'Appa', my son 'K' had an exciting tone! He had just recognized me in a picture. It was one of those family pictures that most Indian families had at home. The parents sitting in a chair and the children standing behind them.
"Who else is there in the picture, chellam", I asked my boy. He looked quizzical. He was still trying to comprehend my question. 'Appa', he said again! This time a little louder. Stressing on the 'pppaaahhh'. 'Who else?, who else? ', I asked again. 'Thatha', 'Gio thatha'; Bang came the reply. 'Chithapa', he continued, pointing to my younger brother.
'Go on', who else? I asked him! He stopped. He could not identify the fourth person in the picture. Sadly, the fourth person in the picture is not in his life.
It hit me hard. I had a lump in my throat. A sudden tear drop emerged. My heart felt heavy. My son will never know his grandmother. He will see her pictures and will eventually identify her in them. He may even hear stories about her greatness, but nothing can replace knowing the person in flesh and blood and sadly my son will never get to know her enough.
One of my life's greatest regrets is not having my paternal grandparents around growing up and listening to their stories, cuddling in their laps, perhaps fighting and arguing economics with my economist grandfather or getting to know about what it meant to be among the first women medical doctors of the country from my grandmother.
On one of those long nights when my mom and I went about chatting, like best friends do, she talked about having grandchildren. In her own inimitable way, she talked about how she would be inadequate to be a good grandmother. Then once after she was diagnosed with that dreaded disease and again on one of those long-nighters, when she knew she had very little time, she threw in a passing comment saying she wished to have spent enough time on this side of life to have grandchildren.
I truly hope that one day 'K' will search to know more about his late grandmom, search for stories on how she was almost worshipped in a small town in southern India, how people thronged to see her, to know how she touched the lives of many, to know that there are people on this earth named after her, to understand that her life was a legacy to not only admire but can even be emulated.
I wish people were as kind to 'K' as they were to my mom and he could show the kindness and the grace which she radiated. I wish that every time someone calls his name, he knows he is named after one great lady! I wish he would possess that sheepish innocent smile she had.
Wishes! Hopes!
Well, what can I give to bring her back in flesh and blood for him to touch and know her?
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