The Wolfpack Files

My Life in My Words

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Monsoon

After we left the Yankees game tonight, we got hit with a massive rain storm. I have never gotten that wet in my life. As I was walking to the subway, and walking through rivers that soaked me to the bone, I was reminded of sitting through a monsoon while at my grandparents house in India. That lead me to think about my grandparents and my relationships with them. Recently on a repeat of the show 'Yes, Dear' one of the characters was talking about how everyone has one set of grandparents that they're closer to than the other, and that was certainly true in my life. But there were a lot of reasons for that.

The first, and probably biggest, reason I was closer to my maternal grandparents was simply that there were less of us. There are only four grandkids on my mother's side of the family. And out of the four of us, I'm the oldest and only boy, which makes me that much more special. And before you say I'm full of myself, ask the other three which is the favorite grandchild, and they will all point to me. On my father's side there are... well, I lose count after 15 grandkids. My sister and I are two of the youngest and we're also the only two that didn't live in India. I always felt like we were an afterthought. They had so many other kids and grandkids that they could see on a regular basis, we were lost in the shuffle.

The house my paternal grandparents had was also cold and never very welcoming. When we used to go to India, beyond the general dread of leaving my life behind and going to a place I didn't like and understand, I hated going to my father's family's side because it wasn't a warm place to be. Even though there were always people wandering around and the house was full of people, it never felt full of life. The main living room was lit by a single fluorescent light bulb that made everyone look sick. The house was also in a downtown, heavily trafficked area so it was always noisy and dusty. Then there was my mother's side. My grandparents lived in a house with a front and back lawn. There were guava trees in the backyard and even now all the memories I have are of a warm, welcoming place where the sun always seemed to be shining. My grandfather was a judge and I used to go to court with him and sit in the back and have all the attorneys act nice around me to butter him up. My grandmother used to peel oranges for me - not just the outer peel, but the inside, so all I ate was the actual orange.

They also spoke English, which helped since I spoke no Hindi. On my father's side, my grandfather spoke English, but my grandmother did not. And God help me for saying this, but she was a scary woman. She always looked so mean. She may have been the nicest person in the world, but all I could see was a little old woman who I couldn't communicate with. My grandfather and I got along well enough, but I don't remember talking to him too much. On my mother's side though, my grandparents and I talked all the time. And they used to come visit more often, which naturally made me feel closer to them, since they would come into my world. My grandmother was even here the day my sister was born. And the exact moment my sister was brought home from the hospital, she and I were sitting at the dining room table, and she was peeling me an orange. It was heartbreaking the day my grandmother died. I was working in the hospital at the time and I got an email from my cousins. It was the first time I ever thought about not ever being able to see someone again and I wasn't sure how I would deal with that. I'm still not really sure.

Both my grandparents on my father's side died years ago. The last time I ever cried out of sadness was the day my grandfather died. Not so much because he was gone, but because I knew my father had lost his last parent. He got a call from my uncle (his brother) and even from 10 feet away I could hear my uncle crying and screaming on the other end. He was completely hysterical and my father just stood there, silent. Even though my father is the youngest of his siblings, he's also the most successful, and the one everyone turns to for advice. He couldn't be emotional; he had to be the rock. And so I cried for him. I've shed tears since, but never out of pure sadness. My grandmother dying is a whole other story.

I don't remember how old I was exactly, but I must have been in my younger teens. As I said, she and I were never close, due to distance and the language barrier, among other reasons. So when she slipped into a coma, I, for better or worse, didn't feel much. There was some sadness, but I didn't know her well enough to be really broken up about it. I realize that may sound cold, but it's the truth. But she must have been a tough old lady, because she was in that coma for almost a year before my mother, sister and I had the chance to go see her. We used to go to India every two years, so it must have just been our time to visit. My father of course had gone on his own to see her, and everyone knew there was no way she was going to survive. But she hung on for a pretty long time in that coma. My mother, sister and I finally got to Delhi and were ushered into her room. She was being kept in the house instead of a hospital. It was so awkward. Here was this woman I barely knew, but who was my grandmother, lying motionless on a bed, oblivious to everything around her. And there I was, a young kid who always had a chip on his shoulder, being told my all my other relatives to go talk to her. To say something. What was I supposed to do? My mother sat next to her and said a few things in Hindi. My sister and I looked at each other, not sure what to say. We yelled a few things but nothing that meant anything. After a few minutes, we got up and left.

Later that night we boarded a train to Allahabad, where my mother's parents were. It was an overnight train ride, and when we got to the station the next morning, we were told that my grandmother had passed away during the night. Even at that age I knew what had happened was extraordinary. Whether you believe in God or not, it was amazing. She had been in a coma for almost a year, and everyone in the family had gotten a chance to say their goodbyes, except for myself, my mother and sister. She had held on to that last bit of life inside of her until we got to see her, one last time. And then, with her life finally complete, she passed on. I refuse to believe that was just a coincidence. To this day that is the single biggest thing that makes me think that there is some kind of higher power inside all of us. Something kept her alive and something told her when it was OK to go.

I can't say I regret not being closer to my father's parents, because it was what it was. I'm not sure, with all things considered, I could have been any closer to them than I was. But I'm very happy that I lost that chip on my shoulder and my opinion of India changed over the last few years, so that I was able to make a trip before my maternal grandmother died back in July of 2002. I only have one grandparent left. The last time I saw him was in August when my sister got married. Out of all the grandparents, he was the one I was closest to. And one of the fondest memories I have is a small one. I was in Allahabad and we got hit with a monsoon. I had never seen that much rain before in my life. Everyone else was used to it and didn't give it a second thought. But I was amazed. I sat outside on the veranda and just watched the rain come down. The driveway turned into a river and my grandfather and I made a paper boat that we could sail. It only lasted a few feet before it took in too much water and sank, but I'll never forget that moment - just me and my grandfather, sailing a paper boat down the driveway in a monsoon.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home