I love you, my dear Grandpa (1008 words)

I was then a young boy of twelve years. My maternal grandpa (Thatha) lived in another part of the town with his son, my uncle. He was an old man in his seventies. He was a widower having lost his wife at a young age and led a life of strict discipline and austerity. He wore only Khadi made out of the yarn spun by him in the charka (wheel). He rose early, finished his ablutions and did the puja by 6 am to be ready before the wheel spinning yarn for two hours. He was a disciplinarian, spoke only when necessary and was given to reading habits. He was spotlessly clean except for the snuff that fell on his dress when he inhaled it frequently. This was one ‘bad and nasty habit’ he admitted he could not get rid of. He ate less but was a gourmet relishing good food.

Whenever I had holidays after each term, he took me away forcibly to his place. It was a big house and he had rented several small portions to many poor families. There were young boys and girls of my age to play with. While I looked forward to the fun with them, I detested his strict study regimen for two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon. He would teach me in the mornings daily along with a few other boys living in the house algebra and geometry for an hour and English grammar from Wren and Martin for another hour. Learning Maths was fun but grammar I found a bore.

 His temper was short and he had a ferrule at hand and believed strongly in the dictum of ‘sparing the rod and spoiling the child’. I remember he used it only on me and not on other boys. My uncle often came to support me when I got beat only to be chided away by my grandfather. My tears never moved him though I should confess he never beat me hard.

What scared me were his angry face and his inhaling the snuff before taking the ferrule in his hand. He gave without fail homework to be completed and shown in the afternoon session. Besides this, he chose one story poem daily and asked us to write it in prose form.

This story poem assignment was difficult for me not only to comprehend but to write in prose form. I made several mistakes in punctuation and grammar. One boy in the group always got praised for paraphrasing the poem in impeccable and flawless English though he fared poorly in all other subjects.

My grandpa’s anger grew more when he read mine after reading his work which invariably led to his ferrule coming into operation. This went on for quite some days till I accidentally stumbled on the boy’s table one book that was a key to story poems with answers neatly provided. He just copied it and presented it to my grandpa winning his appreciation.

So, the next day when he started praising him and hitting me, I spilled the truth. That incident witnessed the boy being dismissed permanently from his classes. He said” Yes, I was wrong in praising him and should have suspected it. But that does not in any way condone your poor work.”

I remonstrated, ’Thatha, you are always partial. You always beat me. Never once you have hit them. You revel in spoiling my holidays bringing me here forcibly without fail. I hate you. I don’t want your tuition. I don’t want to be here with you. Please allow me to go home.”

He hugged me tight. “Partha, you are my favourite grandson. They are nobody to me. You are weak in English. I want you to improve your comprehension and writing skills without grammatical mistakes. You have opened my eyes. I will throw the ferrule away and promise not to touch you. Please do not go away. I am sorry” he pleaded.

I felt bad when I saw a tear trickle from his eye. I fell at his feet and said “Thatha, please forgive me. I know you are doing it for my benefit.”

He said “It is okay. You can go home today and come after three days if you wish to. Let us finish the few chapters of Wren and Martin and a few theorems before the school reopens.” When I said that I didn’t wish to go, he still sent me back gifting me a book titled Self-Help by Samuel Smiles.

Two days later when I was playing cricket in the garden behind my house, my sister came running to tell me “Partha, Thatha died an hour back due to a heart attack. Amma is going. You also join her.”

it was a hammer blow for me. There was a big crowd as my grandpa’s body lay in the hall there. I could not suppress my grief and wailed inconsolably. I felt an arm on my shoulder and turned to see who it was. It was my uncle with his eyes red and swollen in tears. He whispered in my ears “What happened Partha? He was depressed ever since you left that day and mentioned to me something about having been harsh to you. What was that?”

I remembered my insensitive words about hating him and his pleading with me not to go away. He was not demonstrative in his affection for me and had never told me even once that he liked me. But that was his way of keeping his feelings inside his heart. I sincerely felt I was instrumental in hastening his end with my thoughtless and rude remark.

 I could not contain my grief and broke out weeping loudly to the surprise of the people gathered.  “Thatha, forgive me, I never meant what I said that day. You were a pillar of strength and knowledge to me. I was an idiot in not realising your immense affection for me.”

I was gently taken away from the place by my uncle.