She

My early childhood memories of “her” were of wanting to marry her once I grew up! She was orphaned at a tender age of five and got married at a young age of twelve; bore five children and said no more... She brought them up admirably well. She taught herself as she sent her children to school and never let them know, she knew any less. At the age when Ghoogat was order of the day, she carried her self well in Sarees with sleeveless blouses. She could carry chiffon and khaadi with equal grace. She got similar high heels made to order for self and her son’s wife.

Pink and Magenta never looked better on anyone else, fuchsia and mauve were the color names I heard only from her. Her cooking was legendary, the secret of course which can never be copied, I think, because a pinch of this and that can't be calculated. She is my benchmark for LOVE. She took me for long walks and asked me to hold her hand so that she does not get lost... during these walks she managed to tell me same story in ten different ways and still left me with the desire to hear it one more time. We enjoyed 10paise worth of groundnut and precious moments together.

She fought with her husband to travel two nights and one day all alone and be by my bedside if ever I fell ill. She epitomized love and everyone who came in touch with her instantly fell in love with her with pleasure of reciprocation. She walked the talk. If ever there was trouble I talked to her for I knew she'll sure understand. She'd got lots of love and good counsel to give and I knew she'll be on my side for as long as I live... She was my punching bag, she was my sounding board, and she was my alter ego.

She fought tooth and nail with my father to let me wear my hair short something unheard of in a conservative Surd family. In

an era when girls were seen as precious objects to be heavily guarded and not let out of sight, she supported my decision to wear Salwar-Kameez only to Gurudwara. We schemed together against the family and society at the stage of life when I felt world was pro-men, she smuggled goodies to my room when I went on indefinite fast to get things done my way, we went together to parks, cinemas, hotels and never let anyone know what we were up to. We vacationed together. She agreed with me that God is wherever we wish Him to be and visited religious places only with my consent in my presence. She was my friend, my confidant, my fellow conspirator, my partner in crime.

She preached making educated choices but never let the voice of heart go unheard. She came all the way alone from Mumbai to Jalandhar at the time I was in my college just to surprise me. We painted our toe nails together and she dragged me to beauty parlor for first time shaping of my eyebrows. She took me around to show the city and told me to live life on my terms. She is my definition for spirit of womanhood. She essentially represented my childhood. I was a child whenever she was around. I grew up at the age of twenty, the day she died. I miss you Grand mom, wait for me, we have got lots to catch up on...