We used to call her Pabbi , a name whose origin I didn’t know and neither did she. We called her that, well because everyone else did and so did we and moreover we didn’t know better. To the world she was just another octogenarian who spend most of her day sitting in her rocking chair on the veranda. But to me she was a “grand” – mother who had given me love of both a grandmother and mother.
Being a motherless child, she was the only source of love that exists between a child and his mother for me.My mother passed away in childbirth before I could even place her image in my mind, before I could even open my eyes to gaze at her and it was Pabbi who had taken care of me since I was a toddler feeding me, cleaning up after me, putting me to sleep and of course telling me all those bed time stories. She had come to stay with us soon after my mother passed away as there was no one to take care of me. People used to say that she would have looked exactly like my mother at her young age, well I guess she must have after all I had no living proof to refute that claim.
My father’s job made him travel across the country throughout the year and the frequency of his travel increased more after my mother’s death. I believe he wanted to keep himself preoccupied with work, somehow he never got over the loss of his wife. Friends and family had suggested that he remarry but he had brushed the idea away. I always felt a distance between us. It seemed to me as if he held me responsible for the untimely death of his loved one. So during my childhood instead of sitting on my father’s shoulder I got to sit in Pabbi’s lap, instead of playing sports with my father , I used to make that angel of a women fetch the football after I had kicked it without realizing the pain that she would be enduring with those arthritis ridden knees. Well in my defense all I can say is at that tender age I was not aware of the cruelties of old age and thus found it surprising when I found her out of breath within 5 minutes of playing with me.
The feature I liked most about her were her eyes, there was something enigmatic about them that made them seem so young and full of energy on that wrinkled and chubby face of hers. Their was a mystifying twinkle in them that I really can’t put in words. They looked so pious and placid and at the same time mysterious as if they carried some deep secrets of the era gone by. And then there was her smile, most natural and refreshing one that I have ever come across my life. It was as if god had permanently fixed that smile there like in the case of “bottle nosed dolphin”. In all those years I spent with her I had never seen her angry or upset and had never seen the tranquility of her smile disappear from her face.
Loquacity being a common trait in both of us, we used to loose track of time during our sessions and many a times they stretched even after midnight. She didn’t use to tell me childish stories about a lion and a mouse but about historical events, historical facts, things of the past, events and experiences of her life, pre independence era, the things that she had seen and witnessed with those hypnotic eyes of hers. She was the one who had sown the seeds for my interest in History at a very young age which later on helped me pursue my career in it. So since my childhood I had developed a great appetite for knowledge in whatever form it came and when most kids used to run away from studies I relished the whole experience of it.
She was a bit hit with all my friends in the neighborhood and this usually resulted in a house packed with screaming kids who just jumping here and there. Such was her charisma that even at her age we found a compatriot in her; such was her ability to gel with younger, mischievous minds. Some came to play with her, some to devour her cooking, which I must confess were truly heavenly. She was an instrument of sport amongst the kids of my neighborhood with girls doing her plait, putting kajal or some make up on her. The absence of a strict elder in my house made it a perfect get away for all the kids and the spacious surroundings and garden gave ample space to play around. So my house was the den of the neighborhood which made me feel important. Little did we care in those times about the mess we created and about the person who had to clean up after us. She was a part of most of our games and frolics that did not involve her to get up from her rocking chair.
It was one sunny Sunday afternoon many moons ago the events of which have left such a mark on me that I have a very vivid memory of that eventful day. Being a holiday me and my friends were playing hide and seek in and around my house. The ample foliage, trees and my old British raj bungalow provided plenty of places for us to hide and we made the most of it. While we kids were amok, Pabbi was sitting docilely on her rocking chair with a rosary in one of her hands.
It was my turn to seek and I was going about checking the usual places where my friends usually hid. I was having trouble finding my friends so I thought of cheating, which I at times did and which incidentally was not difficult for me as I had my spy planted on the veranda who usually saw and thus knew where the kids were hiding. Yes, Pabbi had many a times helped me whenever it was my turn to seek. As I could not ask her aloud we had devised a code, all I did was look at her and tilt my head upwards and the direction in which she turned her head would give me a clue about the hiding place of my partners. We had also devised some hand signs for the common hiding spots.
It had taken me lot of coaxing to convince her to be a part of my ploy but in the end my persistence had won me an ally.
This time too I thought of making use of my asset in disguise and so I nonchalantly walked towards her and to make my move. She was sitting calmly in her chair and staring at a distance. I whistled in a low tone to attract her attention, No response! This did not surprise me as she was in a habit of sleeping with hr eyes open. Now what to do I thought, I could not openly call out for her help. So, I casually called out to her to ask her the time, even though I knew she was wearing her wristwatch but I just wanted. to awaken her. When even that did not arose her from her siesta I thought of letting it go and went on to look for my friends alone. After some initial success I was soon tagged by one of my friends and so lost. As it was getting pretty late in the afternoon we all thought of calling it quits and heading to our respective homes for lunch.
So I walked back to mine with a swollen face so as to confront Pabbi for not helping me.
She was still sound asleep, I walked towards her to wake her up. As soon I touched her face the coldness of her flesh sent a chill to my spine. I knew something was wrong, out of instinct I put my ear to her heart as I had playfully done many a time to listen to the rhythm of her heart beat. But today I was greeted by an eerie silence. I shouted and ran back, I don’t know why, perhaps I was afraid, afraid of loosing the one that I loved the most in this world, perhaps my little mind sensed that something was not right I really don’t know but I just ran.
I turned back to look at her before crossing over to our neighbor’s yard and saw the smile still there, the twinkle still present and the chair still rocking.
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