Grandma questions conferences

Two days before I was supposed to board a flight to Seattle, my favorite city in the world, both my conferences got cancelled. I had spent almost a year planning this seven-week long trip with multiple conference talks, invited talks, presentations, work meetings, sleepover parties, and dinner plans with old friends across Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, and San Antonio. All gone in a whiff.

 

I was so numb and disoriented the first day that I did not know how to function. By day two, I had to have Bailey’s shots before I could sleep well at night. After spending a busy quarter teaching and traveling, I was really looking forward to this trip. I had said no to a work trip to Kolkata, something I would usually not do otherwise, so that I could be in Seattle.

 

Baby Kalyani threw a tantrum and said, "Auntie not coming, not fair!!" Her little sister looked dejected. Overnight, more than half a page from my vita vanished. My suitcase was packed, and now, I was left with kilos of snacks from Sukhadiya Garbaddas Bapuji and Induben Khakrawaala I did not know what to do with. Continuing my rant on my first world problems, I suddenly did not know what to do with all the unaccountable time. There was still research to do, but suddenly there were no meetings scheduled, no interviews, no students asking me for my time. I had cleared my calendar of everything for 7 weeks. Now, I had the gift of time and did not know what to do with it.

 

I decided to visit Kolkata and spend some time at home. My family, who was traveling at that time, made super quick plans to come back before I did. My sister finished her office for the day and decided to show up. My grandma, who is old and not as mobile, ordered her to be brought to our place. Everyone knew I would be in a terrible mood. Barely two hours before I landed, the entire family in different corners of the city and state had regrouped to welcome me.

 

And welcome me with something that always works- food. My parents stopped at Shanti Niketan to get me the most amazing Gokul Pithe. My sister got me the best mutton biryani I have had in a while. My parents asked me to list what I was craving. For the next twenty-four hours, everything I was craving the last 3 months was there- from begun pora to bel to toker daal to homemade kababs and what not. It seemed like an entire army was deployed to take care of me. And the narrative went something like, "Ahaare bachcha meye ta conference e jete parlona." The poor little girl (poor? little?) could not go to the conference.

 

My sister and I giggled and gossiped till late hours, just like we used to. I heard her telling my brother-in-law on the phone, "Look, I don't know when I am coming home, I just need to spend some more time here." My entire family made it their mission to make me happy.

 

But then, the talk came, from my grandma. Hands on her hips, she asked me, "Hya re, conference talk dile ki taaka daye?" (Do they pay you for speaking at conferences?)

 

Money? No. I pay money to go to conferences. They do not pay me.

 

What? Then why are you losing sleep over cancelled conference talks, she chided.

 

My family does not understand much of how academia works. Sometimes, through their eyes, I get a fresh perspective!

 

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Checking up the doctor

Humor makes light the gravest of illnesses. At the doctor’s office, the doctor turned out to be a cute guy. Back home, the discussion naturally boiled down to, is he single? Could he, all cute and nice smiles and nerdy glasses and all, be single? The discussion took various turns, with the over-protective dad frowning as if the daughter finding someone cute is a terrible thing to happen to humanity, and the mom going off on an unending rant about how she let go off so many opportunities by getting hitched early in life and how I should continue valuing my freedom to do whatever or live wherever I choose to.

Apparently I have a psycho-magnet inside me, which is how I attract all the psychos in my life, she claims. Very oddly, she reminded me of the last time a guy I was interested in came home (odd because I could not even remember who the guy was), and she had put on her designer blouse and silk sari in the summer heat and cooked up a storm, even forgot to serve him posto because there were so many things to eat, yet there was no tangible outcome (tangible meaning a wedding in the timeline). I have no idea why mom chose to wear a designer blouse to impress someone I was interested in, or why does she even remember what happened in the last decade, but that's beyond the point. Both the parents started reacting as if I am underage or the doctor is underage. They both looked like they are suffering enough in their own marriage.

However, grandma became my hero. In between all this verbal commotion, she spoke up.

"We need to find out if the young man is single to begin with," she proclaimed. And how?

"I'll come with you the next time and while he is examining you, I will start making small talk. Small talk how? Ki baba, kemon aacho, bari kothaye? Barite ke ke thake?"

How are you doing? Where is your home? Who else lives in your family?

Will old grandma accompany her grandchild the next time to the doctor, holding her walking stick with shaky hands? Will grandma make small-big-talk, like she promised? Will the cute doctor turn out to be single?

I may or may not get hold of the doctor, but I hope that I can hold on to my cute, loving grandma till the last day of my life.

Update: The doctor turned out to be single. I happened to lose interest in him.

Dad sighed in relief. And my mom acutely observed (and remarked): "I think you are looking for a manager in life, not a partner."

I think she might have a point.

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Money matters

An acquaintance's daughter recently bought her own plane ticket for a holiday trip by paying 2/3rd of the plane fare from her own savings. She is 9 years old!

I felt so proud of her when I learnt this. As a child, although I was never asked to, I would save up all the 10 and 20 rupees I got as birthday gifts from relatives (this was the eighties, so 10 and 20 rupees mattered a lot). Once in a while, you'd see a 6-year old me squatting on the floor and fervently counting my money. Then, my maternal grandpa would visit us, top off my savings and round it off, and buy me savings certificates from the bank and the post office that would double or treble my money after a certain number of years.

Actually let me back up a little bit. I knew my money even before I had learnt my numbers. I was very little when my grandma once left a green 5 rupee note/bill in my hand as she was leaving. I was asleep, and in my sleepy state, I knew that there was money in my hand. Later, my mom took away that money, lest I lose it. When I woke up and asked for it, my mom, unmindful, tucked a red two rupee note in my hand. I threw a tantrum, saying, "I don't want red money, I want green money." This was even before I was number literate. 

When I started tutoring students in my late-teens, it became even easier to save money. My habit of buying savings certificates continued, and so did my habit of counting money. I did not need grandpa's help anymore. Once I was counting the notes when a storm appeared all of a sudden and blew away two 500 rupee notes from the top floor balcony. That was the closest I have come to having a heart attack (I ran downstairs in lightning speed and retrieved them in time though).

The excitement of counting money is gone now, simply because there is no money to see, smell, touch, and count. It is all invisible money that gets deposited in a bank. Even then, paydays are my favorite days, and I excitedly log in to my bank account to see my bank balance increase. As kids, we were never encouraged to save or earn money. Doing odd jobs for money was seen as time wasted, time that could be spent studying and improving grades. As a result, I can afford a dozen trips to Utah now, but will never know the excitement of saving and buying my own travel tickets as a nine year old. 

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What are you looking forward to today?

I had a dental surgery this morning where they implanted titanium screws in my gum. It is a part of routine dental procedure that has lasted me for more than a year now. Naturally, I was scared shitless. I have realized that I am my most insecure self when my health is suffering. From living alone to traveling alone, I start questioning everything. All my spunk and crazy enthusiasm for life goes out of the window, I just binge on negative self-talk.

Anyway, I survived the three pokes they made to find the vein on my right arm (the nurse even asked me if knew what arm they used last year, as if I would remember), the grogginess due to anesthesia, a couple of stitches and some bloodshed, as well as getting high on hydrocodone. I decided to stay home and rest for the day. I kept getting in and out of a semi-state of nausea and half-wakefulness all day. In the evening, I got to see the beautiful colors of the sky after sunset from my apartment, something that I do not get to see from office.

I also called grandma and told her that I would not be able to talk, so she should talk to me. She is quite a chatterbox, always high on the little joys of life, and had quite a bit to say. The thing about talking to family is that there is often a prescriptive syllabus of conversations they keep falling back on, not because it is useful, but because it is easy small talk. Have you cooked? What have you eaten? Is it still cold? Are you taking precautions while crossing the road? When are you visiting? We miss you. How will you manage things on your own? Indians will never learn to keep their environment clean (a broad generalization lacking data-based evidence). Rickshaw fares are going up. Vegetable prices are going up (anyone heard of the word “inflation”?)

I really do not care about such small, usually negative talk. A lot of things around us might be wrong, but if I only focused on the negatives and kept ranting about how cold it is in winter and how expensive healthcare is (I just shelled $3.2k for the dental procedure this morning even after good insurance coverage, you do the math now), I will never move forward in life. There is Chetan and there is Chitra. It is my choice to decide what I spend my time reading (I know the difference because I have read both before making up my mind). Although preferably, I would rather read Lahiri's short fiction. I am a sucker for short stories, in particular.

So I asked grandma a simple question-

Grandma, it is Tuesday morning in Kolkata. What are you looking forward to today?

Grandma was flustered. I am sure no one has asked her this question before. So I asked her to think again and repeated the question.

She had to come up with something since I would not let go. So she said,

“There is so much work to do. The domestic help will arrive soon. Your father will leave for office soon. The vegetables need to be chopped. Lot of work today.”

I knew she was dodging my question. So very patiently, I explained the question again. I asked that amid all her chores that she just described, what is one thing she is looking forward to today? And she again repeated about how at her age, life is monotonous and her knees hurt and she will die soon, so there is nothing to look forward to. So I told her that everyone of us will die, sooner or later, and she is not special. I told her that the response to my question could be anything, any small, but genuine thing. To which, she said that she will be happy when I visit her next.

I once again knew what she was doing. Putting the onus of her happiness on others (which is attachment and conditional, but not love). I told her that I have no plans of visiting, but she could take some time and think about my question. This time, she thought. And her answer warmed my heart.

She said that she is looking forward to the open doors today.

Kolkata is in the throes of winter, but the weather is slowly warming up. She is a balcony person, she loves standing at the balcony and watching people go around with their life. People headed to work, children headed to school, vegetable and fruit sellers going around in their rickety trolley rickshaws selling stuff. She said that given the winters, the balcony door has been closed and she has missed watching people. Today is the first day it has warmed up a bit, and after her chores, she is looking forward to an open balcony door, sunlight streaming in and she spending time in the balcony. It was endearing. And I think I had finally succeeded in my mission.

She asked me the same question next. I said that it was already evening for me, and I had a rough day at the doctor’s, but tomorrow, I am looking forward to staying home for a specific reason. My apartment gets a lot of sunlight on days when the sun shows up. So I am looking forward to seeing how the sun lights up my living room and kitchen in the morning and my bedroom in the evening. I no longer have a grand view of a fjord and cruise ships the way I did from my home in Germany, but I live in a very nice neighborhood with beautiful homes, tall trees, and I am looking forward to a day of sunshine at home (pun unintended).

I then asked her to write down one small thing that she would be looking forward to everyday in her diary. I don’t know if she would, but it would be a wonderful read if she does. I think I will do the same, not for social media and Facebook propaganda, but just for me.

The thing is, there is a lot of bad in the world. But there is also a lot of good in the world. What you focus on makes you who you are/become. Often, when you ask someone how they are, they will usually reply with a lot of whining, like “আর বলিসনা, গায়ে ব্যাথা, পায়ে ব্যাথা।“ (Literal translation: Don’t ask. Pain in the body. Pain in the legs). I do it too. I don’t think people do it consciously. They do it because the others do it. Many people view the ongoing of the world as an outsider, an onlooker in third person. However, we are not outsiders to the world, we are what makes up the world. We are the world.

Today, I am thankful that I am able to afford healthcare in the US (I know that many cannot), that I was able to rest and enjoy my home (which does not happen often), and that I was able to chat with my grandma at leisure (she is my only living grandparent now). What are you looking forward to today?

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Whitemares

When I was little, my grandma and I had a deal. Summer afternoons, she would lie down to rest, and I would earn 10 paise for every white hair I plucked off her head. It was a sweet deal, and I am sure many children growing up in India had such deals with their grandparents. I would play with her long hair, comb it, oil it, and braid it, and she loved the comfort of me touching her head with my little hands.

Fast forward life 25 years. I am glad that I had that practice. I am now using those fine motor skills on myself. I am living my nightmares! Those are called the whitemares!

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The art of doing nothing

Grandma goes up the terrace twice a day for her walks. I do not accompany her at 6 am, but I try to accompany her at 6 pm. And while she walks and rotates her hands and her neck this way and that way, I do absolutely nothing. This time with grandma has taught me the art of doing nothing. Sometimes, I bring a book with me, but barely read it. Sometimes, I bring my camera to take a few pictures of the coconut trees, the sunset, or the high-rise buildings under construction. But most of the time, I do nothing. I lie down on my back and take a short nap or look at the sky and the airplanes. Sometimes, I bring a bowl full of kalojaam or black berries with me. And while I munch on them, I deliberately try spitting out the seeds from the terrace in a projectile motion to see how far each one can go. I look at what's in other people's rooftops. Someone is growing bitter gourds or pumpkin flowers while the others have hung clothes to dry. I try to spot the different landmarks of the city- The Howrah Bridge, the Salt Lake Stadium. I try to identify the different kinds of birds, although my knowledge about birds is restricted to the crows, sparrows, and pigeons alone. I hum a tune or two, or think of some research ideas that I could pursue. But mostly, as grandma is working out and sweating it out, I take great pleasure in sitting with her and doing absolutely nothing. Because doing nothing for an hour everyday actually frees up my mind later on to do much more.

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Grand Storytelling

A gentleman once boarded a crowded bus on a wintry morning, traveling with his wife, and two cauliflowers. Freshly plucked, he had bought them from the grocer near the Howrah Station for an excellent deal. A pair of huge cauliflowers with ripe florets weighed down his arms while he stood in the crowd. With her tiny frame, his wife had somehow managed to find a seat in the bus. However, he kept standing, making small talk with his fellow passengers, like he always did. 

For the rest of the ride, he held on to the bus rails with one hand, beaming and recounting to the fellow passengers how he had struck gold by managing to find these cauliflowers for ten rupees only. The fellow passengers nodded with interest. As the rickety bus continued to navigate the cobbled streets of Howrah, the gentleman continued to chatter, telling people about the wedding ceremony at home. His nephew was getting married soon, and the cauliflowers would be cooked for lunch by the women in the family. The three brothers lived together in a big house, with their wife, sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. The daughters and sons-in-laws were visiting too. Caterers were not in vogue back then, and the women in the household cooked together for every ritual before the wedding, although there would be a designated group of thakurs (cooks) hired for the main wedding spread. 

The fellow passengers listened with feigned interest as the chatty gentleman talked. When the stop arrived, the gentleman and his wife got off the bus. And so did one of the fellow passengers. Without preamble, the passenger shoved a ten rupee bill in the gentleman's hand, grabbed the cauliflowers, and vanished in the crowd. Just like that. The gentleman looked at the ten rupee bill, too confused to react quickly. Didn't he just carry the heavy produce all the way in a crowded bus, so that his family could cook it for lunch?

His wife misunderstood what happened, thinking that her husband just handed the cauliflowers as a good Samaritan. She bickered. He lost his temper, his ego already bruised. He argued back. And like children after a fight, he just started walking faster, using long steps. The house was a good fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop, and her four feet ten inches were no match for his six feet one inch frame. Not used to walking alone on the busy streets, she was hurt and confused, and wiped tears as she walked as fast as she could, trying to catch up with her husband. Still angry, he soon disappeared into the crowd. 

She crossed the dhopa'r maath (washerman's field), the narrow bylanes, and the pond, taking the final left to enter the corridor to the house. A movement caught her eye, and she turned to find her husband strategically hiding himself behind a tree, so that he could watch her walk back safely without her knowing it. She ignored him and entered the house, bursting into tears, managing to summarize the basic details of the event as she wiped tears. The brothers, sisters-in-law, nephew and nieces scolded him for acting childishly, while he stood there all grumpy until his anger melted. They did not eat cauliflowers that day, but still had a good lunch. 

My grandma just recounted this autobiographical story back from the nineties, for the umpteenth time. I have heard this story many times now, but still ask her to recount it. This is because I love my grandma's knack for storytelling. And once she did, I summarized it here. This is an ordinary, commonplace, inconsequential story from one day of my grandparents' life. Nothing life-changing, nothing spiritually awakening. But I still love it. I think that grandmas are the best storytellers, giving you a glimpse of a world where you either did not exist, or were too different to relate to. I have many friends here who grew up in different countries all over the world. I am curious about the stories all your grandmas told. And while I hope that you share some, I will try to document my share of stories, from my grandma's point of view.

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Our homegrown celebrity

A few years ago, grandma fell very sick, taking to the bed. Diabetes led to the gradual failing of her kidneys, and she had to be hospitalized for a long time. It's a story from many years ago, she is perfectly fit now after working out, having lost 55 lbs and slimming down beyond recognition. But back then, my mom visits her one day at the hospital. She is hooked to a dozen different pipes and monitors. Her face is all swollen, eyes closed, breathing heavily. A number of instruments are constantly recording her vitals. The doctor is wondering if they should start dialysis. Grandma is sick beyond recognition.

When my mom sits by her bed, grandma slowly opens her eyes. With great effort, she tries to smile. Despite her condition, there is a twinkle in her eyes. She tells mom, "Do you know, Suchitra Sen's physician is now my physician?"

In her tryst with death, what excites her about life is that she now shares her physician with a celebrity. When her physician recently died, grandma expressed her sadness to my mom, "We lost our physician. Suchitra Sen and I."

Suchitra Sen was a renowned Bengali actor of the yesteryear from the 1950s. Someone like Meg Ryan of Hollywood or Madhuri Dixit of Bollywood.

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The real art of living

I often write about my grandma, because there is so much to write about her. At a time when all of us have been disappointed with life, she tells me that what keeps her going strong despite all the odds is the single minded desire to live.

Grandma fell very sick about 2 years ago. Her blood sugar and cholesterol shot up, kidneys went haywire, and there were many things that went wrong. From hospitalizations to passing out, she saw it all. Since then, she cannot drink more than one bottle of fluid a day. Which means that if she has a bowl of lentils or soup, she will have to subtract the same amount from a bottle of water. Imagine thriving in the Indian summer that way.

Eventually, grandma decided to fight her diseases. She completely changed her diet. For someone who has no access to the gym, she started brisk walking every day. She did this for a while, and lost 25 kilo (55 lbs). Imagine losing that much weight for someone less than 5 feet tall, and that old (Metabolism slows down with age). Eventually, all her diseases started disappearing, and her readings came back to normal. Now, she wakes up at 4 am everyday and sprints up to the terrace for her walks, goes up and down 5 flights of stairs every now and then (she lives on the fifth floor), takes all the washed clothes to the terrace to dry, takes care of grandpa, and is much fitter. I recently saw her picture, and she looks so thin, that I could not recognize her, despite knowing her all my life. I joked that she could easily join Hollywood. She has almost become grandma/2. 

My uncle one day got her a piece of fish fry, and she said that she was looking at outside food after 1.5 years. She was so worried about eating it that she nibbled on it, and took an entire hour to finish it little by little. And last we spoke, she told me the same thing. I do not care about good food anymore. I just want to live well.

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Mystery Chemistry

One of the things you will instantly notice about grandma is the energy, and the desire to live. When I went to meet her recently, she was nicely decked up in a white and pink sari and wore nail polish because I was visiting (grandma loves nail polish). She cooked some great lunch, and took a lot of pleasure in feeding me. And she told me a story that left me amused, rolling on the floor laughing, and appreciating her even more. She is a great storyteller, and is full of stories. 

Grandma was very sick a few months ago. Her systems were failing, and things did not look good. Once she recovered, she fully went on a diet, lost some 30 kilos, and got stronger and fitter. All her readings became normal. She was bedridden for a while but these days, she wakes up very early, climbs down the stairs from the fifth floor, and goes to the nearby lake to walk. This story is her account of what happened there one day, written in first person.

Grandma: Everyday I go walking, I meet so many people my age out for a walk. One day, I saw a gentleman out of the corner of my eyes. Tall, good looking, wearing nice intellectual glasses and smart walking shoes. I wondered who he is. As if reading my thoughts, he intercepted me and smiled. "Do you come here every day? I have seen you often", he asked. I nodded and smiled. "Do you have trouble with your knees?" he asked again. We struck up a conversation, and he said that he has sustained knee injuries too. Then, he asked if he can show me some knee exercises that has worked wonders for him. He did that, and after smiling and nodding, he took his own trail to walk some more. When he was done, he intercepted me again, bid me adieu, and said, "Bhalo thakben didibhai" (Take care, elder sister).

Grandma said this and burst out rolling on the floor laughing. And so did we.

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Toeing the line

My granny is someone worth adoring, mostly for her antics. She is the oldest amongst women in the family, and the most organized, stylish, and fashion conscious. While I am seen mostly in some ragged clothes, usually without makeup, and I don’t even bother to comb my hair every day, she is just the opposite. She is fair (and this is based on societal notion that being fair is synonymous with being beautiful), petite, and is amazing with self-care. Every morning, she will first take a bath, oil, comb, and braid her hair, put some Bath & Body Works lotions I get her from here (she takes so much pride in using US cosmetic products), dab some face powder, and would then go around with the household chores. In the evening, she will take her own time off, go for a walk, take another shower, wear a nice sari, apply more cream and face powder, and would spend time in front of the television watching her favorite shows. Too bad she isn’t seen wearing a gown, glass of wine in hand, wearing her pearls and watching the television. What amazes me is the way she works around her schedule to do what she needs to do with household chores, and still manages to find time for self-care. She would spend some time everyday glossing over fashion magazines and watching the latest stuff on television. She might be old, but far from ignorant. Sonu Nigam is her favorite singer, and she is aware of every latest Hindi movie and Bollywood gossip. She also takes great pride in the fact that her granddaughter can speak fluent English, and lives in America, which is accessible only by airplanes. She seriously thinks I would have done great in Bollywood, so breathtakingly beautiful and talented I am.

Neither my mother nor I have inherited her impeccable sense and taste for fashion. A few weeks before Durga Puja, my mother would be frantically finishing her last moment shopping, not knowing what to buy for herself or for the family. It is then that my granny will smile smugly, for she carefully manages her time and resources throughout the year, and does her shopping year round. Honestly, neither I, nor my mother care about the ritual of wearing new clothes for the Pujas. Granny will surprise us, because she will have something new to wear twice a day, every day during the Pujas. She will never repeat the same sari in succession, and will always wear a different color. With the limited money and mobility she has, I am amazed at how well she does for herself, looking always prim and proper, her wardrobe neatly stacked with saris of every color and make.

These days her eyesight is getting bad, hence she asks my mother to apply bright red nail polish on her fingers every time she visits my mother. We make fun of her, calling her the “beauty queen of the family”. She doesn’t mind, she thinks we are too casual and do not spend any time with self-care. This post is based on a telephonic conversation with my mother a few weeks ago.

When my father underwent a brain surgery, my granny decided to come stay with my parents for some time and help my mother with work. While mother did the outside work, visiting the hospital and taking care of my father, granny took care of the house, cooked, supervised the maid, and so on. Eventually father came home, and there would be dozens of people visiting him every day. The societal support we get in India during crisis is amazing. There hasn’t been a single day when I have called home to see how he is doing, and there haven’t been a bunch of people surrounding him. It is so much work, especially since you have to offer them tea and snacks and cater to them.

So my granny comes with a bottle of bright red nail polish one afternoon and asks mother to apply it on her toes. Mother looks clearly confused, since she didn’t want it on her hands this time. Mother tried her usual trick of shrugging it away, arguing about who really notices the feet. It is then that granny shocks her with her new theory about nail polish on the feet. She argues that since so many people are visiting to meet my father, they always bend down to touch my granny’s feet as a sign of respect. Hence, granny doesn’t want her feet to look ugly, and now wants bright red nail polish on her toes. Can you beat that logic?

Granny is adorable for all her antics and eccentricities, and for whoever she is. It is a virtue, to hold on to someone's values and beliefs even during the most trying circumstances.

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