'The wisest men of my life'

Nanaji (My Maternal Grandpa)

Dadaji (My Paternal Grandpa)

These were, and these are the wisest men of my life. Today, when I've lost both my grandfathers I realize that how very little time is given to us to enjoy best of the pleasures and to seek best of the treasures of life. Old people’s wisdom is one of those greatest treasures, given to us for a short time, and we are supposed to draw as much we can, from this lot. 

But we are bound to become very stone hearted at times. However we sometimes don’t understand what the matter with us is, when we do not wish to give up our little big benefits we get by staying in our dear old ones’ company, but then inevitably comes a time when we find ourselves praying for end of their sufferings. We ourselves want to stick to life at any rate, but we start to understand that how worthless and useless life starts to seem to the people of age. When they've had done and seen enough in their lives, they do not wish see it going the ways they wouldn't have wanted to see it.  As soon as they give the reins in their successors’ hands, they just want to continue their journey, to find the solace and peace they’d been running after, throughout their lives. And when they start feeling that they've given enough and no more should be asked from them now, we also start feeling both their weariness and haste.

Very stupidly, we do think it’s just illness and childishly we wait for the days when we would again be able to enjoy their company and learn from their wise words, but actually we are wishing somehow to reverse the time and that never happens. Busy in our own journeys, unfortunately and frequently we keep postponing spending enough time with them. Time comes and we face it, though it takes us weeks, months and years to admit this unacceptable yet unavoidable truth that people are mortal, even our most loved ones are. And we have forever lost the incredible opportunities to awe at their thoughts, with so much left in hearts, so much to ask, and so much to say.

It’s been almost 6 years to the day when my maternal grandfather (Nanaji) left us. I was about 15 and perhaps too young to understand and accept the fact. During his last two years, I used to wish for his wellness every day, I had a strong belief that he is just ill and when he‘ll get well, he’ll be as enthusiastic and energetic as he used to be in his younger age. While he was ill, somehow I started to dislike being near him; I just wanted him to be full of youth, cleverness like before. Now I think, with great pain, that how stupid of me it was, for not making full use of that little time fate had given me, I should have sat near him more often, talked to him more even if he did not respond with his likely energy, tried to extract few more interesting secrets he might be knowing about the world. Now I am 21 and now I understand this better, but what good it does now; I can just touch the trees he had planted in his life and weep silently hugging them.  I did not understand it then, when my mother cried madly at the news, I was not feeling anything that time but I also hated myself for that.

My mom with her mom ( My Naniji)

I used to get only summers to meet my grandfathers, equal days to spend at both homes and to never let bedtime stories to miss. As a child, I used to think that grandparents are equal to lots of stories. When I grew up a little, I started to appreciate the hidden lessons, opinions and attitude towards life, I started to enjoy afterstory discussions. I was fascinated by both of them having vast knowledge of herbs, indigenous medicines and cures, understanding of nature and (with a hint of horror, of course) their prophet like talents.

 It just reminded me of something and I feel a pang in heart; my paternal grandfather (Dadaji) used to sing very beautifully, regularly at the time of dawn.  Just 5 months ago when we went to our villages, in a very early morning, I heard him singing, after a very long time (as I was visiting him in 4 years). I wanted to record that, but as I woke up fully and was just thinking to get my camera ready, the song was over. Without giving it a great thought, I just decided that I’ll record it next time whenever he will sing. We had only one night to stay there, so there was no next time in that trip and there came no next time ever again.

 In few days, I’ll be going to our village, to feel the hollowness he has left there, to miss his voice in the morning breeze and his wisdom and humor in stillness of dusk. I will have to see my now very old grandmother sitting in that house with the air of sadness and loneliness, the house which was like the only peaceful place in the world for me.

Mom, Me & Grandma ( My Dadiji)

 I hate to think about that, but I must go, if I want to make myself believe in this undeniable truth that he has left us, I’d never be able see that kind face, father of father, my dear grandfather is nowhere to be found but in our memories, now. No one can be at their place. When I heard that I've lost my Dadaji too, for a split second, I felt like an orphan. But this time, it took just a day to accept the truth and start suffering …

I know, I will be fine, for it is the way the life is. Time never stops and we mustn't, too. Yet, I’ll miss you always. Had I given a little more time, I’d have mended my foolish mistakes; I’d have not let you go without answering my tricky questions and completing our important discussions about the working of the world, strengths and weaknesses of humanity, kindness and rage of nature. But now what all I want to do is to spend more time in laps of both my grandmothers (Naniji and Dadiji). I wish, I pray that, may my silly excuses never be enough to overpower my love for them and my desire to stay near them.

So, if you have them with you, spend time with your grandparents, people, not for them, for your own selves. You can grow and you will rise, just with their blessings.