My grandmother. A nonagenarian. A saintly figure. A treasure trove of knowledge on local culture and traditions. Well-versed in composing ‘Shlokas’ instantaneously. I’m proud of my grandmother. I’m happier that she’s with us living a life that’s so remarkable and inspiring.
Earlier this week, I visited her. She lives with my parents. It’s been around six years. After my grandfather’s passing away in 2019, she’s gathered enough courage and determination to continue a widowed life. My parents — especially my mother– are a great assistant to her in overcoming the grief of being bereft of her husband in old age. She has a small stature — she droops now on account of her old age — but her unflinching courage and determination may dwarf that of a giant’s. It’s her resilience that’s been a cause of her relatively healthy and happy life to date.
She’s like a big tree under which we seek shelter (from ignorance) and happiness.
Well, I had to leave her after a few days at my parents’. With a heavy heart, I bade goodbye promising to return again to see her. I struggled to hold back my tears. Tears welled up in her eyes too. I know we’ll meet again. But, leaving her behind this time felt so hard and painful. Why?
I promise to return to her soon.
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