For 2011 :
They lived on the shores of the lake. The house was actually ancient, and the unusually small size of the windows, and the tantalizingly non horizontal window ledges often gave you the feeling of staying on a ship. Right next door was a brand new, modernistic, official looking guest house of the Institute, with undulating lawns that swept a graceful curve down to the lake.
For the little boy who lived in the old house, it was the place that he could visit on his own, to play with his friends. No traffic , no roads to cross, no dark corners and eerily moving tree branches, and he would rush home as soon as it got dark. He lived on a wooded campus, and these buildings bordering the lake had a bit more natural light than the others.
His grandmother had moved in with them. Earlier, Both his grandfather and grandmother would come to stay. But sometime when he was in first grade, his grandfather fell sick. He would often bring his cars and other things and play with them in his grandfathers room, actually because everyone was always doing something there, but mostly because his grandfather liked to watch him play and chat with him. One day, he was taken to an aunts house after school, and when he returned home in the late evening, he found that his grandfather was no longer around, and his grandmother looked different.
"God has taken him to heaven" , they told him, "because he was so sick. He will be well there".
They told him the same thing when he lost his baby brother 2 years earlier. He himself was younger then, and believed what everyone was saying. And now his grandfather. This whole thing about God was getting a bit suspicious. No one explained just how God came and took the folks with him. Was he invisible, did he come at night, how come no one heard ? And this was broad daylight. How come no one noticed anything going on ? Heaven was somewhere up there . Birds flew, but you could still watch them......
By and by his grandmother came to live with them and they settled into a nice routine. His parents worked, but came home for lunch. His mother would glance through his school books in the afternoon, and give him some assignments to do if there was no homework. His grandmother would take a short nap while he played, and then would supervise his studies as she had her afternoon tea. He was two years older now, and they were learning stuff in History at school about which his grandmother knew things. Like the struggle for Independence. She had even seen some of the people for real, when she was a young girl . And he only had photos in his text books.
Come 5 o'clock, and his friends would land up , calling out to him in sing song voices, as they tried to grab his attention , as they jumped up and down outside his window, calling him to come out and play. They were all at an age, where normal modes of entries and exits into gardens and things were to be avoided. One entered through broken fences, slid down bansiters instead of descending stairs, and the bigger their mother's eyes became, the more they tried to do such things.
He'd be just about done, and he'd then rush out with his friends to play, sometimes in the garden and sometimes on the slopes of the guest house next to their house. His grandma had her own group of other grandmas who met on the lawns there. But they waited for their sons and daughters-in-law to get home at sundown. The day was a bit cooler then, and walking was more pleasant. The elderly ladies often sat there till dinner time. The little boy would be intermittently back home with his entire gaggle of friends to drink water, attend to freshly acquired wounds and scrapes, and sometimes, simply to show off some freshly acquired book or toy contraption . He and his grandmother shared a room and the boys would be all over the place with their grubby hands and feet. Around eightish, his mother would dispatch him once again next door to the guest house lawns, to escort his grandma home. She didn't see too well in the dark, and he would go meet her and escort her back , holding on to her hand, to the highly approving glances of her friends, whose grandchildren were older and so, otherwise busy.
Into this well set wonderful routine, his mother came home one day to find a strange expression on her mother -in-law's face. Her eyes were full, but there was no sadness. Just a sense of wonder.
That afternoon, they had sat down to do history. Talking about the new stuff he was learning.
"Aji (=grandma), just be grateful you didn't live around the time Raja Ram Mohan Roy lived", he said, his finger on some filling-in-the-blanks-assignment on a page of his book.
(Raja Ram Mohun Roy of Bengal was one of India's greatest social reformers in the 19th century, and many of these reforms were beneficial to women. He was opposed to the idea of, and worked for the abolition of the practice of "Sati" where widows burnt themselves on their husbands funeral pyre)
She was nonplussed.
What was wrong with Raja Ram Mohun Roy, and of all the people she could think of, why was this 7 year old chap against him ? Where did she come into all this talk of freedom fighters, great leaders of India, and the Independence movement etc ?
She looked at him questioningly, taking him very seriously, as only grandmothers can.
He looked at her, alarm in his eyes. Then he put out his arm, and placed his hand in her lap, as if to let her know, that, come what may, he was there...
"You know , if Aba (=grandpa) and you had lived during those times, people would have made you perform "Sati" after he died !".....
He probably had gory visions based on the terrible descriptions and graphics shown in various textbooks , and for a minute, he just held on tight to her hand.
She was stunned. His grandfather's death still played on his mind. When he studied the social reforms introduced by the Bengali gentleman in class, this must have occurred to him. For a child with a penchant for vivid imagination, this was just too traumatic. First they told him that God took his grandfather, and now Ram Mohun Roy and the terrible practice of Sati.
Then the humor just hit her. Which was as well, as the whole scenario was getting a bit serious. It was more than a century since the terrible custom was abolished. Even in her own childhood, she didn't wonder too much about these things; widow remarriage, even then, was being encouraged, education for girls was considered useful. And here was this 7 year old chap, totally trauma struck, with the concept of his grandpa's death, his grandma, and Sati.
"Not to worry. Your grandfather would not have permitted that. Those were the old days, and everything has changed now. Everyone's mother today is educated, and some , like your mother and aunts , even work. And all this is because Raja Ram Mohun Roy convinced the government then to make a law saying Sati was not allowed. "
She got up to make a cup of tea, and bring him his afternoon glass of milk; but really to wipe away her tears. She couldn't figure out whether they were of joy or sadness. Certainly more of the former than the latter. She and her grandson were 70 years apart. She had other, much older grandchildren, but this was the first one to get into a panic over an age old practice followed in the early 19th century, and worry about her .
He went off shortly to play with his friends and his grandma entertained her son and daughter-in-aw with this story when they returned.
He and his grandmother enjoyed each other's company for a few more years. She passed away one night in her sleep, when he was asleep . He was still a young child.
Wordlessly, stoically, chin up, after bending and touching his grandma's feet, he went off to his normal day at school , taken care of , by the neighbors, for the day. Young children are not part of the various formalities associated with funerals.
By then I think he had figured out what happens. When he came back with his friend's parents, late that evening after everyone reached home, he didn't ask any questions. There were a whole bunch of folks staying over. He kept fiddling with his books, pestering a cousin to sharpen his pencil just so. He went into the kitchen before bedtime, and poured himself a glass of milk, his hand unaccustomed to handling steel containers with about 2 litres of milk; mixed the cocoa into it, just like his grandma did for him, and came and sipped it, slowly, as he sat leaning next to his Dad. He wouldn't be sleeping in the room he shared with grandma for a long time after that.
This time there was no confusion about the mechanics of how one went away with God without anyone noticing.
Miraculously, he had learned the most difficult. He had learned to accept. Death.
(A true story....)
Get your story published in The Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul – A book of Miracles at BlogAdda
They lived on the shores of the lake. The house was actually ancient, and the unusually small size of the windows, and the tantalizingly non horizontal window ledges often gave you the feeling of staying on a ship. Right next door was a brand new, modernistic, official looking guest house of the Institute, with undulating lawns that swept a graceful curve down to the lake.
For the little boy who lived in the old house, it was the place that he could visit on his own, to play with his friends. No traffic , no roads to cross, no dark corners and eerily moving tree branches, and he would rush home as soon as it got dark. He lived on a wooded campus, and these buildings bordering the lake had a bit more natural light than the others.
His grandmother had moved in with them. Earlier, Both his grandfather and grandmother would come to stay. But sometime when he was in first grade, his grandfather fell sick. He would often bring his cars and other things and play with them in his grandfathers room, actually because everyone was always doing something there, but mostly because his grandfather liked to watch him play and chat with him. One day, he was taken to an aunts house after school, and when he returned home in the late evening, he found that his grandfather was no longer around, and his grandmother looked different.
"God has taken him to heaven" , they told him, "because he was so sick. He will be well there".
They told him the same thing when he lost his baby brother 2 years earlier. He himself was younger then, and believed what everyone was saying. And now his grandfather. This whole thing about God was getting a bit suspicious. No one explained just how God came and took the folks with him. Was he invisible, did he come at night, how come no one heard ? And this was broad daylight. How come no one noticed anything going on ? Heaven was somewhere up there . Birds flew, but you could still watch them......
By and by his grandmother came to live with them and they settled into a nice routine. His parents worked, but came home for lunch. His mother would glance through his school books in the afternoon, and give him some assignments to do if there was no homework. His grandmother would take a short nap while he played, and then would supervise his studies as she had her afternoon tea. He was two years older now, and they were learning stuff in History at school about which his grandmother knew things. Like the struggle for Independence. She had even seen some of the people for real, when she was a young girl . And he only had photos in his text books.
Come 5 o'clock, and his friends would land up , calling out to him in sing song voices, as they tried to grab his attention , as they jumped up and down outside his window, calling him to come out and play. They were all at an age, where normal modes of entries and exits into gardens and things were to be avoided. One entered through broken fences, slid down bansiters instead of descending stairs, and the bigger their mother's eyes became, the more they tried to do such things.
He'd be just about done, and he'd then rush out with his friends to play, sometimes in the garden and sometimes on the slopes of the guest house next to their house. His grandma had her own group of other grandmas who met on the lawns there. But they waited for their sons and daughters-in-law to get home at sundown. The day was a bit cooler then, and walking was more pleasant. The elderly ladies often sat there till dinner time. The little boy would be intermittently back home with his entire gaggle of friends to drink water, attend to freshly acquired wounds and scrapes, and sometimes, simply to show off some freshly acquired book or toy contraption . He and his grandmother shared a room and the boys would be all over the place with their grubby hands and feet. Around eightish, his mother would dispatch him once again next door to the guest house lawns, to escort his grandma home. She didn't see too well in the dark, and he would go meet her and escort her back , holding on to her hand, to the highly approving glances of her friends, whose grandchildren were older and so, otherwise busy.
Into this well set wonderful routine, his mother came home one day to find a strange expression on her mother -in-law's face. Her eyes were full, but there was no sadness. Just a sense of wonder.
That afternoon, they had sat down to do history. Talking about the new stuff he was learning.
"Aji (=grandma), just be grateful you didn't live around the time Raja Ram Mohan Roy lived", he said, his finger on some filling-in-the-blanks-assignment on a page of his book.
(Raja Ram Mohun Roy of Bengal was one of India's greatest social reformers in the 19th century, and many of these reforms were beneficial to women. He was opposed to the idea of, and worked for the abolition of the practice of "Sati" where widows burnt themselves on their husbands funeral pyre)
She was nonplussed.
What was wrong with Raja Ram Mohun Roy, and of all the people she could think of, why was this 7 year old chap against him ? Where did she come into all this talk of freedom fighters, great leaders of India, and the Independence movement etc ?
She looked at him questioningly, taking him very seriously, as only grandmothers can.
He looked at her, alarm in his eyes. Then he put out his arm, and placed his hand in her lap, as if to let her know, that, come what may, he was there...
"You know , if Aba (=grandpa) and you had lived during those times, people would have made you perform "Sati" after he died !".....
He probably had gory visions based on the terrible descriptions and graphics shown in various textbooks , and for a minute, he just held on tight to her hand.
She was stunned. His grandfather's death still played on his mind. When he studied the social reforms introduced by the Bengali gentleman in class, this must have occurred to him. For a child with a penchant for vivid imagination, this was just too traumatic. First they told him that God took his grandfather, and now Ram Mohun Roy and the terrible practice of Sati.
Then the humor just hit her. Which was as well, as the whole scenario was getting a bit serious. It was more than a century since the terrible custom was abolished. Even in her own childhood, she didn't wonder too much about these things; widow remarriage, even then, was being encouraged, education for girls was considered useful. And here was this 7 year old chap, totally trauma struck, with the concept of his grandpa's death, his grandma, and Sati.
"Not to worry. Your grandfather would not have permitted that. Those were the old days, and everything has changed now. Everyone's mother today is educated, and some , like your mother and aunts , even work. And all this is because Raja Ram Mohun Roy convinced the government then to make a law saying Sati was not allowed. "
She got up to make a cup of tea, and bring him his afternoon glass of milk; but really to wipe away her tears. She couldn't figure out whether they were of joy or sadness. Certainly more of the former than the latter. She and her grandson were 70 years apart. She had other, much older grandchildren, but this was the first one to get into a panic over an age old practice followed in the early 19th century, and worry about her .
He went off shortly to play with his friends and his grandma entertained her son and daughter-in-aw with this story when they returned.
He and his grandmother enjoyed each other's company for a few more years. She passed away one night in her sleep, when he was asleep . He was still a young child.
Wordlessly, stoically, chin up, after bending and touching his grandma's feet, he went off to his normal day at school , taken care of , by the neighbors, for the day. Young children are not part of the various formalities associated with funerals.
By then I think he had figured out what happens. When he came back with his friend's parents, late that evening after everyone reached home, he didn't ask any questions. There were a whole bunch of folks staying over. He kept fiddling with his books, pestering a cousin to sharpen his pencil just so. He went into the kitchen before bedtime, and poured himself a glass of milk, his hand unaccustomed to handling steel containers with about 2 litres of milk; mixed the cocoa into it, just like his grandma did for him, and came and sipped it, slowly, as he sat leaning next to his Dad. He wouldn't be sleeping in the room he shared with grandma for a long time after that.
This time there was no confusion about the mechanics of how one went away with God without anyone noticing.
Miraculously, he had learned the most difficult. He had learned to accept. Death.
(A true story....)
Get your story published in The Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul – A book of Miracles at BlogAdda
