palm against his and out fingers locked as we gently rocked to and fro to the rhythm.
I looked at his fingers and the back of his hand. The skin was wrinkled. I smiled. He was old! Who am I kidding? Am I growing any younger? I looked at his face and eyes were looking at me as if questioning my amusement. I kissed him on his cheek and said in whisper, "I love you, old man."
He smiled. "I know," he said and touched the tip of my nose lightly. I immediately wrinkled it, involuntarily, something in which, he found a great amusement. He laughed out loud and said, "you are cute" and I blushed.
It was all the same. All these years passed by and changed so much in our lives. The only thing that was left untouched was probably the way we felt for each other.
There were times when we had fought for each other, there were times when we had fought against each other.
There were times when we'd wanted to take a break from each other, there were times when we'd wanted to take a break from the world, to be alone with each other.
Some times we'd drifted apart from each other. But then, at the end of the day, we'd come home to each other.
We had laughed together, enjoyed the happy times together.
We had cried together, found solace in each other's company during the hard times.
All that we'd faced together had only succeeded in strengthening the bond that we shared. Nothing could ruffle it. Nobody could meddle with it.
I danced with him as always, losing myself in him, losing track of time.
I was shook out of my thoughts when I heard a noise.
"Looks like the kids are back," he grumbled, impatiently. I smiled and said slowly, still holding him tight, "I thought of cleaning up this mess before they came home."
He immediately broke away from me. " Don't ask me to help. I'm tired." And off he went. I gritted my teeth as I remembered another one of my sister's frequent remarks. "Men," she said, "are the laziest class of human beings."