Dear grand mom,
Someone once said, there is no greater punishment than to see a loved one suffer. Standing near your bedside, I look at you. Wrinkled and frail. As I stood there watching, many memories came back to me.
Grand moms are the best that could happen in my life. You were my first audience for my music classes, my first assistant cook, my first student for mock classes we used to play as a child. You used cook yummy delicious food; your food always had that distinct flavour that anyone who ate will instantly know. You were a reservoir of knowledge, a rare one, especially not those taught in school. You taught me how to read panchangam, how to sew, how to handle things, and how not to do them. You came with conventions and customs, the traditional way of doing things; you were the reservoir of cultural knowledge. You took me around places, to all those carnatic concerts, packing foodstuff in case I go hungry during concerts. You were not the one who used to tell stories, that was exclusively grandpa’s job; you most often spoke reality of life, constantly and endlessly. This used to be irritating back then but as days went by it helped me be familiarized with reality as they happened. I have never seen you rest; rather you would constantly be doing something or the other, but then old age took a toll on your health. I could see that stepping in; you were not fond of slow movements. You used to make most of the things that one could buy from shops; you made sweaters, stitched dresses, made fresh juices, the list is actually endless. You knew most of the slokas to the letter; you could identify any singer, almost all of the songs, and the ragams and thalams that came with it. You never cease to amaze me. As days went by, I learnt a lot from your deeds, picked up many of your qualities, and never get tired of realizing how amazing you are to this very moment.
As I stood by there by your bedside, I saw my wonder-woman enduring agony, I saw the wrinkles spread across the soft skin of yours, and I remembered the day when I used to play with them. I touched those soft hands. You did recognise me, but your body and actions were not in your control. I left your bedside leaving this letter for you to read once you get well. As I was completing this letter , I thought maybe I could have spent more time, maybe I could have worked on reducing our arguments, maybe I could have spent those moments in a more fun manner. Nevertheless, we both were past all those times. Those moments helped me understand you more but you already knew me pretty well by then. Sometimes I never realize how quick life goes, how fast it zoomed past, yet I had rich memories to relish, those that can never be explained by words, those with so much love and care that I found nowhere else.
True indeed, hospitals have seen the sincere prayers than those at the temple. Hoping all would be well.
Yours dearest granddaughter.