Amba

I ran in the air almost not touching the ground down the street where I resided with my guardian parents. I ran down that street so many times in my life. I never found peace where I was brought up. So I ran down… to where the street took me straight through the second crossing turning left of which took me to my grandmother. I loved my grandmother. I loved her when I was a child. I was angry with her many times. After coming far away from her out of her sight or out of my sight, I loved her more and more. She is never out of sight and out of mind. She always stayed in me as a symbol of passionate love. She had many good qualities and so many undesirable qualities. But none of her undesirable qualities directly affected me. Even if they affected me, they must have affected my ego. That’s it. Nothing else. Ego is not so important. What is important is love. The love that she poured on me. The love that she gave me right from my childhood. I always felt her love. I felt her love in her talk to me, in her attending to me, in her breath, in her whole mind and universe of thought she had me in her. This was clear in her words and actions and even her breathing.

She died last year 2012. I don’t want to be particular about dates. Time is something which never went into my head. I can’t catch up with it. That is my weakness. I lost her in the middle of last year. That’s it. This is 2013. The middle of 2013. I still cannot forget the way I responded to her death. It is something which came in me out of nowhere. I was angry with her for some unfair distribution of property. But I tell you she asked me for a thousand rupees one day. I could not give her due to some strong reasons in me at that time. Probably I thought that money should never come in our way of love. So I did not say a word after that. I definitely did not remain selfish. I had some strong reasons. But this disturbed me a lot. I got her some blanket later. But I could not give her money when she wanted. I cried in me. But I didn’t speak anything about it to her. Because I love her so much. I continued to love. I don’t want to explain many things to her. But just love. She knew my love for her. She too never spoke a word about any money which I couldn’t give. But the property distribution brought anger in me not because of her but because of her wrong notions generated by people around her and her blind faith in it. But my anger is just a small leaf in front of the sun of my love which shone more and more as I stopped talking to her. I stopped talking because again I thought that money should not be a matter of talk between our love for each other. I thought only of her love. I never thought of any opposite of that. I loved her so much. That’s it.

I saw her lying dead inside a cabin decorated with many garlands. She looked beautiful with love. My grandmother. Angeramba – I call her in my mother tongue Sourashtra. I called her, “Angeramba.” I did not cry much, because when you love deeply, you have no time to weep. That’s the way I felt. If I wept it might be probably to get someone’s attention, I felt. My love for her is secretive. Why? Because I don’t want anyone to question me for my love for my dear grandmother. "Look, if you love your grandmother, then …………” Such conditions I never like. I love her whether the world accepts it or not. I touched her hand, her skin as I sat with her in the mortuary van. The skin, the hand that touched me, that touched me and cuddled me, and poured a lot of love and affection. I felt love. It was so lovely to touch her. I forgot all my anger. What remained in my heart was only one whisper, “Angeramba”. I did not try to find any meaning for my feelings. I felt only my calling her affectionately, -“Angeramba”. Nothing else. I felt happy that I saw her as she was entering her electrified cremation chamber. I said, “Don’t worry. Your body will not feel the burn. Only your bosom burnt all these years with love. Go inside. Complete your journey. Continue to live in me till I join you here.” I said to her from outside the cabin looking at her through the transparent partition. “Amba (mother) You are going. Say my hello to amba, your daughter who is there already. You are joining your daughter. I’ll join you both later. Amba… My love…”

(Sorry, if love has no grammar and love can’t be edited)