It's been two months today. Two months since she left us to never come back. Dad says, she's here, watching us everyday..guarding us.. but it all fails when i really want to feel her warmth next to my feet in cold winter nights. When i actually want to cuddle up to a soft plump frame and induce sleep. When i want to talk and hear stories , because the haunting night won't let me sleep.When i want to breathe the odor that's been the sleep fragrance for every night since childhood. Truth hurts when the same pillows and quilts don't smell the same anymore.They lack that warmth. They don't smell of anything, they lie lifeless, colorless..losing her a little everyday.
The only place where i can find her lingering still is inside the closed shutters of her cupboard, where her sarees lie folded with her last touch on them. How crisply they hang there, like she'd just pick them for a wedding, matching them with her petticoats and new shawls . To every new piece of cloth we'd get her, she'd be a very good taker. You never had to worry about how she'd look in them, because she made sure she wore them in front of you. "Arey jab bhagwaan ne dia hai mujhe toh main maze kyon na loon", she'd say with a charming pride in her voice.
Diddi with Chachi (Dadi) This is exactly the face she made when she was filled with glee |
Diddi on her 83rd Birthday (June 23,2013) We all feared this could be her last. But she celebrated it like a Queen. |
In the process of narrating those tales, Dadi..or Diddi as we'd always call her...would often get lost in her stories and if suddenly the dog barked from the kennel in the middle of the night, she'd snap, "Mere father ke ghar main toh kutte paalne ka dhang he kuch aur tha...." And another tale of her 8 dogs and their keepers and chicken cauldrons and so much more would begin. Indeed, she had seen days of refined treatment and regalia. Getting married to a rather simple household in the hills may have been a setback for her at the age of 16.
Diddi & Pappa |
Diddi,... I don't even know why we started calling her that...! Probably my eldest aunt imitated her uncles who addressed Dadi as Diddi...and then on she became Diddi for one and all -for her children, grand children, friends, servants..everyone! The most amusing part would be when she'd address herself as 'Diddi'... 'Diddi se kuch mat chupana tum bachche', she'd tell us smelling some mischief around. It was only after my brother began to speak that Diddi was first addressed as 'Dadi' by someone. And then in those bouts of excessive affection, Diddi turned Dadi for us elder kids too. I think that affection never saw a return, because lately we'd all begun calling her Dadi...it was more personal. Only kids could call her that..we liked that sort of possession on her and that name.
Diddi & I on Diwali 2011 |
Dadi was fat and plump , like a soft squishy fur ball...that, when she was healthier. And along with all the cushion came loud thunderous snores which the elders in the family often cribbed about. But for all the kids who slept with her, the snoring barely existed! We were all immune to her thunderous night songs. Sleeping inches away from her every night, none of us really remembers waking up to her snores ever. It was actually like a lullaby which was bound to play post 10 minutes of bidding a goodnight to dadi. Her snoring would be our step 1 to sleeping.
To me, Diddi was a grand mother i was always proud of. As a kid, i was proud of the fact that she wasn't as 'pahadi' as the other 'amas' (grannys) of the town. It just felt a little 'modern' to have a hindi speaking grand mother to the then little mind. I took pride in the fact that she was born in Porbandar, more because i hadn't seen that part of the world ever. I loved to see her read ample magazines, newspapers and understand a lot of english that i'd think she won't catch. She taught me hindi...and not just me ..she was the hindi teacher to all the kids in the house...And quite a strict one at that! Dadi had caught up with a lot of Kumaoni by the time we were born, but it was amusing to find traces of her old vocabulary embedded in that tone. Like she always called a table as 'maich' and always said 'aisa kar diye' instead of 'aisa kar do' to us. That was her typical tone and this unusual mix made her quite a vibrant character to strike a conversation with.
Diddi & Pappa with their children |
Dadi was a home maker and that she instilled in her daughter in laws too. I don't understand much of the 'Grihasthi' dynamics, but all i can say is.. I never found Maa or Chachi cribbing or sulking over dadi's behaviour ever. They were infact like friends, having fun ...poking each other all the time. No wonder we kids could never relate to the saas-bahu dynamics that'd be prevalent over the daily soaps. I infact remember maa and chachi being happier spending days with dadi than going to their parental homes. We as kids were always reluctant to step out of the Bhimtal house, and then Maa would softly tell me, "just one week and then even i want to come back to dadi. It's important we go, else nani would get angry no!" A day before going to Nani's house, i'd stick to Dadi holding her tightly lest i'd be taken away to nani... and she'd spend the night convincng me to go and see nani, telling me how bad she'd have felt had i not come to see her...if she was in nani's place. I'm sure she had to undergo the same convincing with every kid. We all have always been too happy in our little world...never wanting to see the world beyond Bhimtal.
Dodger Died 7 days after Diddi's death |
Pappa & Diddi on her Birthday (This is their last picture together) |
This was on Christmas last year and we were celebrating. This Christmas, we were all mourning. |
She deteriorated drastically after this time |
She spoke to me last in the first week of December. As i was leaving for Delhi that morning, she instructed Bua to get money from her closet. Keeping two hundred rupees in my hand she said, "Rakh le ... patanahi kab tak de paaon." I never wanted to believe her words. Lately, she'd begun talking too much about our life without her. She made farewells very conspicuous, and i hated it. I hated it because it indicated something that was inevitable, her death. One time, she gave me the saree of hers that i loved. The second time, she presented us neck chains. The third time, she left us memories.
About her death- She looked satisfied. Happy. Like her purpose was fulfilled. She was returning victorious.
She died a peaceful death with all of her family around her. Only i had remained. I didn't see her as she left us. I only saw her frame leaving the house. I'd been feeling helpless and mentally unsettled about my absence that evening. We were all coping with the loss but somehow i couldn't stop regretting not being there.And that's when, a few days post her death i dreamt of her. Sometimes all logic fails and you're left wondering if spiritual connections could surpass all the reason in life. She lay at the courtyard..lifeless..just as how i had seen her before they took her away. I saw her body lying in my baby bathtub..her frame barely fitting in that space. The people around me were the same, everyone preparing to see her off for one last time. That's when somebody just asked me to put a pillow under her head just to let her frame be comfortable...and just as i raised her body to put the pillow..she flipped and came back to life. No one noticed her return..no one. And Dadi and I talked for so long. She said, "I know you were sad that i couldn't talk to you before leaving..couldn't have that last conversation". And i just sat there..looking at her feeble face. She could barely get up, just the way she couldn't in her last days. We both knew that those were just a few moments and that she'd be gone again. I told her i couldn't sleep without her..my feet wouldn't get warm. She looked at me , shed a few tears and said, 'I couldn't help it, i had to go'. I had a long long conversation with her. I knew they would take her away in sometime..and then as soon as she saw people approaching to take her away ..she gave one of her old looks ..just as how she'd look at me when she'd convince me to go to Nani's home..the look that said..'It's supposed to be this way... go for now, and meet me soon'..just that look..and then she got back to lifelessness. She'd come back to talk.
I've almost spent a night writing this. If she was alive, she'd be snoring at her loudest right now. I too would be sleeping tugging on to one of her arms. This piece would have never been written. Life would have been the same- old , happy, fulfilled. Her room scares me now. I am not yet ready to feel its emptiness. She has left us with her stories. Now the walls, the quilts and I, we all stay awake and recall all the stories that she had shared with us. We don't want them to fade like her fragrance from the bed linen.
Once, in a winter spent away from her in Lucknow... I spotted a book called 'Diddi' written by Ira Pant. I didn't know the writer back then, nor the fact that she is one of our kins. I picked up the book because it said 'Diddi' and more so because these daughters addressed their mother as 'Diddi'. The book was written in the memory of the legendary writer 'Shivani' by her daughter Ira. I purchased the book with my own pocket money... i didn't want anyone to contribute to this possession. In all the excitement i returned home and called up Diddi. "There is a book i found by your name. This writer also calls her mother Diddi... and you know diddi...when you die..i will also write a book in your memory. I will call it Diddi."