The Dealmaker

A week after we got Polka home, I was looking at her - trying to understand what she must be thinking - and I guess she was doing the same. Suddenly her quizzical expression changed and she looked at me as if to say something and that particular look reminded me of my grandma.

My grandma was in India. It was almost 10 months since she was bedridden. Polka didn't even exist then! Some days it was better and some days it was worse. I had gone to see her 6 months back. She seemed small and fragile but was attentive and happy to see me - 'You better have kids soon. I will not die before that'   I responded, 'Sure! Its a deal. You are not going anywhere in that case as I don't plan to have any'. Its fun to watch her expressions when I say things that are 'outrageous' !

We usually discuss on the happenings in the family - what each one of us is or rather should be doing - the younger ones should be studying, the unmarried ones should be looking for the right partner and the married ones need to make babies.. But this time it was different. She wanted to talk about her life, her past, her unhappiness. I'd never heard my grandma frustrated or disgruntled other than the occasional complaint about the maid or the food. It must have been the illness .. She talked incessantly about the unhappy times.  The verbal abuse her mother had to endure from her grandfather, the sickness and curses that killed her mom when she was 7, her marriage at the age of 8, the hard life and the expectations from the new bride, the uncles and aunts who were looking out for their own good, the inconsiderate neighbours, her daughter who had to work on the farm, the black soot from all the cooking, the dark evenings... Her voice changed, her language changed; she was remembering the events vividly and re-living them. The picture I had painted in my mind was quite different - the mango trees, the quaint house, the friendly neighbours, the well where her sons went swimming, the fresh village air, the real taste of 'zunka -bhakri' - it was all gone. I could only see a small girl longing for a childhood she never had; conflicts she never could resolve; a closure that she so desperately wanted.

She became irritable and screamed at everyone who tried to help. Nothing could calm her mind. The illness, the smell of medicines, the attendants, the bedridden existence, the helplessness - it all made it worse. She became stubborn and didn't wish to listen to what we thought was 'reason'.  Everyone was prepared for the inevitable including me. As her condition deteriorated, I was hoping she'd die sooner than suffer a prolonged, miserable, death. 

I looked at Polka - she continued looking at me in that peculiar way. I was trying to hold on to that moment - to get some clarity - when the phone rang. My grandma had passed away.

My grandma! She'd dance so that I would eat one more bite and sing the weirdest village songs. She'd walk softly to spy on the maids so that her heavy anklets didn't give her away. She'd let me teach her how to write her name and would give me 'ladoos' for not failing any subjects. She'd proudly proclaim to anyone ready to listen - 'my granddaughter works in America!'. She'd wear the Wallmart slippers I'd got for her only on 'special' occasions and would circle a broom around me to keep the evil spirits away. She loved all of us grand-kids equally and loved me a little more!

I did not cry that day. I was blank and numb. I tried to make sense. I knew this was going to happen and had even wished for her suffering to end. But somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping for her to get better, stronger, laugh once more and then bid farewell on a high, healthy note. I reasoned - she was a fighter and had a desire to live - she had let go on her own terms.

A week later, I noticed Polka looking with that same peculiar look and I thought to myself  -  that's the dealmaker - Polka was my baby! And then the tears wouldn't stop.