Celina Week #14: To The Bestest :)
“ഞാൻ വീട്ടിലേക്ക് പോകുന്നു,” he yelled to his friends--his father did not like him staying out quite so late and he found himself flipping through valid reasons to tell his friends today. He landed on something simple enough: “I have to go home!” The light barely hits the horizon and the leaves burn a bit brighter. In the damp Kerala air, he hopes that he won’t have to buy yet another pair of chappals to survive this monsoon. It feels a bit colder than the last.
He relies on a sense of wit, or maybe fear to get through a wary routine. Waking early in the morning, helping out with the farm a couple of kilometers from home, wearing the same stained white on the walk to school. He thinks in his mother-tongue, a trait I envy. At the age of thirteen, his hair is growing out and he’s gained a couple of inches. Maybe now his Amma can stop telling him how thin he looks. A faint look in his direction, a smile and a soft laugh, almost inaudible, as she ruffles her fingers through his hair. Her son is so grown up, another one is set to leave the nest.
It was only after my grandfather’s passing that I understood how little I knew about him. These thoughts are only a reimagining of what I can dream his life was like, a reiteration of an Indian comic found on my home streets. I feel almost a sense of betrayal in portraying him in this way, but I am afraid my imagination is the only place I can find these stories of him. To reiterate that thought time and again: he had a whole life before I even knew his name. Though he did tell me of his life, it was little bits here and there, in a tongue I still am slow to understand.
An army medic, a husband, a father, a friend, and my personal favorite, a storyteller. My Appacha was a man of many little tales I suppose. Some I got to see, some I heard, but most precious were the ones I lived.
The above features my Appacha holding my photos in India when my mom delivered a couple.
Hi Celina, I enjoyed this poignant blog! I was initially intrigued by the mysterious "he" described in the beginning, and stuck for your bittersweet writing, which is beautiful in the way it portrays your appacha's resilience and his relationship with your mother. The addition of dialogue in your appacha's mother tongue is a nice touch to develop his character. It is always strange to consider the youth of people we have only ever known as "old" and experienced; how must they have felt when the world was new to them? I feel the same way about my dad; every time he tells me more about his life, I realize I can't even begin to properly imagine it! I'm looking forward to the next blog you write.
ReplyDeleteHello Celina! Your blog was so heartwarming and beautifully written. I was immediately intrigued by the opening of your blog in your grandfather’s native language. It set the tone for the rest of the post, and immediately made your work seem deeply personal. It's crazy to think that our parents and grandparents know everything about us, yet we know so little about them. They had a completely different life before we came into the picture. Your line, “he had a whole life before I even knew his name,” really stuck with me. It's such a profound truth, one that we do not think about often. I also loved how you used your imagination to construct a story about your grandfather’s childhood. Through your writing, I can tell that you had a lot of respect for him and admired him greatly. The picture of you appacha further personalized your blog, and put a face to all the stories you told about him above. I enjoyed reading your blog and am looking forward to reading more of your work!
ReplyDeleteHi Celina, I loved the opening of your blog, and the theoretical story that you wrote about your father’s childhood is really interesting. The lack of knowledge you feel about your grandfather is very similar to what I feel about mine. I only really know that he grew up in Jodhpur and saw the Pakistani bombing of the city from his rooftop, that he drove ambulances earlier in his career as a doctor, and a few small stories. I don’t really know much about his childhood and life before I was born. I am lucky enough to still have him in my life, and thanks to your post I will talk to him soon and learn more about his life while I still can. I loved this post and I can’t wait to read more of your posts in the future.
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