There was hardly any dialogue at a visible level between my
grandmother Ahilya and my grandfather Vasudeo. Whatever exchange I noted
between them was through someone or the other who happened to be around and the
family being very large, they could carry on in this way without any hindrance.
Most of the time my grandfather’s needs, which were kind of bare necessities
like an occasional cup of tea,or some such odd things, were taken care of
without even a demand. I wonder if being surrounded by so many was really an
advantage or a barrier! This continued right through till her dying days when
she had to be confined to bed for nearly a month. I remember him on that day,
and among most of the faded memories the image of him sitting aloof,
maintaining a stoic silence all through that day, still lingers in my mind as I
think of that day.
I came to know later from one of my elder cousins that my
grandfather had fallen in love with Ahilya when he was living under the shelter
of his paternal uncle back in the ancestral village called Saral in Konkan, the
coastal region of Western India. He had lost his parents very early in
childhood. His uncle was opposed to the marriage. Living a loveless and aimless
life there in the village was no good for him. He gave up his share in whatever
agricultural landed property they had in the village and came to Bombay with
Ahilya. I was rather amused when I considered this romantic aspect of their
life which was little known and of little concern to us, the grandchildren.
In those days of the British rule in India when he landed in Bandra to seek new avenues of life, one could get a
good job with education up to matriculation. As children we were not supposed
to show undue curiosity about the financial status of the elders of the family.
So all I knew was that he held a responsible position in a shipping company and
was considered one of the well-to-do persons in Bandra in those days.
The silent relationship between the two of them was imbibed
by the house thoroughly. The house bustled with the constant coming and going
of people, but unconsciously, the presence and the silent relationship between
these two, characterized the life of that house while they were alive.
In my memory of the house, I remember mostly the afternoon
warmth of the winter, the smoldering heat of summer and the sounds of the
winds, the rustle of the leaves and the sudden sweeping rainfall after the
gathering of dark grey clouds in the rainy seasons, and in all the seasons of
the year, the house was engulfed by a certain calm and peace that was reflected
in the sounds of the steady footfall on the wooden staircase at all times.
It was a beautiful house in the memory of all who came to it
carrying different auras and vibes at different periods of our lives and
without knowing what the house did to us, we came to belong to it, to be owned
by it. Like a gust of wind flowing vibrantly through a wood of bamboo trees,
the house sent its sounds and silence into our minds even as life forced us to
move away from it in space and time.
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