G is for…Granny

The stories were interesting, the gestures had become warmer, well, at the age of 79, she looked like the kindest one.

Since I knew about her exploitative side too, I never cared for her much. Mom never shared her experiences lest it influence our opinion of her, but me and my sister had overheard every ugly deed of Granny and drew our own inference. However, I never expected she would go this far.

We were chit-chatting over a cup of tea. Granny sat curled on her spot on the bed in her white cotton nighty bought by my aunt from the streets of Bandra. ‘My dad was the wisest person on earth. He found your grandfather for me and married me into a wealthy family. I have vivid memories of him from Karachi…’ I was listening to her half-heartedly since this was my hundredth encounter with memoirs from Pakistan.

My wedding was just a week later, and I wanted to spend whatever little time I had with each family member. What if my mother-in-law turns out like Granny and doesn’t allow me to come home over false pretexts?

I had seen very little of my Nani since Granny came up with terrible excuses whenever we were to leave for Indore. When I was 10, she twisted her ankle just the night before our train and demanded to be bed ridden for a fortnight. I clearly remember that because I had to put away a stack of Pinki comics that I were to read on the train in my pre-chosen corner berth. I thought of this as an emergency and decided not to show my disappointment. Plus, mom promised me a barbie set when I had thrown a tantrum in the morning.

‘My mother taught me how to make chapatis, I make the softest ones. I will teach you tomorrow,’ Granny continued with pride.

‘Mom already taught me; I just need practice.’

‘But I make better ones. Even halwa, I will tell you how to make.’

‘Fine.’ I didn’t want to argue with her.

I thought of my 12^th birthday when mom had made lunch for the entire extended family. We were happily sitting and relishing a delicious halwa for dessert when my uncle exclaimed, ‘No one makes this better than Maa..’

‘Oh no, I would have never put such little ghee and sugar. This tastes like a poor man’s meal,’ Granny had added quickly.

At that moment I suddenly felt the sugar was low too and asked mom for a spoonful. I understand now how furious she would have been at that point, and how I must have added to her sorrow.

‘When you have children...’ Granny said waking me up from my nostalgia.

‘Arre Dadi, let me get married first!’

‘No. Listen. When you have children, make sure you massage them the right way. I will teach you. Had your mom done my way, your legs would have been stronger, and you would have not been weak like you are now.’

I looked at her in disbelief. What if she had said the same thing when I was 14 and looking for answers? I wanted to give her a lecture on massage, children, parenthood, and most importantly, my medical condition. Yet I chose to pick up my cup, finish the last bit, and just walk away, because my halwa or chapatis might or might not turn out the best, but my values had.

Throughout the week Granny kept pushing me to learn things from her, but I told her how she had already taught me a lot. She had taught me the greatest lessons in what not to do.

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This story is a part of AtoZ challenge by Blogchatter. For the 2020 challenge, I'll be writing some travel stories and some stories that originate in my life but find a way to this blog through fiction.