Some days manage to leave a mark far more than the others. It’s the same for people too. They don’t have to discover a planet, they don’t need to cure world hunger, their presence alone leaves a mark.
It was the same for my grandfather. They call him naïve because he trusted far too much. But I call him kind. There was never a time when he turned away a person asking for help from his doorstep. Be it day or night, he would always help. He constantly kept moving, there was always something to do. “Oh, the plants need more water.”, or “Oh, I need to fix that door handle.”
He always kept walking. So, why did he have to stop?
I still recall the last time I spoke to him. Clear as day. He told me a silly joke. He loved jokes, he used to fall asleep watching comedy shows. I huffed in annoyance, “Nanna! You and your jokes!”, he laughed absolutely delighted at it. Now I wish I had laughed at it.
I had spent my college days at my grandparents. I was prickly person back then, preferring my company to others. I still do sometimes. My grandfather though, had the patience of a saint at times.
I remember an incident; it was during my final year at college. I had a project and the journal had to be bound in a particular manner as my professor was an absolute tyrant. I was preparing the presentation and had forgotten about it. It was late night when I had realized it, my grandfather offered to get it done.
When he had returned with it, I saw it was done incorrectly. I had lost my temper and yelled at him. He didn’t say a word, just turned and left. My grandmother scolded me, and she was right to do so. I felt horrible. I went to apologize but he had left.
I returned to my work. After a while I saw him walking towards me. I went to apologize but he just smiled and gave me the journal. He had gone to get it re done.
He had his flaws, every person does; he was at times impatient, angry, and stubborn but his kindness overrode it all.
When I was a child, he would always go walking, he would bring me candies and what not. I’d always wait for him to return because I knew I would get some treat or the other.
When I turned 20, he still went walking and he would still bring me treats. In his mind I was still the same, frozen in time.
So, when the call came, that he was no longer there, I stood there, frozen in time.
Grief never gives you the time to analyse or even process what’s happening. Voice’s sound muffled as though you are underwater, drowning. Everything seemed to be happening far too fast and far too slow at the same time.
My mother kept repeating, “Let me talk to him, please let me hear his voice.”.
But it was too late.
We flew home the same day. Its odd, how a person becomes just a body. As though all that he is starts to decompose alongside his flesh.
My grandmother sat there, numb. People paying their condolences to us. Its human nature, to gather and express emotions that we don’t really feel for the sake of propriety.
“How do you feel?”, they asked.
“What do I say?”, I thought. If I were to choose a word it would be, cold. I felt cold. It felt as though I stood in a home without walls.
They took us to see him. There were so many people.
“Who are they?”, I asked to my grandmother much later. “Your grandfather had helped them.”, she replied.
He was encased in a glass container. He seemed asleep. My mother cried, her hands shaking, my brother looked stoically. I just wished I had laughed at the joke.
We buried him. A person who hated sleeping past 5AM. A person who never stopped walking.
My brother cried when he returned, unable to comprehend.
“How did this happen?”, I asked my grandmother much later. “When he stumbled, I knew.”, she replied.
