When you’re a kid, your personality is malleable. It shapes itself in response to all the stuff you see around you. It draws its and bits from the people you love and hate until you get to a point where you’re your own version of a person. My grandma knew this very well. She spent a great part of her last few years tending to me, and in the process, influenced my personality.
And to say she knew a fair bit about becoming a person is an understatement. Grammy was a self-starter. Despite being married off at 16, she taught herself the arts after having five children. She eventually became a teacher in Hubli, teaching hundreds of students Kannada and the social sciences. When it was time for her to go, she had brought up five children, nine grandchildren and tended to a clueless (albeit erudite) husband.
All through her living years, I’d admired Grandpa more. He is a voracious reader and was a very influential newsman in his time. He was all I wanted to be. But after Granny’s passing, I see how hapless he is. He may have given off the aura of having his shit together, but that was because my grandma was out back, sweaty-faced and holding fort.
It has been six years since she was relieved of this mess. I am yet to meet a woman like her. I really hope to see just her one more time to tell her that I’ve made a mistake. She is all I ever want to be.