Some instances cause memories and some drive you right back to older ones. As I sit on my bed tonight, my gaze casually moves towards my grandfather’s portrait, which is hung right above the television set. I don’t remember the last time I sat and saw his face so attentively. Maybe it was Bob Dylan, who sings into my ear tonight that brings back memories of an old man who waited at the window of the ground floor apartment for me to come back home for lunch after school. Brown sweater, white shirt beneath, a white dhoti and a walking stick, that’s the image he maintained in my head.
Happy -simple man. Like the one's who woke up at 5, made their cup of tea, worked from 9-5, reached home , heard the radio ate their food and retired to bed. It wasn’t till his 80's that he depended on my granny to make him his cup of morning tea. After his morning bath, came out the thin comb, the one which tapers from one end to the other. Everyday prayer with sugar cubes as “Prasad” was his devotional deal with God. Time managed to the second, he attended to his activities.
Fights for the remote control and chasing me around the coffee table with a cane were his favourite activity, if he wasn’t playing cards with my grandmother. My love-hate relation with him, kept me emotionally very close to him. I still remember crying out to him every time I was upset with his daughter (my mother). His reply would never change. He always said, “it’s ok, don’t worry she says it for your own good". His advice never changed but that didn’t stop my routine of complaining to him.
During his last days, he wasn’t too good with memory. It troubled him that he often forgot names, had difficulty remembering where he left his walking stick. But that didn’t kill the spirit in the man to fight. He fought. Not just for the remote, he fought and managed to survive till the very end with all his breathing issues.
Ordinary man, ordinary life; but he still had it all. A comfortable life, a dedicated and loving wife, 3 dutiful children and 5 grandchildren. From all of it that he left behind, the most valuable asset that he left behind was a lesson. The showcase of the way he led his life and achieved what was important to him.
Looking at him and today looking back at his life I think to myself about what I do, the way I or any of my friends lead our lives. It’s the quality I question. Whether I can change any of it, do I truly want to? Whether that change will be comforting? I do not know. I guess the importance lies in identifying what we need. Is it the luxuries that cause the craving or is it simple happiness.
Bob says "The Answer my friend is blowing in wind; the answer is blowing in the wind".
