Curtain Call

The pounding sledgehammer in my stomach woke me up in the middle of the night. Groaning in pain, I walked towards the bathroom. I didn’t know that in the very next room, an 86 year old lady was being kept awake by an even mightier sledgehammer, somewhere inside her aging body. My grandmother had been bed ridden for five years, her condition worsening every summer. By this time, she had lost comprehensibility, mobility and clarity in speech. The only way she communicated was through smiles, mumbles, head shakes and finger pointing. She was strong. She was rusting, but she never let it bog her down.

This afternoon, she suffered her last. What began as cringes and moans, turned into a vacant stare towards the ceiling. Relatives came pouring in. Nobody wanted to admit that she had breathed her last. It was something we could have all absorbed on our own, but instead we had to call upon strangers to confirm it. The Scrubs from a nearby hospital strutted in with their fancy equipment. One of them demanded a torch. And then the sledgehammer in my stomach went shooting up to my head. He stretched open both her eyes and flashed the torch light on her pupils. Her eyes were now unusually wide open, her mouth gaping mildly. Within the next minute we learned that we could run whatever tests we wanted to run, but none of them would bring life back into this old woman. The room burst into tears, but my father went about completing the formalities, emotionlessly. I had seen him tear up only once in my life. That was six years ago, when he sat by his father’s body, singing silently to himself, while two tears trickled out of his shut eyelids.

My father had lost his mother. My mother had lost her mother-in-law. My other grandmother had lost her best friend. Grieving relatives first comforted us. I found that really thoughtful. Ever since I was born, my grandparents had lived under the same roof as me. It was hard to imagine a house without my grandmothers. And now one of them had taken leave.

I found myself doing something I never thought I had the guts to do. I sat alone with a corpse. Though, it was my grandmother. I couldn’t link her to the aforementioned C word. She didn’t seem dead to me. She was my grandmother. One of the two women who love me as much as my mother does. A woman so beautiful, she smiled brightly everyday despite being immobile for six years. The sweet lady I tucked into bed every night, thinking this was the most genuine smile I had given to someone all day, every day. People were naturally drawn to her. I say this with conviction because we had people coming over to visit her every other day. It was heart-warming. Now I fear that no one will come our side again. She was what made people want to come to our home. And now, she’s lying lifelessly inside an ice box.

I watched her body turn a pale yellow, as I sat beside her. It was just the two of us in that room. I tapped on her a couple of times and called out to her. No, I was not going crazy from grief. Something about calling out to her liberated me. Every time I tapped on her shoulder, I felt a quick flicker of hope. As if she would open her eyes and ask me what. It didn’t happen, I knew it wouldn’t. My aunt came in now and then. She ran her palms softly over her mother’s face, and stroked her arms gently. She kissed her a couple of times. I watched, and felt this consuming warmth, even though I wasn’t the one being caressed. I wanted to hug my grandmother too. I wanted to kiss her ice cold cheeks and tell her I miss her already.

While all of India celebrated the coming home of the ICC Cricket World Cup, my family mourned the departure of our ultimate link, from the world. She ensured team India bagged the title of World Champions, before she left. She was considerate. She chose the day after the World Cup final to grab attention. All her life she had played second fiddle to cricket. Right from her husband, to her grandchildren, everyone has been cricket-crazy. She wasn’t going to meddle with that love, even during her last days. She timed her exit perfectly, the classy lady that she is.

Like every other night, she now lays asleep. She looks no different from her usual self, except that she has cotton stuffed into her ears, up her nostrils and Tulsi leaves in her mouth. She lies motionless inside a glass box like Snow White. And that is what she has always been to me. My Snow White. Her skin had always been soft and fair. Her eyes were a remarkably familiar blue. I couldn’t help but notice how exotic they were, when my father asked me to shut them, this evening. Her smile was relieving, whether she had her dentures on or not. Her hair was a beautiful white and gold, which even now frames her head so neatly. Today was the last time I combed her shiny hair.

Death is a remarkable thing. You ignore all of its warnings, and then it hits you with the most excruciating blow, out of nowhere. I lost two family members in the span of three weeks. One that taught me how to drive, and the other who had taught my father, close to everything he knows today.

When someone who has been around for every day of your life, suddenly isn’t with you anymore, it leaves you with an irreparable void. I want my grandmother back. If only I could defy all logic, reason and science. My father, a man of unbreakable stone, broke down, today. For the first time in my life, I saw him openly weep. I woke up to that dreaded sight, the morning after she delved into the world of nothingness. He stared at her ice box and silently wept. She had managed to induce tears in my hero. The man who had always been unperturbed by any worldly goings on. A man so detached and spiritual, reality was void of any fantastic elements for him. He is strong, all-knowing and bold. He is a happy man. But he had now lost the one person he was attached to…

And she didn’t even say goodbye.