The Extraordinary Lives Among Us

“The camp-boys used to set up tents. Your grandfather used to take people and go into the forests for surveys. Nowadays, the officials just sit in their offices and write reports. Who will go get their boots dirty now? The forests near Karwar were always dense and full of animals and reptiles.
I still remember, when I was pregnant with your mother, I was in the bathroom and screamed loudly. People came running to see what the matter was. They were all relieved to see it was only a snake..”, she grinned.

I looked at the soft wrinkles. A cloud of pearl white hair, probable pairs of lone grey strands tucked rebelliously somewhere in. A body which was a contradiction – satin smooth legs, weathered face. Her voice promised secrets of a generation gone by. Well, you could say that I was mildly nonplussed at my grandmother gleefully recounting missed encounters with snakes.

Why do we never pause to think about our grandparents? You might argue that you love them, adore them, and even spend time with them. But, do we ever sit back, sip tea and ponder over their lives? They have lived for decades before us, in a time which will forever remain our history. A way of life which we have inherited only after it has been convoluted by one set of progeny in between.

I, for one, am always fascinated with the stories our grandmother tell us. It doesn’t matter that the story has been told many times before and she doesn’t remember it. My ears are eager to hear it again, imagine the sepia tinted proceedings and print it in my mind through repetition. She is a marvelous narrator and it helps that her life has been interesting.
An only daughter born after three sons in a joint family, her life has always been full of people. She knew how a Dodamma could be both benevolent and strict, a father could be an introverted disciplinarian and still indulge his daughter by taking only her to Sunday treats. She learnt to feed us at her mother’s knees. Hers are hands which have made peanut chikkis, whisked ice-creams at home without machines, layered thin strands of vermicelli. And never had a chance to broadcast it on Instagram. She knows procedures which we would consider to be fantastic achievements.
Married to a geologist, she has known a nomadic life full of forests, elephants and jeeps. She has known the pain of losing a first born son, the difficulties of living in a different city from her husband, the joy of living with two beautiful daughters, the unfairness of losing her husband soon after his retirement. She has known the peace of small towns, the jostling pace of a city. She has known the regimes adhered to by the people of her times and the wild, loose lives of her grandchildren.

And she remains matter of fact of both the grief and the light. There is peace gained by understanding the flow of this world, a strange conviction of having lived in better times. A knowledge of impending doom.
She might forget the things spoken yesterday, but the world of her youth remains firmly etched in her mind. Have you ever noticed how we, with a mere two decades of life lived, long for a childhood which is only a few years in the past? How is it then for an experienced soul of several years, which finds itself in a world so distanced from its own origins, to be constantly aware of things which no longer exist?
I look at her smile and can’t help but think.
Will we be the same? Will my granddaughter ever find my life as remarkable? Will she be inspired to sit down and pen a few words about her grandmother?
I wonder.