My early days : Magnets and Miracle

Someone said that life is an echo; it gives back what you have given. I agree…

The world of Magnets and Miracle.

I still don’t understand what it takes to feel the whole world below you, what it takes to feel on top, what does it really take to be fearless, to soar like an eagle with our head high and not feel that the world around you could let you down. Those few years that I spent with my grandfather were important for me to realize that the most important things in life comes in the simplest ways, like inner peace, happiness, compassion and truthfulness. As I walked with him, I realized that it takes a lot to be someone like him. He was my teacher, my guardian, my friend, my God and my everything. Our friendship started, maybe as soon as I was born, or maybe before. He always said that he held me when I was so tiny that I felt like a small doll in his huge arms, and I would stop to cry when he used to take for a stroll. Maybe we just clicked right from the beginning. I remember the road to my school so much, the muddy road, stone pebbles, pine trees on the either side of the road. Sometimes it used to be a foggy day, pine trees use to absorb the moist. We used to say that it always rains under a pine tree. The cold breezy weather, sometimes sunshine and sometimes rain, sometimes so much fog that we could not see the road ahead. I used walk tall besides my grandfather, holding his finger with my tiny hands. The narrow road used to lead us to school, my blazers to keep me warm, my school bag,Tiffin box and my Superman besides me. I used to feel so secure and proud; I started to depend on him for everything in my life! As we approach the school, he used to let his finger off my hand and ask me to carry on, that’s when I used to ask him ‘why can’t you come to class with me?’ He used to smile and tell me that he will be waiting the same place at 2:30. The class used to pass by, making noise, listening to the teacher, lectures, homework, punishments, crazy games, blackboard, questions and answers. It was almost predictable. I used to wait for the 2:30 bell to ring and my little world begin; my black dog Pita, my Grand-dad, and me – our world of magnets and miracle.

I used to rush home with my grandfather, sometimes I would run with all my excitement to be back home, hug my mama, Pita would be waiting for me to get back. He was a wild dog, as wild as me. But he would outrun me most of the time. Sometimes when I fall, he would come back to give me his shoulder to lift me up. I never felt the need for a brother or sister, or anyone else. With them around, my world was just perfect. I would reach home to see my mother waiting in the outside. She would first hug me, kiss my cheeks, then the dog would come running and start to lick. My mom would chase him out, saying nobody else is allowed to kiss my little angel. ‘Angel’!! The word used to strike me so much, sometimes I used to wonder. Then she would complain about how dirty my dress, and I would start to narrate all the stories in the classroom, the playground, how I outran my friends in football, the goal that I scored that made me so proud, and so on. My mom used to appreciate all, and tell me that she will come and watch me play someday. My mom cooked her favorite stuffs when I got back home; I used to grab them quickly, sometimes shared a little with pita too. Then it was time to play, with my grandfather and Pita. He used to take us to the valley, ‘rameetay dara’ – a hill of miracle.

The valley used to be green, with pine trees all around. Sunlight peeping through the narrow spaces of the dense Smokey woods, the sound of the windmill in the distance, the bird chirp from the woods above welcoming us to the narrow roads full of small colorful wild flowers. So colorful!! I would pick them up and my grandfather would tell me the names of them. He used to take me to watch the birds nest, he said the nest is like the home where the little babes live and the father bird and the mother bird would keep them secure till they fly away. I used the think about my home; I could understand what my grandfather was talking. He would lift me up, ask me to remain quiet and walk down in the narrow path inside the woods. In the narrow opening of the bushes, almost invisible otherwise, he used to show me the nest. The neatly weaved nest, with three little eggs so secure inside. I used to watch them with wonders, used to think to myself – what a miracle! Then he would take me to where the wild berries grow. He would teach me the art of plucking them out.

We would run in the openness and he would make me realize how vast this world is. Pita would run in front, then me, and as we did, the pollen from the flowers would fly out. The sun would slowly start to set, we would see the cattle herd returning home, after them followed the flocks of sparrows, then the sun would slowly start to set between the mountains, and then the color of the sky would change. My grandfather used to tell me stories from the Hindu mythology about how Surya, Sun-God, plays a very important role in our lives. We would sit in the top of the hills; the cold wind from the plays below would slowly start to blow. He would secure me in his arms and I would ask him questions about the Gods, heaven, and questions that would sometimes had no answers. We would look up to the stars and he would tell stories about Gods and Goddesses who live in heaven. Sometimes the sky and the earth used to be so perfect that it seemed like we are already there. He had strange ways of explaining things, he would tell stories and relate to our lives and this used to make me wonder. Suddenly the stars would fill the sky, he used to point out to the constellations of stars and tell me their names, how they evolved, the stories, and how everything is connected to our lives. This would make me realize how vast the universe is, most of the time it was beyond my imagination. And then I would ask him to tell me stories about them all, probably the best way for me to understand. Sometimes the evening was not enough and he would break to continue the next day. I would insist to finish because incomplete stories would make me impatience. Then he would remind that mama’s waiting with my favorite food, which would melt my mouth. Then we would walk back home.

He passed away in a Spring afternoon, silently, after three days sickness. He had his friends and family, all his three sons around. They said he knew his death was coming. He asked my mom to read Gita’s final verse and he left all of them wondering what next, including me. I watched him from a corner, silently. He told me about life and death, told me that when we die we become a star. But he never told me that death means going somewhere, never to come back. I realized it soon after he died, my mom broke down inconsolably, and my father did too. Somehow I never realized what was happening, the night came. I took Pita to the field and we looked up to the stars, wondering he must have reached the heaven. I was happy for him, pita was not. Three days after my grandfather passed away, Pita left the home too, never to come back, leaving me all alone. We did not know where she went, tried finding it back but we could never trace her.

Life had to go on; everybody moved on, I would go up to my grandfather’s room to find it empty. My tears would flow uncontrollably, it make me realize that at times it becomes difficult to move on and get used to a new surrounding. I would run out to look up to the sky, nothing seems to talk anymore. My life changed after he and pita left us. Most changes in life are difficult, but we all move on.

Then, a new journey with my mama began…