Sunday, March 7, 2010

For my Dida

I started writing this out as a toast to my difficult life in Monterey and changed my mind to write about someone who knew what the word difficult really meant- my Dida (grandmother). She passed away two years ago on my birthday. It was a really difficult time for my family as they watched her struggle with cancer in the final stages. But this is not to talk about her pain but about the spirit of endurance that she instilled in all her children, a filtered down version of which is now a very strong part of my life.

Dida ended her formal education at the age of 9 when she came away to India as a refugee from Bangladesh (erstwhile Pakistan). She lived with her half-brothers. She looked after their children who were the same age as her. Her future looked bleak with her family still in Bangladesh and no one to give her the kind of looking after a child needed. I am told she was offered a role to act in a very popular Bengali movie opposite Uttam Kumar However her brothers would not let her take up acting because it was a disgraceful career.

Her elder sister found my Dida a suitable boy, my grandfather- who is the furthest thing from suitable even at this age! They got married and three kids followed in quick succession. My grandfather who was in the air-force had a quick temper and never hesitated raising hands on the kids. It was my Dida's quiet tenacity that acted as a balm to her kids.

As a grandmother I remember her being tireless. She would do everything to spoil everyone in the family and never ever asked for anything in return. My grandfather never gave her anything apart from the bare minimum required for sustaining the family and Dida managed to save something to give each of us - she would buy us little gifts as children. She is one of the most imaginative people I ever met. She would tell me about the constellations on balmy nights on the terrace. She would take me on boat rides across the Ganga every time I went to her house. She would take me to the kitchen and teach me Bengali delicacies.

She had the best sense of humour and even in my post-surgery condition she managed to make me laugh. That is saying something!

The house my grandparents lived in was called Gitasha. A conjunction of her name and the noun Asha (meaning hope.) Her house was her hope, something she never expected my grandfather to make a reality. Her elder son did make it a reality.

I get the first part of my name from her - Gita. If you inverse the syllables it becomes - Tyagi phonetically (meaning sacrificer.) Her name as well as her spirit live on in me. In a way she is my role model right up there with Gandhi. I wish I had known her better.