Naanka House

When in school, I was often amazed to hear some of my friends telling me they had never met their grandparents in life. This amazement was mostly because I had all four of them, healthy as ever, and also because I was hell close to them all and couldn't believe how life functioned without the presence of grandparents. They were like the glue holding our families together. It breaks my heart today when I reminisce about those simpler days and wonder if I actually lived those moments or whether it was just another lifetime.

Since my maternal grandfather (naanaji) was the oldest of the lot and passed away long ago, it's imperative I talk about him first. If my father was a teddy bear (as my cousin used to call him), my naanaji was the ultimate papa bear one could have asked for. Since my kids who are yet to be born are bound to miss out on knowing their own naanaji, let alone mine, and since the way we were brought up is not the common way anymore, I feel I owe it to myself to relive that childhood once again, through this blog post.

So I feel like taking a step back today before moving forward with this year; for I am what I am today largely because of the people I call my family.

I used to address my maternal grandfather as papa ji, and grandmother mummy, as did my mom. My first memory of papa ji is of the days when he used to live in a flat in the heart of Chandigarh with my grandma. It was a two-bedroom spacious place, enough for the two of them.

The master bedroom was pretty big. My grandma used to have a nook there for her prayers. There used to be steel trunks and her sewing machine in the room. As far as I remember, she also had a cupboard in the room with a door that was painted blue, if I remember it clearly. There also was this big window in a corner from where we could feel the cool breeze coming in. I think it was one of the most peaceful places in the world; though I was too young to appreciate it back then.

I remember the trunks since my cousins and I used to play in the room while my aunt’s crazy son would run around over them, playing a silly game.

This room was all about my naani as she would knit and sew in the room, her favorite pastime. My mom has half her skills but I, unfortunately, have none. There used to be a box containing threads and round, flat chalks, pink and blue in color, the ones you use on clothes. My mom tells me naani used to stitch her clothes within a day and could copy any sweater design if she saw it once.

Whenever we visited, we would sleep in this room with naani, my mom chatting away with her all night. Somehow their chit-chat would never cease and papa ji and I would call it their "khusar phusar", a phrase I had made up back then though the experienced me feels I must have heard it somewhere before.

The next room was my grandpa’s. It was a small bedroom with his favorite single bed, having a storage area in the headboard, that took up half the space. There was a radio in the room that he loved to listen to. There was also a very old picture of the Golden Temple hung on the wall. The rest of the details of this room are a bit fuzzy. I think this room too had a window by the bedside. He would mostly sleep here in his space. All my life I have only seen him sleep on that single bed only, though he loved grandma a lot. It was a normal thing for them to sleep apart for some reason, something I got to know later is far too common a phenomenon.

The kitchen was next to the master bedroom, which I rarely went into or don't remember since I was too young. Naani was a great cook too. I think I can still remember the aroma of rajma that she would prepare for us. I also distinctly remember her plates and spoons for some reason.

The drawing room used to have that old traditional couch and on the wall hung a painting made by my mother. Since they lived on the second floor, there was a balcony where I used to sit and enjoy the sunshine or look around and just enjoy the silence.

There was a market just close by where we could buy items for daily use. I remember purchasing a cute little pink-colored book of opposites, having cardboard for pages, from a street vendor. I also remember my cousin, more than 8 years older than me, purchasing candied fennel seeds for me. She had once also got me a ‘Sorry’ cake after she had made me cry for some reason. The market was peaceful back then, though now it’s chaotic more or less, the old charm long gone.

For purchasing clothes or other fancy stuff, we would go to Sector 17 or 22 by an auto-rickshaw or a cycle-rickshaw. Again, traffic wasn’t much and buildings fewer; so the distance would never seem much. These trips, however, I only remember taking with naani and my mother.

With grandpa, I would go to gurdwara just behind a huge park that was close to their house. I remember him telling me to not wear skirts or frocks in there, though pants were allowed. I would cover my head and follow him there. He would often tell us ‘saakhia’ (sakhis or stories) of Guru Nanak Dev ji and Mardana ji and of other Sikh gurus. The only two languages he knew were English and Urdu. He would often recite shayari in Urdu and then translate it for us. Every time we visited, he would recite half of it; then expect us to complete the phrase. I being the youngest would often forget some of them and then he would complete it for me with a smile on his face. They went from something funny like:

“Is chaah ko chaah me daal do, is chaah ki mujhko chaah nahi”

(Just a play of words or a pun that means, “No tea for me, thanks”)

“Khao piyo karo anand”

(Eat, drink, and be merry)

“Andha kya jaane basant ki bahaar,

Gadha kya jaane jaafran ka bhaav”

(Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience)

And some of them were profound, like:

“Khudee ko kar buland itna, ke har taqreer se pehle,

khuda bande se khud puche

ki bataa teri razaa kya hai”

(Reach so high in life that even God consults you before writing your own destiny)

“Kaun kehtaa hai mulaqaat nahi hoti,

Roz milte hain magar baat nahi hoti”

(It’s about meeting someone every day but never really having a conversation.)

There were more but these have always been my personal favorites. He was also really good at making a fool out of us. Every time I would visit and greet him, he would ask me who I was as if he had forgotten me; it was ironic because before his death he had actually forgotten who we all were; in technical terms, his brain had stopped functioning. It happened in March 2012. He was 82 then. While leaving, he would also answer my “bye” with “teyi”, meaning 23. He would always tell me his massi (aunt) was on her way here from his village on a plane. He would say airplanes flew from his village. Papa ji would even declare every day his birthday. He later told me he did not know his actual birth date, only that his sun sign was Leo.

Naani also used to recite a common bedside story, though I barely remember what it was. It had something to do with birds, koko (cuckoo), and myna. I remember being all excited to hear those tales with awe, never getting tired. In a way, my maternal grandparents are the reason why I've always had one foot in a dreamy land and have grown up loving literature.

While granny was a star for her intricate yarn designs, grandpa could make anyone a fan of his within minutes because of his dynamic personality. Though he had seen hard days in life, he was always smiling and passing jokes all the time, making us laugh. He would say I would come first in life always and he would address me using the name of a famous former prime minister of India, though I never really understood the reference. He even used to say only daughters really took care of parents and not sons.

He was particular about not leaving the dining table unless everyone had finished their meal. Mom says he used to be a strict parent but the only time he would get mad at me was when I would touch his shoes as he believed girls were not supposed to touch feet and in that sense, even his shoes. He would tell me to drag them with my feet instead. It was a fun game for me. I am married now and still refuse to touch the feet of anyone, not that anyone has ever asked me to either, even at places where it was rather expected.

Another peculiar thing about him was his love for white shirts. He would always wear white as he said someone had once complimented him for looking like an officer in white. He was really tall and had a good build; though to me he was more cute than handsome.

Time passed, and they shifted their house and eventually bought an apartment in Mohali, though I never liked any other place half as much. No other place had that old vibe. Also, this new place had changed grandma in a way I didn’t really like. Grandpa remained the same though. Grandpa had for some time been telling my mother to get my sister married soon so he could attend the ceremony but he passed away a year too soon. Grandma died peacefully in her sleep in December 2016.

I wish they hadn't shifted and I could still go back to that house as my best childhood memories belong to that place. It is still possible for me to have a look at it from the outside at least but I fear that would somehow break my illusion of the place being as serene and beautiful as it still is in my dreams.

Also Read: On First Father's Day Without Him