I am scared that she might die tomorrow and so it is important that I write about her today.
I have had the past 15 years; basically the time since I have been able to make coherent meaningful sentences, to write about her but I never did.
Didun is there. Right next door. One call away. One 'O Didun, Ma marchhe!' (Didun, Ma is beating me!) away. She isn't going anywhere. At least that is what I thought and left home; and have been living away; growing distant to what life looked like. A bit more everyday.
She isn't really my grandmother. As in we aren't related by blood. We, small town people have this thing about making people our grandmothers and brothers and uncles and nieces. To be honest our smallness of existence in that small town where nothing happens finds purpose only through how many people are we connected to. How many households we visit during festivities, how many families call us for help in an emergency and of course, how much we mean to them because in this small town where nothing ever happens, one surely needs to find a purpose.
So Didun,in fact was my 'real' grandmother's best friend and next door neighbour. They were these two well-educated women in a time where they were a rarity with retired husbands and established children and a life full of failed aspirations but so very graceful about it all.
My 'Chhobir Dinna' which literally translates into 'Grandmother in the photograph' (read my real grandmother) passed away before I even spoke my first word, so without any recollection of her whatsoever, I went ahead and decided that Didun, invariably, is all the grandparent I shall ever have because the rest were either dead or not living up to the expectation.
In my growing up years, Didun and I have spent a lot of time together which involved other people but was significantly just about us. One of our rituals was that on every Monday evening, after school I'd eat at her place. I'd also help her with her pujas at times, braid her hair, lie next to her and listen to stories and also do homework with her at times. Didun was also the first person I'd run to in case of an uncalled for injury. Because if I were to go to my mother with a cut on my knee and tell her that I got it while racing a friend on my cycle, it'd mean saying goodbye to my evenings of cycling around forever. While going to Didun would mean no scolding but injuries being tended to and also a treat of some sort for just braving the injury.
If I am ever asked to define Didun in one word, it would be 'solution'. She practically had solutions to everything. From ridding fish bone stuck in the throat to tea stains on new clothes. From how to fix a completely messed up curry to bringing up an adamant, gender-confused teenager who insisted on wearing clothes that belonged to her dead father. Didun has handled all of this with such finesse and has given such great advice to that child's mother that not even for once could I believe that this woman doesn't hold a PhD in Homemaking, only to find out later to utter disappointment, that they didn't have this as an academic subject.
To be honest, I had never really thought much about her till date, but now when I see the fragile, shriveled human being smiling at me and asking me about work, marriage and life, I realize how pretty she was. Long hair till her waist, a kind smile and a never-give-up attitude.
I remember, I was in junior school when one year just before Durga Puja, Bengal was hit by flood and our small town where nothing ever happens was very badly affected. This woman who now can't recognize people properly had hosted 13 people in her 1600 square feet house for 20 days, cooking and cleaning after them like this is how they have lived all their lives. Every year during the winter vacations she would arrange for a picnic for all the children in the neighbourhood, she'd cook our favourite food and bring it over every now and then, she had adopted all the dogs on our street, she'd be the first person to run to any neighbouring house if there was a medical emergency and she was also the person who could put my grief-stricken mother to sleep when my father passed away.
I was in my IXth standard when I started giving out tuition and was basically about to earn my first salary ever. Over-excited about everything, I went and told Didun about my achievement and in a very unlike-her voice Didun said, 'Make sure you bring your first salary directly to me.' I didn't understand but I still did. She took the envelop which had a paltry 450 rupees inside and said 'Thank you.' Honestly, that did break my heart a little but there wasn't much to say. I wondered for a pretty long time that what could she have done with it? My first salary. My first ever hard-earned money. Eight years later I again went to her with my first proper paycheck, this time the amount was not as insignificant and told her very smugly, 'I'll give you this if you tell me what you did with my first salary.'
'I gave it away to the poor. First earnings should go to God.' she replied.
So, she might die tomorrow and might not be able to tell her that she is all that I have left from my childhood but Didun did make the best custard and pickles and fried rice and Grand Mom I've ever had.
P.S: Me: Do you know how to take a selfie?
Didun: No. Let's take one.
