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| Serial fiction inspired from a life queen size |
If you have missed All She Needs is Love Part-1 (A Letter to Grandma)
Part-2
Hot rice in an emotional bowl
“Who knows for sure when he would come! Do you think
your grandpa converses and shares with his wife, like other husbands?”
Indeed, a difficult question to be answered by a 12
year old.
You continued:
‘Don’t you know how much I suffer? No other woman
would have tolerated a husband like this. Life goes on because of Ammachi’s
patience and tolerance beyond limits of the earth.’
‘Grandma, why do you say that? Grandpa is really a
very loving person!’ I used to retort.
‘Mon, what do you know about your Grandpa? He is such
an actor! He calls for sympathy from all his children and siblings. He likes to
portray me as a horrible lady before everyone. Who brought up all his children
and took care of their needs? Who saved money and took charge of the children’s
education and maintenance of the house? He never appreciates my wise and frugal
home management. My brothers support my family because of their love, affection
and sympathy for their sister, who is unfortunately destined to live with an
indolent man.’
‘But Ammachi, I see Grandpa bringing lots of goodies
home. He buys the biggest fish in the market and brings unniyappam and bonda
(sweets from the tea shop) for us. He gets us oranges and black grapes when he
goes to Kottayam (nearest town).’
‘Do you think that these are great things? Does he
ever buy groceries promptly without me yelling at him and after several
reminders?
‘And the big fish that you talk about! Don’t you know
what time he brings that fish full of flakes and bones? At 11 O’clock, at
night. And this poor Ammachi has to spend the whole night to clean it up!’
‘Only Grandpa does that for you, no? I have seen him
cleaning and cutting the fish so meticulously?’
‘Not always, my dear. Even then, who cooks it? He
wants both fish curry and fish fry for his dinner, the very night itself. And
you said about him bringing oranges and grapes from Kottayam. That is another joke
which I will tell you later. Let me check if the rice is ready or not’.
You looked at the sun’s rays on the veranda and
said it is 12 noon now. And you rushed
to the kitchen.
On the way you murmured, ‘He will come hungry, now.
Let me prepare his favourite chutney with the raw mangoes he brought yesterday’
Grandma, your grievances against your husband were
never ending. As your children refused to hear the oft repeated grumblings and
complaints, you found a new breed of patient listeners, in your grand children.
You felt really relieved after sharing the stories of your difficult life with
your husband. You didn’t mind the age of the grand children who listened. You
believed that anybody above 8 years can very well appreciate your genuine
grievances and your efficiency and that they can be clearly convinced about
your husband’s irresponsible behaviour in the family.
(Thus, it was not only me who was happy to skip
school, but also my grandma who enjoyed my presence at home, as the
representative of the grand children could be appropriately indoctrinated about
the comparative merits between two grand-parents.)
Grandma, you continued medicines for cholesterol,
blood pressure and diabetes, for more than four decades. You identified each
tablet by their colours and never missed even a single dose of medicine in your
life. As in case of your favourite brands of soap, talcum powder, body oil,
hair oil and face cream, you stocked medicines for the next two months, in your
custody.
You used to remind your husband to buy you medicine, then your
children and in the later years, also your daughters-in-law. Stocks are ordered
to be delivered at different timing so that one person will not get a chance to
know that another one has already supplied the same set of medicines. That was
your way of ensuring uninterrupted supply of medicines. Same was the case of
Asanaviluadi oil (for hair), Dhanyantwaram kuzhambu (body oil), Cuticura talcum
powder, Nivea face cream and Pears transparent soap. I wonder if this practice
was a result of your apprehension after reading about the Great Bengal Famine
of 1943.
I truly wondered how scrupulous you were in selecting
the right brand of rice for meals. You used to ask grandpa to bring rice
samples home, before buying a sack of rice. You would look at and feel each
grain on your palm and then would give a nod if that brand had to be brought.
Sometimes you would cook it, to see if it takes a long time to get cooked.
(This meant consumption of more firewood). I remember occasions where grandpa
violated your directions, resulting in you sending back the entire sack of rice
to the grocery shop.
How did you transform Grandpa into a quiet cat at
home? A man who served the Indian Army, who had a large network of friends and
clients while practising as a freelance law assistant, preferred a low profile
at home. You were a towering personality and had made lasting impressions with
your unique attitudes and perceptions about life.
I would like to write more about you.
Would you mind
others knowing you?
