In Mourning

My grandfather passed away last night. This is the first close member of my family that I am losing and I feel so bad about the fact that I wasn’t able to be there for him at the end. I was always his favourite grandchild too… because I was the eldest, and I was a girl, and in his eyes I was the most beautiful child he’d ever seen, and I was pretty smart too. He had such dreams of throwing me this fabulous wedding when he got me married to some highly successful, extremely handsome Malayalee Catholic boy (if such a person exists). I dispelled him of that notion pretty early on but he still clung on to the hope that one day I would have a complete change of heart. Finally the last time I saw him he had even given up on that dream. He didn’t care if I married a Hindu or a Muslim or a Sindhi or a Marwadi. All he wanted was for me to get married before he passed on. So essentially I didn’t grant him his last wish. A part of me will always feel terribly guilty about that even though I always said to him that its my life and my choice.

He was such a nice man, even such a fun man. Always thinking about where he would take his family on their next summer holiday together. He loved his whiskey (the size of his drinks always put me to shame) and he loved his horse racing and anyone’s birthday or special occasion was excuse enough for him to throw a big party. Once he invited S over for a chat (more to interrogate him on his intentions with his “innocent” granddaughter, I feel) and he fixed him two drinks at the size he normally drinks and S got soooo smashed. It was hilarious, for me that is. S was just dying at how high he was. Many of my friends also knew him, have hung out with him, stayed over at his house when I was staying there, came along to their Christmas parties. Dear Rat even went to the hospital last week to visit my grandmother and parents and I was very touched that she did that. She’s been on two holidays with my family so she knows them pretty well.

And this other thing I will never forget and always brings such a smile to my face… I (and the other grandkids) call (or should I say, called, so depressing) this grandfather Appachen, which is a Malayalee word for grandfather, and everyone else calls him Dad or Uncle or whatever. At one of his birthdays, S and J and Snoop came along to the party and when it was time to cut the cake, everyone sang and you could hear one voice louder than the others singing quite happily “Happy Birthday Appachen”… it was Snoop of course… quite naturally, he was also calling him Appachen. Appachen of course was like, who is this new grandchild who came out of nowhere.

He was old and weak and he lived a good life. I can understand that he had to pass on but that doesn’t make it any easier, especially for my grandmother who spent 55 years of her life with him. And then, there are his three sons and daughters-in-law and five grandchildren who were all so fond of him. And it wasn’t just his immediate family. He was such a role model and surrogate dad to so many other people in the extended family.

I could ramble on for ages about him and the things he did and how much he meant to me and so many other people, but I think I’ll stop now.

I can’t be there at the funeral so I’ve asked my sister to read out the following letter I wrote last night as soon as I heard the news. I know that he will be listening.

Dearest Appachen

There are so many things I’m sorry about. I’m sorry I never got the chance to say goodbye properly. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you, especially in the last three years I’ve been away. I’m sorry I didn’t get married in your lifetime which was one of the strongest wishes you had. But there are so many things I’m grateful for… so many memories of having you in my life for the last 24 years.

I watched as people around you always showed you the greatest of respect and how you always helped those around you and those less fortunate than you. I listened as you called your wife of many years Darling, and told us tiny tots that family, religion and tradition were things we should always hold close to our hearts. I cried when you spoke of your dead mother with tears in your eyes and told of how much you missed her. I hope you are together again now.

Little things I remember. The little things you did for your grandkids… when I was a kid, I loved Pepsi and you always made sure there was a full crate for my consumption when I came over. Car rides and horse rides and boat rides, books and movies and restaurants… anything to keep us entertained. I loved green bananas and grapes so you’d make sure there were green bananas and grapes when I came over. Anything our parents said no to, we always had a backup plan in you and you never had the heart to say no to us.

You laughed at my precociousness and told me to reach for the stars and you were always so very proud whenever I achieved anything.

I remember a day when you quite patiently took me from bank to bank to get things notarised (I think there were 15 banks in total) all for the sake of helping me get my visa. I remember thinking that day that there was no one else who would’ve done all that without getting at least slightly irritated and losing their temper at least once at the heat or the waiting or the traffic or anything like that. That was one of the happiest days I spent with you in the recent past.

And always I remember the look of joy on your face whenever you welcomed me back home and even whenever you casually saw me for lunch or dinner or just to say Hello. And the way you cried every time you said goodbye… you were always so afraid that you wouldn’t get the chance to see me again. The last time I said goodbye to you was in October last year and you made such an effort to wake up early and see me off at the unearthly hour at which I was leaving. And I remember the hug you gave me through the bars at the airport and your grip was so very tight and you cried and I think maybe you knew you wouldn’t see me again and I remember hoping that it wasn’t the last time I saw you and how we would laugh again together when I saw you this year. It was never to be.

It still hasn’t sunk in really, that you are no longer around. I suppose it won’t fully until I come home to Madras and realise that you are really not there. Because you are such a part of what home and Madras means to me and now a part of my home will be missing. But you must know that you will live on in our minds and spirits and memories. Whenever I eat a good meal or have a sip of fine whiskey or attend a good party, I will raise my glass in memory of you. Because even though you were old and diabetic and should’ve been taking more care of what you ate and drank, when Amana and I chastened you about it, you said that your weaknesses were good food, fine whiskey and a good party. And that’s how I’ll always remember you… as someone who lived his life to the fullest and who didn’t waste any time in being worried about things not worth worrying about.

I will miss you terribly and think of you everyday. Goodbye dearest Appachen. I know you will be keeping an eye on us from afar and I’m pretty sure there’s some good horse racing and fine whiskey to enjoy up there until we all join you.

Love always,

Your oldest granddaughter