My grandfather’s heart

Aastha Bagga

AS I opened the old yet pristine red velvet box, a million memories gambolled before me. For years, the summer holidays were synonymous with my grandfather’s home. During the summers, the courts were closed and my grandfather’s duties as a magistrate also came to rest, giving him ample time for me. My day at his home began with a ceremonial visit to his spick-and-span kitchen garden. I would pluck the juicy ripe fruits while my grandfather foregathered the quotidian dose of vegetables, before we made our way to the verandah, circumspect enough not to leave behind footprints which could lead to choicest scolding from my grandmother, followed by my grandfather’s vain attempt to mop the floor. 

As the aroma of ginger tea oozed from my grandmother’s kitchen, I took my favourite seat, a swing especially installed for me on a gigantic mango tree, which was home to numerous birds. I would dip my biscuits in my grandfather’s teacup, which left him with no tea, but he never retaliated, rather smiled and said, “Your biscuit drank my tea.”

I would doze off listening to his stories about cabbages and kings, giants and wolves, of fairies and demons living in unknown lands, while my grandmother spent the rest of the day preparing mango pickles, chutney and aamras. Evening used to be the time to accompany my grandfather to the community park where his friends waited for him. As he got busy with them, I would run across the garden, playing with my peers, catching butterflies and flying kites. Later, the helper of the nearby halwai brought the pre-ordered evening snacks — samosas and jalebis. I was given a generous helping by my grandfather only to keep his secret from grandma of gulping down the forbidden food.

It was on one such fateful summer evening when a doctor, who was making vain attempts to revive my grandfather, signalled me and placed in my hand a round metal body with streaks of blood. Looking at my puzzled face, he said, “This is your grandfather’s heart”. Tears rolled down my eyes, as I stood there watching my lifeless grandfather.

All these years, I had kept it with me until today, when I realised that I should give it to our distant relative who cannot afford a pacemaker and bless her with another life. Today, I discovered that I hold my grandfather’s heart in my heart and not in the red velvet box.