Random Muses

The truth is I have nothing concrete to write and I do not want to make up stories. I just want to remember certain recent events that touched me and are worth chronicling.

I went to my maternal grandparents place some days ago. There was nothing ecstatic about the visit but I could feel again that no one can match the love of grandparents. There is something different about it. It is independent of your success, failures, simply endless love.

There was an old lady whom we went to meet. She was the one who fixed the marriage of my parents and she was more proud of the fact, now when I was going to be an IAS. My dad ate two laddoos despite his diabetese, and my mother and I had to eat more. She recollected the struggle of my grandmother to get my father educated (my grandfather died very early) and the humble beginning of my parents. There were tears in her eyes, Ok, a little in all of us. She was so happy and so proud. Even if I leave other things, this moment was a reason sufficient for me to choose IAS as a career.

All this brought back the memories of my grandmother. I don’t remember much about her, I was just eight when she passed away, but yes, I remember her wrinkled hand, the story of ‘Bhakt Prahlad’ she kept on repeating, and I can still feel her love. I remember her angry face whenever my mother scolded me and I remember my tears when she died. Till today no one could match the love she showered upon me.

Some other things I remember too, the ancient family temple where I was taken; the feeling of distant relatives that I will be of some help to them now, and those repetitive marriage proposals. Then there were those mosquitos that left their marks every night, the flies that had the duty to wake you up with the dawn and the electricity which came at times to show that the town was electrified.

But yes, I could see my roots, beginning of my family, beginning of me.