August 2005
We all loved him.. his virtues... his mannerisms... above all.. his stories abt the freedom struggle.. he was a History of Modern India textbook... right from the establishment of the East India Company to the riots of 1947, he knew them all... he lived through some of them... re-lived the same during the last ten years of his life.. that was my granpa...
we six cousins would huddle up beside him vying for his lap most of the time.. n he would begin his narration with an air of a kshathriya... his booming loud voice would fill the room leaving us in awe.. stories of the quit India movement that he actively took part in as a teenager would be followed by exhibiting before us a few sepia toned photographs taken with netaji subash chandra bose by his side...
towards the end of his narration, there would be a tinge of melancholy in his voice... it would turn fragile and quiver with age.. in his words, "those days used to be beautiful.. life was simple... life had a purpose... n the joy Indians wore in their hearts when we got freedom is so inexplicable... i wish i could go back in time and live those moments.. this nostalgia... this nostalgia... it pains.. it hurts... either i should live only this present... or turn back time to the 1940s...."
eventually... his wish did come true, a year after granma passed away... he started leading a reclusive life.. detached emotionally from his family and mentally from the world outside him.. he would walk within the four walls of his room, muttering incessantly and incoherently, "Indian National Army.. Burma... Delhi Chalo..." the doctors had given up hope of curing him, old-age, they said...
at this juncture, i was admitted to a boarding school in ootacamund.. in the 3-minute phone conversation dat i would have with my parents, they would brief me on my cousins... who broke his arm and who sprained her ankle..! towards the end, they would add... "granpa... granpa is jus the same....."
but that day.... the call was for a different reason.... granpa had expired... "he died in his sleep", my dad told me... "come home soon"..
tears flooded my eyes and my heart felt like it would rip any second of grief.. i rushed home to see him lying on the floor... lifeless.... yet peaceful...
i heard amma say, "he struggled for ten years... delusions and hallucinations.. finally god has set him free..."
"no amma", i said, unable to contain myself, "god set him free ten years back... granpa lived within the four walls of his room, but in his thoughts he travelled to distant lands that his physical body could not take him to.. every second of those ten years he re-lived the moment that he cherished the most in his life... the first taste of freedom.. the first taste of free India... even when he was alive, he conquered both space.. and time.... though his reflective consciousness failed him, he could not have been a happier man......... we'll all miss granpa..... but the sound of his voice... will continue to linger in our hearts...."
We all loved him.. his virtues... his mannerisms... above all.. his stories abt the freedom struggle.. he was a History of Modern India textbook... right from the establishment of the East India Company to the riots of 1947, he knew them all... he lived through some of them... re-lived the same during the last ten years of his life.. that was my granpa...
we six cousins would huddle up beside him vying for his lap most of the time.. n he would begin his narration with an air of a kshathriya... his booming loud voice would fill the room leaving us in awe.. stories of the quit India movement that he actively took part in as a teenager would be followed by exhibiting before us a few sepia toned photographs taken with netaji subash chandra bose by his side...
towards the end of his narration, there would be a tinge of melancholy in his voice... it would turn fragile and quiver with age.. in his words, "those days used to be beautiful.. life was simple... life had a purpose... n the joy Indians wore in their hearts when we got freedom is so inexplicable... i wish i could go back in time and live those moments.. this nostalgia... this nostalgia... it pains.. it hurts... either i should live only this present... or turn back time to the 1940s...."
eventually... his wish did come true, a year after granma passed away... he started leading a reclusive life.. detached emotionally from his family and mentally from the world outside him.. he would walk within the four walls of his room, muttering incessantly and incoherently, "Indian National Army.. Burma... Delhi Chalo..." the doctors had given up hope of curing him, old-age, they said...
at this juncture, i was admitted to a boarding school in ootacamund.. in the 3-minute phone conversation dat i would have with my parents, they would brief me on my cousins... who broke his arm and who sprained her ankle..! towards the end, they would add... "granpa... granpa is jus the same....."
but that day.... the call was for a different reason.... granpa had expired... "he died in his sleep", my dad told me... "come home soon"..
tears flooded my eyes and my heart felt like it would rip any second of grief.. i rushed home to see him lying on the floor... lifeless.... yet peaceful...
i heard amma say, "he struggled for ten years... delusions and hallucinations.. finally god has set him free..."
"no amma", i said, unable to contain myself, "god set him free ten years back... granpa lived within the four walls of his room, but in his thoughts he travelled to distant lands that his physical body could not take him to.. every second of those ten years he re-lived the moment that he cherished the most in his life... the first taste of freedom.. the first taste of free India... even when he was alive, he conquered both space.. and time.... though his reflective consciousness failed him, he could not have been a happier man......... we'll all miss granpa..... but the sound of his voice... will continue to linger in our hearts...."
2 comments:
If i would live as a human in my next birth i would re-write the story of every soul with the words that i would breath and bring my existance to eternity.
keep writing SID ...
Nice one!
Post a Comment