Skip to main content


I wanted to meet her, the first time Geyata mentioned her. I wanted to see what she is like, how different she is from the one like her, I knew. Yeah, I was curious and now I am jealous.

I openly never talk about myself being jealous. But it just slipped out. It was in an instance. Him says, I shouldn’t compare but I did all the while I was there. Mine, lived with me for the first fifteen years of my life. Of which the first twelve, I thought she was perfect but I guess grew wiser in the next three.
My perception is colored with my experiences. Some no doubt beautiful and wonderful.

Afternoon nap time stories, the untimely sujee halwas, or chide bhaja or gojas. Grandmothers are wonderful in many ways. Though I am not sure I could now say this about mine.
I never asked Geyata her Ajji’s name. It doesn’t matter as to me and anybody who meets her, she is Ajji. And Ajji she is!

86, and still young. Ok not physically but the very want of living an independent life in her, is inspiring. She takes around 30 tablets a day, cooks, cleans, watches tv , entertains etc, all by her self. When I entered her house, Ajji, clad in her typical (typical to me, my thakuma always wore white with color borders) white saree, she was busy instructing the cleaner to wipe the mud off her window shutters and panes. “ Hum dekhne ko aayega ha!” she declares. “ Barabar saaf karo!”

“ Pinky, agga, jhaadu barobar ghe re!”( Pinky sweep the floor) she tells my pal Geyata.

Her kitchen is her domain, one cannot do anything there. I was barred from keeping the glasses on the platform! She doesn’t like anybody dictating anything. Nor does she trust anybody completely. Its not that she doesn’t have any family to look after her. She has a daughter although they hardly meet. It is not because the daughter has a busy life. But it is because Ajji commands her space.

She lost her husband around 40 years back. She has been on her own since then. Single handedly raising her daughter, seeing her getting married and raising her grand daughter Geyata for the first 6 years of her life.

I hardly saw sitting still throughout the time I was there. She was always doing this or that. She has records dating from Geyata’s kindergarten days to our present university exams.

She has all her memories intact. This is brilliant. We, at least I always think ( thought too) that old people grow senile, they loose track of their life and so on. But the fact is that she isn’t old. “86” is a mere number. “ Thoda will power hona chahiye”, she says. And this is true. “Why don’t you go live with your daughter?”, we asked. “But why should I? I will live alone till I can, then I have to go live with her na!”
But then she is hardly alone. People from all over, Geyata’s friends (like us), her mother’s friends and even her dad’s drop by to meet Ajji.
She is the perfect Pr person, laughs Geyata. True, very true. It is her sheer persona that brings people to her. She is so genuine, so chilled out, if I might add.

“ Tumhara koi hai toh, batao. Jaldi se fix kar do”, she asks. She wants to know whether any of us is dating or not. [ my mom too, won’t talk to me like that!]. funny, it is that she teases Geyata about not finding a guy in college despite of being in Xavier’s for five years and sadly, our college Sophias, is a girls college.
I want to write so much more but I cant. I am glad that I met her. But I am still very jealous.


Popular posts from this blog

Mind vs the heart

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Picture courtesy: Google. Only for representation purpose.
Standing on the highway, Roads leading both ways to somewhere, I stand still and wonder, Where do I belong?
The soothing lullabies of the green mist fairies call.  With promises to wrap me in the cool calm fog, Holding me in wet, gentle caresses, lulling the storm within. 
The call of the shrill, salt-laden sea sirens,  from the sun-baked rocks, Pull me back To join them as they make me one, in the fathomless abyss of wonders unseen. 
I lament my fragile being,  Born with one heart, not two, Torn between the ebb and flow of waves, And earthy scents in muddy dew. 
Both offer me refuge,  Cloaking me whole in their embrace, Dust to dust, flesh to flesh and soul to soul. 
In this battle between the mind and the heart, The heart but loses steam,  Leaving me stranded on a path to nowhere, never to be seen. 
My mind has been wrought with depression and all things crappy. This is a result of binge-watching a…

9 Things My Dog Taught Me About Life

And he has no clue…

I am guilty as charged. Per my husband, I spend every waking minute with my dog. If I am watching TV, he’s by my feet, if we plan an impromptu drive, he wants to come along, and at times, we do take him. My evening walks happen only because I have to take him. My social life is all thanks to him. And if you happen to mention the dog at a social gathering, I can go on and on about the pup even if we have nothing in common otherwise. Hell, I started an Instagram page just for the dog on popular demand!
I can assure you, though the husband isn’t convinced, that its all the dog’s doing. His popularity has only grown over the years, and who can resist those googly puppy eyes? He works his charm on all, irrespective of age, gender (partial to women though), color, and caste. He’s gentle with kids, super active with people who can keep up, he’s sensitive, always ready to share food (only yours) and so much more. His licks and cuddles have the power to melt glaciers and his …

#Sorry not sorry

I feel sorry for ‘Sorry’ – such an abused term. When you come to think of it, it is just a word, right? It holds significance in some instance and at times, it is a mere excuse. But we humans absolutely love it as an excuse, don’t we? I use this term a lot; I mean a lot! I think of myself as a kind being, and hence, if I happen to push or ignore (deliberate), I say ‘sorry’. I say sorry for things that may not need a ‘sorry’. I say ‘sorry’ to people I am not really feeling sorry for (don’t read this the wrong way). In short, I say ‘sorry’ a lot like I have already admitted. It is my ticket to moving on, a ticket to redeem myself for mistakes and sometimes, tinged with slight sadness (maybe).

But is ‘Sorry’ the right word? Mean, is it even appropriate? Like they say, first you commit the murder and then say sorry. What is the point of it? I would say nothing. Sorry – the term originated from the West Germanic term Sore that evolved to Sarig, meaning pained or distressed. It is also known…