The Trip Above

What happens when you die? Is there really a fork in the road where they have a huge corporation office with hundreds of employees who check your past history at each level and evaluate whether you go to heaven or hell? Does Hell really have molten lava flowing below and Heaven have roads paved with sweet nectar? Honestly, it’s quite difficult to ride a cycle if the road is overflowing with gooey liquids.

I have never understood death. There is no understanding to it. But it leaves a void - a gaping hole in your family, or in your friends circle, but if not all this, certainly in your heart. A person’s death is not what haunts you. It’s their memories that do. Those little things and thoughts they left behind in your tiny tender heart that make you feel the pain and longing. There have been no deaths in my family in the past 23 years of my existence. But this year has been quite difficult on me.

Love does not have definitions. Maybe it has borders, but my grandmother certainly didn't know of one. She loved us all, equally. My mother should not read this post, but even if she does I doubt she’ll feel bad knowing that I said that my grandmother was the best cook in the house. My grandmother could make dishes that could send one of those lame apron-clad chefs on cookery shows scurrying for cover. But I can’t have any of those dishes anymore.

When I was around twelve, just like the other boys, I wanted all the chocolates and tennis balls that were available on the stands. But with my pocket money, I could have barely afforded a Melody chocolate a week without running into bankruptcy. So I used to slyly pocket some change off my grandmother’s purse once in a week. I thought I was too smart for her because she was seventy five already then and I thought she wouldn't have a clue. One day she came up to me, gave me a fifty rupee note and said that I might as well have just told her that I wanted chocolates, and added that I should maybe take care of my teeth. I didn't lay a finger on her purse ever since. And ever after, she regularly gave me money by herself. But I can’t get any of that anymore.

For the most part of my teenage life all the way until I turned 20, my grandmother and I shared a room. She used to sleep on one bed. I had another bed to myself but I always stayed up late because that was the time when insomnia was like low-waist jeans. I used to watch random sitcoms and movies with blaring noises throughout the night, but she never once complained. Sometimes she used to ask me to explain the story line of some sitcom and patiently listen to me describe the entire story. I never once bothered asking if I was disturbing her sleep. But I can’t ask her that anymore.

My brother-in-law got her a transistor radio from the United States. He was just going to get married to my sister and he had got pre-marriage gifts for the entire family and she got a transistor. She cherished the transistor and kept asking me to teach her how it worked. My cousin tried it once and because of some wrong voltage it stopped working. Every day after that she used to keep asking me to go repair the transistor so she can listen to music and I used to keep saying I will, but I never got around to it.

Then suddenly one day she got really sick and barely a week before my sister’s marriage she passed away. It just happened in a flash and it was so quick I couldn't even fathom the changes. So these days when my mom and dad are away, I absentmindedly ring the bell. Then I realize there’s nobody inside and hunt for my own keys. Sometimes when I’m sleeping and the power goes off, I immediately look into my neighboring bed to see if she’s sleeping fine. But there’s nobody there. Worse than all this, I look at the un-repaired transistor radio that stands on top of my cupboard and tears come streaming down my cheeks. I don’t think I understood love, paati. But you did. And you taught me quite fine. 

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