My grandmother...

My grandmother was a grand old lady. We still see her pictures and think how straight and regal her back usually was. Even when she was dying of failed kidneys and a failing heart due to longstanding and relentless diabetes, her conduct was always that of a person who expected to be followed.

She never apologised for her lack of erudition... she compensated by a wisdom that could not be read from books. It was a wisdom that mothers and grandmothers pass to their children and grandchildren. She could, and did, enough Hindi to be able to make out of her children were indeed doing their school work or were shirking it. She could do this even with her grandchildren. She made her decisions based on what she saw and understood... which was a lot.

She was also a grand matriarch that my grandfather could never ignore. She held her clan together with the ferocity of a tigress guarding her cubs and ruled with the lazy regality of a lioness basking in sunlight.

And... she never ran out of stories to tell, and in the telling- to teach.

And... she was sharp. By God! she was sharp.

Once, in the summer vacation when our home was full of all cousins- my paternal aunts and uncles, all with their respective families. All the kids used to play and study together. There used to be a healthy rivalry between those of the same age group and a somewhat condescending looking after by the older ones.

Summer vacation, each year was the time my grand mother relived her youth. She became the Grand mother rather than the grandmother. She was full of energy and enthusiasm that her daughters and daughters-in-law could not match.

Once- during one such vacation- all my cousins got together to point out to me a rather peculiar habit of mine. And they were far from gentle about this innocuous habit. They cruelly pointed out how my nostrils flared whenever I got excited about anything. Though I could do nothing consciously to control this flaring, it did worsen the more I tried not to do it. It was particularly embarrassing! And very isolating.

I felt totally alone. Un-understood. Ridiculed. I still remember the loneliness I felt. I sat alone in the flight of stairs, my tiny face resting in my hands, my elbows hitched over my knees. I was crying silent tears I hoped to hide from everyone... but especially from my mother. She was in the room above. Were I to climb the stairs, my mother would see my face and know something was wrong. Were I to stay on the floor below my grandmother would surely see me cry. What could I, a mere six or seven year old do? I came out of one world and resisted entering another one. Not wanting to be seen in that vulnerable state, I showed amazing maturity at that young age.

However, my grandmother came looking. She must have seen something of what went on before my departure from the group of children cruelly making fun of someone in their midst. She saw me sitting there and came and sat beside me. That took me by surprise. Then she quietly started speaking.

Her voice was gentle, yet strong. It did not need a genius to understand the depth from which the words came.

"Why are you sitting here?" She waited for me to answer her. I could hardly speak through the tears. It became worse when I attempted to hide them. It happens with most of teh reflex actions- quite like the flaring that was the cause of all the mess.

But all this was meant for me grandmother to be able to teach me something very inportant.

She began again," Warriors do not cry. You are a warrior. You do not cry."

These were her exact words. Exact. To this day, more that three decades later, I remember as if it happened yesterday. Whenever I find life treating me hard, whenever I want to cry, I close my eyes and I see my grandmother sitting there beside me. Saying, " warriors do not cry. You are a warrior. you do not cry". A clear and sharp image that speaks with strength and calmness. And instills the same in me. Gives me that little bit more to hold on to the belief of an inner strength and draw upon it just when I think I am all done for the time being. Surprisingly I find that little bit more to go on. And then it becomes okay.

Then she said something more that made me feel better about myself. She told me I am different. I am not like other children. I am... me! "You will find others trying to hurt you just because they want to bring you down. But remember they want to bring you down because they see you somewhere higher! They feel a sense of satisfaction in having hurt you because you are strong! They cannot feel satisfied hurting someone weak... Whether you let them be satisfied in having them hurt you- or be satisfied yourself that they cannot hurt you is a choice you will always be making yourself. Always."

While most of the times, I can draw upon those words of wisdom and feel strong, there are times that even I want to just rest on someone else's shoulder. And know I can. That I will be safe. That I am understood and cared for. That I am appreciated.

It does not happen very often. But when it does... I still want to close my eyes and see that grand old lady who did not try to console me. She did not try to hug me and let me cry. She only told me I was strong. And that itself would provoke people many times in my life.

Thanks Maanji ( that was what we all called her!) and each time I find my reserves dwindling I will try to remember your words and believe I am as strong and different as you told me I was.