As the year ending ceremonies begin with flowing champagne and throbbing music, and end with the birth of countless new hopes, every little heart feels the in-escapable sadness arising out of that fleeting last moment, the emotion lasting perhaps for a split-second. But then in the next blink of an eye, the glitter of shining new promises take over. Tomorrow will be a beautiful new day, and even if it is not, perhaps I will be stronger to still hold onto you, wonderful life.
Like every other celebration involving a public holiday, people party, and that too within huge groups. Countless new resolutions are made. Some old ones are renewed, yet again. As if resolutions made this night are consecrated by the collective goodness of the nocturnal participants. People hold hands, kiss and cry with complete strangers, share (coincidentally) similar sounding stories, as they look back at the year just passed.
All this, I am sure is familiar madness to you.
At the strike of 12:00, I decide to call my grandmother, of all people I know. You may wonder why. Well, I wonder too. It is true that I haven’t spoken to her in over a year, and haven’t seen her in three years. Yet, I don’t miss her, and since to the best of my knowledge she is in good health and spirit, I don’t ever feel guilty of not calling her regularly.
But this night, by complete random chance, my fingers dial her number.
In Calcutta, India it is 1st January, 2007. Time is around 10:30 a.m.
The phone rings six times, and I envision my granny walking through the humid corridor connecting her prayer room to the family room. Then I hear a very low “Hello”.
Granny, it’s me Shamee (my pet name).
Who? (She doesn’t hear clearly. I feel her face press closer as her hands clasp the sticky handset. She is only seventy six but her voice is shaky. Perhaps at a temperature of 70 F and with humidity at 95%, even the December air plays nasty)
It’s Shamee. Shameeee (louder)
Oh! Shamee. How are you?
I’m good gran , how is dadu doing now ? (My grandad has been sick for a while)
We’re all doing fine. How wonderful to hear your voice my dear…after…oh ....What’s that noise?
Oh it’s just fireworks! People celebrating and all.. Granny, What did you do for New Year? (I ask despite knowing she doesn’t care about the New Years Eve. Gran starts laughing gleefully on the phone.)
Nah, I don’t know about these things. But today is special. Because you called.(There was a pause after this.)
At that moment we realized that really a long time had passed since we had met. Glimpses of time spent together flashed through our minds. Everything that we had shared with each other bundled itself and propped before our hearts. I felt overpowered by the heaviness of this sudden realization of long lasting bonding. I felt guilt. I felt relieved. I felt ceremonious. Had I just found the otherwise insignificant link that tautly held the threads of my life? Had I just reconnected with the timeline of my short span? Or maybe I just found out how far I have moved on since the last milestone? And that I haven’t moved so far out that everything I cared about in the past has become irrelevant now.
Finally I could say this.
Gran take care. Don’t work too much and don’t scold dadu all the time. I’ll call you soon.(I know I never do)
Like every other celebration involving a public holiday, people party, and that too within huge groups. Countless new resolutions are made. Some old ones are renewed, yet again. As if resolutions made this night are consecrated by the collective goodness of the nocturnal participants. People hold hands, kiss and cry with complete strangers, share (coincidentally) similar sounding stories, as they look back at the year just passed.
All this, I am sure is familiar madness to you.
At the strike of 12:00, I decide to call my grandmother, of all people I know. You may wonder why. Well, I wonder too. It is true that I haven’t spoken to her in over a year, and haven’t seen her in three years. Yet, I don’t miss her, and since to the best of my knowledge she is in good health and spirit, I don’t ever feel guilty of not calling her regularly.
But this night, by complete random chance, my fingers dial her number.
In Calcutta, India it is 1st January, 2007. Time is around 10:30 a.m.
The phone rings six times, and I envision my granny walking through the humid corridor connecting her prayer room to the family room. Then I hear a very low “Hello”.
Granny, it’s me Shamee (my pet name).
Who? (She doesn’t hear clearly. I feel her face press closer as her hands clasp the sticky handset. She is only seventy six but her voice is shaky. Perhaps at a temperature of 70 F and with humidity at 95%, even the December air plays nasty)
It’s Shamee. Shameeee (louder)
Oh! Shamee. How are you?
I’m good gran , how is dadu doing now ? (My grandad has been sick for a while)
We’re all doing fine. How wonderful to hear your voice my dear…after…oh ....What’s that noise?
Oh it’s just fireworks! People celebrating and all.. Granny, What did you do for New Year? (I ask despite knowing she doesn’t care about the New Years Eve. Gran starts laughing gleefully on the phone.)
Nah, I don’t know about these things. But today is special. Because you called.(There was a pause after this.)
At that moment we realized that really a long time had passed since we had met. Glimpses of time spent together flashed through our minds. Everything that we had shared with each other bundled itself and propped before our hearts. I felt overpowered by the heaviness of this sudden realization of long lasting bonding. I felt guilt. I felt relieved. I felt ceremonious. Had I just found the otherwise insignificant link that tautly held the threads of my life? Had I just reconnected with the timeline of my short span? Or maybe I just found out how far I have moved on since the last milestone? And that I haven’t moved so far out that everything I cared about in the past has become irrelevant now.
Finally I could say this.
Gran take care. Don’t work too much and don’t scold dadu all the time. I’ll call you soon.(I know I never do)
Comments
Ever since childhood I've always felt close to my maternal grandmum, but I too lost touch after being sucked into the freedom of independent living. She got very sick last year, almost reached the point of no return. The thought of loosing her without ever getting to know her shook me hard, and I began to ignore my ignorant self.
She's doing much better now. I'll visit her again, soon.
Hope your maternal grandmum has better health in store this year.