The Last Look

There she was, standing in front of the house most of which was now in ruins, admiring it and reminiscing the childhood spent there. It was her ancestral home. Miraculously, it stood exactly the way it was before the renovation. The wooden stairs, the jharokha in the makeshift porch on the upper floor, the cozy rooms, the narrow long kitchen on the ground floor and the whiff of nostalgia.

Innumerable memories flashed through her mind. The days when her mom used to leave her under the care of grandparents when the nanny was on leave or a festival or maybe a simple occasion which was never less than a grand festival for the family and people there, the birthdays which began by a mandatory visit to the elders of the family in that house. Though it was not much, it was a home which beautifully connected the older and the new generation with love, warmth and laughter.

She could visualise her grandfather with white fluff of hair, sitting in his chair and watching tv and discussing cricket matches with her and all other children of the family, while other elders indulged in their talks in the adjoining house-cum-room.

Instinctively she decided to cruise through the house one last time and started up the damaged stairs carefully. As she entered the room on her left, she saw an old lady. The old lady standing carefree among the ruins facing the other side. The girl was dumbfounded. How could it be possible? She thought. The old lady was none else than her grandmother, who had been dead since 18 odd years.

She was sure that it was her mind that was playing mean tricks and yet she advanced towards the lady. Her grandmother stood in a perfectly draped saree, black and white hair tied in a bun and looked the way she was before the dragging illness took its toll on her strength and appearance. A beautiful lady with supple skin and a smile with a glint of mischief which was reflected in her eyes.

The girl recalled some of the best moments spent with her grandmother. Sitting and chatting with her on the huge veranda. The one where her grandmother mischievously shooed away the beggar lady by telling her not to ask for any alms as she herself went begging because nobody met the needs of the poor old lady!!  When she was studying late night and her grandmother peeped out from her room and asked her to go to sleep because studies never did anyone any good!! And many many more.

“Ba?” she called out to her grandma. “Ba look, it’s me, Dolly. Is it really you standing over there? Why are you not turning around?” But the old lady stood there, without responding or reacting, gazing out of the window.

Disappointed and baffled the girl completed her tour of the house in a jiffy and went down. But before leaving it all behind for the final time, she turned around and gave it one last look with a heavy heart. And there in the jharokha of the first floor, was her grandmother looking at her with doting eyes and the same mischievous smile, which people often say is reflected on the face of the granddaughter. It was within those microseconds that the twain shared a beautiful conversation.