Healing Aura

Let’s just call him that, though he would have loved it, if I put his name down here. I won’t though, as this is a very important and private part of me - he has managed to have a profound impression on the way my personality shaped up, without my ever realizing it. It’s just recently, that my son shook his head and rolled his eyes at his grandfather in that unmistakably “What the hell?” kind of attitude and my memories of my maternal grandfather – VBB were revived. It took me back thirty-three years through all the small settings that made up my childhood and his essence came back with clarity like scenes out of a long-forgotten storybook.

He was a man of average height, with snow-white hair, fair-skinned and handsome with a ready smile. Everyone who met him were sure to be charmed - children and grown-ups alike. He always dressed in a black blazer, white shirt sans tie, trousers and shoes. I remember him always carrying a walking-stick, as far as my memory takes me. He had suffered a stroke of paralysis and needed it while venturing out of the house. How can I forget, he was quiet portly too! Can you not picture him, a happy and endearing old man! Must have been quite the heartbreaker in his young age, I bet.

My sister and I grew up with my maternal grandparents in Girgaon, my parents were both working and stayed in Nallasopara. A stickler for education, my mother was left with no other option, but to ensconce us at Girgaon, due to dearth of good schools in Nallasopara. A greater stickler for education was VBB. I don’t know whether “stickler” is the right word, maybe “enthusiast” is a better word. What else would you call someone, who loved you beyond limits, just because you studied well, independent of your scrapes? Went out of the way to get your list of books on the day your results were declared and the next standard’s syllabus given? Always stood by you, when mom wanted justification for things gone wrong in school? Insisted you study on a full tummy? Went through funny jigs so that you would laugh? Never forgot your parents were what you needed and that grandma and he were poor substitutes?

He completed his schooling from an English-medium school some place in Belgaon, Karnataka. Spoke a smattering of English and Kannada. His English script was artistic and he always signed his name with a flourish. Oh yes, it’s true, I have seen him sign cheques umpteen number of times, when I accompanied him to the bank. He inculcated the habit of saving in me - he worked as a store manager for a small outlet of leather upholsteries. He earned well, managed to bring up six offspring and still saved in his own way. My grand-mom never had to rely on anyone else for her upkeep, when he died. All her expenses were covered by his money till the end, so says my mom.

VBB kept a good house. There was never any want of food at his home - all who came went away on a full stomach. Nobody was sent empty stomach during meal hours. He loved food and feeding people, especially the non-vegetarian variety. Most times he took me by the hand and we walked merrily to the market, talking, chatting and laughing. Result was that I learnt about how to verify the freshness of fish and how to haggle with the fisherwoman. The Grant Road market was huge - we could buy all groceries, fish, vegetables, provisions everything in one place. You could call it a departmental store. Better actually, because you could forge relationships with people, I did. Even when later on VBB could not accompany me to the market due to his health, the specific store owners knew the girl who always accompanied “Sahebji” (that was what they called him, he also spoke a smattering of Gujarati – Parsi style, and many people mistook him for one. Even after coming to know that he was a Maharashtrian by choice, the name stuck). Not once did anyone take me for a ride, even though I was young.

I was fortunate, that I had some one at home, who spoke Queen’s English. I owe the way I converse and write, to a large extent to VBB - poised, disciplined and fluent. None of his children picked up the language from him, he was busy with his work and they were all admitted to Marathi medium schools, though all of them spoke fantastic Gujarati. I think my knack for languages I got from him in inheritance. He was strict – we stayed in a chawl with a common gallery. My sister and I were not allowed to while away our time standing there – girls from good families did not do that. Though there were no restrictions on having friends. They were welcome to come home. There was a curfew by which time we had to be in the house.

He loved children to distraction. Maybe, that was the reason why his sons were spoiled silly and developed an ego the size of a mountain, notwithstanding the intelligence they possessed, lives gone waste in different ways. This taught me one thing, never impress upon children, that there was no one like them. His daughters turned out pretty well, I cannot say otherwise, in case my mother happens to read this write-up! Jokes apart, his less than perfect experiences with his children subconsciously programmed me to value the balance between love and the proverbial “iron hand” – figuratively, so to speak. Not to take away from the way he raised his children in anyway, obviously there is no one best method of raising them, after all they come in all shapes, sizes and temperaments. There is no sure-shot formula for winning there. You first have to be on your best behavior, let them know the right and the wrong in life and keep your fingers crossed.

Keeping oneself updated of the day to day happenings in the world was one more thing he stressed on. Be it through newspapers, television or word of mouth. I used to be a bit backward in this area - nowadays it’s my son, who keeps me abreast of what’s happening. Though the internet has given lightning speed to news and knowledge – how they travel, faster than you can say “Abracadabra”!!

I remember VBB’s last days – close to four years. He was bedridden, did not have the strength to walk out of the house. We all know how irritated and short-tempered sick people can turn. VBB was an exception. He lay there silently, calling out only when an emergency was there or he needed something. Four years in bed is no mean duration. Bedridden did not equate to “losing it”, he understood everything crystal clear. I remember, when I communicated that I had got a job, his eyes danced with joy. He was extremely happy. Granny took care of him for all of those four years – she was herself old and bent!! Now, that’s another story altogether.