Feature

My ever living Grandma

Maliha Ahmed

I woke up and shuddered thinking about the English test that day.Hearing loud voices from the dining hall made me open my door.Even though it was just 6 am, everyone at home was wide awake and surprisingly, in a hurry. My dad was calling up the hospital for an ambulance, mum was shouting at him to hurry, my brother was shouting because one of our neighbors, a popular medicine doctor in Chittagong, Dr. Mamunur Rashid Saddar, had refused to come and check my grandma because he was too sleepy.

I entered my grandma's room to find her sitting upright in her bed, once asking for tea, once for water, sometimes to turn the air conditioner on but to keep the windows open, then to turn it off again. I couldn't understand what was wrong with her. She was perfectly fine last night. All of a sudden mum shouted at me to get dressed quickly for school as the ambulance was on the way. I glimpsed at my granny lying in her bed and went back to my room. I got dressed and was combing my hair when I heard my uncle scream. My heart sank as I ran towards my grandma's room and came face to face with a doctor who said- “Sorry, she's expired.”

For one moment I thought that guy was a lunatic with bizarre ideas, but what I encountered next made goose bumps rise all over me. My grandma was lying in the same position as before but her head was lolling out on one of her shoulders and her eyes were closed as though in deep sleep. My mum was sitting beside her looking rigid with shock and all the maids standing around were weeping silently.

My brain seemed to have stopped working. It was ridiculous that my grandma could die, no, all the evidence of her senses must be lying. She was fine last night, that morning, then how could she leave us suddenly? I barely had time to overcome the incredulity of the situation when a mass of people went swarming past me, crying at the top of their voices. All my neighbours and relatives had turned up at the news of her death and were as shocked and as melancholic as anyone. Within minutes, my house seemed to have shaken a little for the weight of people in it. I saw faces of both familiar and unfamiliar, crying, showing grief and sympathy towards my family. Every few seconds I could hear a cry of pain from someone or the other and yet, I was unable to believe that my grandma had left us, left me. I went inside an empty room and sat, thinking. My grandma, Mrs. Mehrunnesa Begum, 86, a fair, healthy, tough and strong woman who was left with the onus of 12 children when her husband, my grandpa, died at the early age of 57. But she didn't lose hope at the loss and met all the hardships of life to educate her children. Her determination didn't go in vain. She was able to provide her children with all the primary and higher level education that she could muster and indeed was a very successful mother. She was a lady who portrayed generosity and humbleness. She was the symbol of mercy when it came to helping the poor. She used to buy dry fish and get grains from the field to distribute to all the needy in the village. She didn't let anyone know, while secretly helping out others on financial basis. Giving medicines to everyone was one of her most favorite hobbies. Every night she recited stories to everyone about her old times while relishing herself at the reminisce of past.

11 years from today in the year 1997, when she, with half her family were going to the village, they met with a disastrous accident that turned over their fate. 6 months of treatment in London made my grandma perfectly healthy, but at the cost of her two legs. Then on she had little domination over her legs and mostly had to use a wheelchair. Yet she was patently a true fighter. With legs or without them didn't hinder any aspect of her life.

It was most phenomenal to watch a diabetic person eating rice mixed with milk, sugar, bananas, treacle and ghee but my grandma couldn't care less. She was most reproachful towards the injections that she had to take everyday. But most of everything, she was a link, a link that held our family together, a link that has somewhat broken after her gone. Everyday and every moment after her death has heaved an inevitable guilt on my shoulders, a guilt of not being able to do anything for her, of not being able to be beside her before she left me. I miss those times when she asked me to have an apple with her and sing a folk song with her. I wouldn't have a loving hand brushing my head and praying for my good exam results. I wouldn't have anyone asking me to fix her tv, or get her some tea. I feel empty without the most ancient yet most important mart in my life.

I don't even have in inkling to where she may be now, but I will always pray for her to be peaceful and happy, wherever she is. Every time I look at her picture, a tear twinkles in my eyes as I stare at her memento, at the only remnant of my immortal grandma.