Last time, when I wrote about my grandmother, ‘aama’ it set me off thinking. A series of incidents from my childhood have started coming back to me. I feel I have to write them down because even if only one other person reads this it will be worthwhile. Atleast, one other person will know what my grandmother did for me.
When I was little, I was very prone to falling sick. As I missed school often, I felt very out of place at school. In those days, I don’t know if it is still the case in Nepal, teachers were partial towards kids who did well in school. And when a student missed class too often they made you feel like it was your fault. After missing school for a week, aama decided that even if I was not completely well I should go to school the following week. She said she would come to fetch me early. I still remember her, standing outside the classroom, talking to my teacher asking permission to take me home, which the teacher declined. And then she looked at me and said , ‘beluka mahesh sitai ghar aau haita!’. Mahesh lived next door and was my best friend at home. At school however, even though we were in the same class, nobody knew we knew each other because for some strange reason we didn’t speak to each other at school. I remember being embarrassed as she said that, embarrassed because she came to the school, embarrassed for her in general, but also fiercely protective of her at the same time.
I also had to have a small surgery on my nose once. They had asked my family to not give me any food on the day of the operation. Aama was teary eyed that morning. She very well knew how important it was for the patient to have an empty stomach if they were going to be operated, but still she asked me, ‘nanu haluwa banaidiun??’
Aama was also very kind to the people who helped with the chores around the house. She always gave our domestic helps, whatever we had for food and tried to do half the house-work herself. Always dominated by my grandfather (although I love him so much as well) she could have been a bitter person, but she was not. Aama seldom lost her temper. Once I spilled all the milk the milkman had just brought. I was petrified of the impending punishment but when she saw what I had done, she just said, ‘kasari pokhyo?’ Maybe, I would have forgotten about the incident if she had punished me that day, but since she didn’t, even when I thought I deserved it, I will always remember it fondly.
This doesn’t mean she was never angry with me, she used to lose her temper at least once a week when she tried to bathe me, especially in the winter. I would ask her to give me a hot bath but she would just put the water under the sun for two hours and say it was warm enough. When it was time for my bath, I would run away to mahesh’s home or some other neighbor’s and ask them to not tell my grandmother I was there. But five minutes later she would materialize at the house and drag me home. I can still remember the sound of her voice when she yelled, ‘pakh talai’ when she found me at the neighbors’ house.
After a few years, my parents decided that I would live at home from then on. When you are a kid, even though you live at a place where you receive as much love as I did from my grandmother, you still yearn for your parents, part of you always says ‘this is just mamaghar, you don’t belong here’. I was so happy to come home. When I was about to leave, aama asked me, ‘aba kaile aauche ta nani?’ I replied, ‘ aba kaile pani aaudina.’ How hurt she must have been when I said that! But after only a few days, I begged my mother to let me go back. Even after I came home, right up until the time I came to the US, which was two years back, my aama and mamaghar was an integral part of my life.
Now my aama is alone, still taking care of my grandfather who is sick. She had only one son, who is in Germany with his family. Aama raised six children and helped raise all her grandchildren and now, when she needs us all, we are all busy minding our own lives. I know she is hurt, but she is coping. She sometimes complains to her five daughters, who visit her often but is also grateful that atleast they visit. She is happy whenever I or any of her grandchildren call but I am ashamed to say, I don’t even call as often as I should. Maybe from now on I will call more often.
When people give birth to their children, it is their duty to care for their children. But it is never the duty of the grandparents to look after their grandchildren. And yet they do that, unselfishly, unconditionally, never expecting anything in return, driven just by the love of the child. I am surprised sometimes about how one-sided some relationships are, how you just give and give to a person and never receive anything from the other person. By the time, grandchildren are able to do anything for grandparents they are either dead or too old to care. Maybe the only way I could ever repay aama is just by loving my parents more.
