More Than Just a Grandmother, She Was My Friend

chillibreeze writer — Saba Bano

Reminiscence of childhood can often fabricate an inexplicable longing for the past. I also long for my childhood friend. I have some very pleasant memories of that luminous face which was wrinkled beautifully, her lips reddened from regular chewing of paan, her hands so soft just like cotton bolls and her daily routine, which was nothing but looking once in every hour or two at the wall clock that lay a few inches away from the rooftop of her room. The pattern of her life seemed rather fragile to me, and I often wondered why she glared at that clock when time for her would never change. She would get up every morning at 9, rest her body on the couch and spend her remaining life in the same room.

After school, I would spend my afternoons with her. I read her the news paper everyday and showered her from ‘Theories of Universe to evolution of earth with the full knowledge that the intellectual interpretation of these terms were far beyond her. I made efforts to elucidate things that never existed in her world. She just listened to me with the smile that never disappeared from her face.

More than a grandmother, she was a teacher, a guide, a great listener and of course a friend to me. I learnt the first letter of Quran ‘Alif’ from her. When I had bowed my head to Allah for the first time, she stood next to me, our heads facing the Kabah on the same velvety Janamaz or Muslims’ prayer rug, which had the image of Mecca imprinted and its ends tasseled. I followed her faith because I had faith in her. I had observed her every movement during namaz, the way she bent down in sajdah, rose with her lips moving slowly.

I was wrong to think time for her would never change; her old age gifted a disease called ‘Osteoarthritis,’ and for the first time, I saw her in severe pain. Soon clinical manifestations of the disease took its toll and left her bedridden.

Like her, I was silent all through this. The child in me somehow knew that doors were being shut and our separation would emerge with a new season that never ends. I never expressed the grief to anyone; I often went to see my sick friend, but we rarely spoke to each other. I just gazed her and said in my heart ‘You will be alright, Dadiammi,’ but I could never gather the courage to let these words touch her ears.

I just got more caught up with my teenaged life and she was trapped in a disease which was becoming her constant companion. I made few friends but she had none. On weekends, I visited her, but I could hear nothing but silence. Once in a blue moon, she acknowledged my presence, her eye would shimmer and the same old smile would spread across her face.

Then time again took a new turn for her and ‘Arteriosclerosis’ started its progress within her to impair her memory. I heard from folks that she was not able to recognize her own children and was on the verge of losing memory completely.

I went to see her one afternoon; she looked at me bleakly as though I was a complete stranger and all I could manage to say was ‘Do you remember me Dadiammi’? I suffered an impulsive fear of breaking down in front of her. I made my way out of her room immediately, and I expressed my grief by locking myself in a bathroom, where I cried for hours to ease myself and to heal the pain that this further separation contributed.

Life can transform any moment. The time you share with your loved ones would not remain the same forever; it changes like a season but these seasons are countless. What we have today would vanish tomorrow and what we had yesterday might not accompany us today.

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Chillibreeze's disclaimer: This is a contributed article and was published on Chillibreeze in August, 2010. The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not reflect the views of Chillibreeze as a company. Chillibreeze has a strict anti-plagiarism policy. Please contact us to report any copyright issues related to this article. The relevance of the facts and figures cited (if any) could change after a period of time.

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—About our writer:

Saba Bano has a degree in Commerce and is pursuing post graduation in Economics. She currently works with the British High Commission. She has also worked with Genpact for a finance and accounting process. She has experience in article writing, report writing and resume writing, and has written various articles on management, current issues, and the international economic scene. She has also written a few short stories and aspires to become a columnist.

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