A love beyond time & space

Smridhi Chawla

THE story was set in Jalandhar in the early 1960s. The girl —  beautiful with Rapunzel-like hair — got a thrashing at home for being in love, was forced to leave college and packed off to her brother’s place in Chandigarh. The boy, madly in love, was not the one to give up. He managed to convince the two families and cleared the way for their love. Such is the breed of lovers — my dear Nani and Nanu.

Ten years into their marriage, Nanu died of a liver infection and Nani took up a job as a schoolteacher. Her life revolved around my mother and — after my mother got married — taking care of her ageing in-laws, who passed away a few years after my mother got married.

Around eight years ago, at the constant persuasion of my parents, Nani moved in with us. Since then, she’s adhered to her routine religiously. Waking up at 4 am for meditation and prayers, sitting in the balcony for long hours, reading a newspaper or two, and — always, without fail — putting together food and water for pigeons, her most cherished company.

A morning walk used to be part of her regimen, but was hampered by the worsening arthritis and pain in her legs after being afflicted with chikungunya last year. Her day is spent watching soap operas and keeping all in good humour. Before I leave for work in the afternoon, her goodbye comes in the form of a joke; the sound of laughter resonates through the house. I usually return from office late at night, but there she is, wide awake, waiting to utter the golden words: ‘Good night bete’. Nanis are like that — mother’s mother, after all.

Every year, just a few days after my birthday, Nani buys a whole load of pastries. I used to consider it a coincidence, but this time I asked her why May 24? Why not on my birthday?

Nanu’s birthday, Nani smiled, almost blushing. My mother’s eyes welled up with tears, she was still a child when her father passed away and Nani had a grander plan than making their only child just remember him on the day of his birth. Her idea of keeping his memory alive was to make sure her family never felt the absence. As though Nanu never left.

I doubt Nani has ever read The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom: ‘Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end, love doesn’t.’

She doesn’t need to. Hers is a story in itself, a love story.