A walk to remember

That morning, two years ago, when you asked me to accompany you for a walk, I didn’t know it was the last time I was walking beside you. Yet somehow, I had my phone with me and I clicked our picture, our last picture together.

Today, twenty four hours after your demise, the world is suddenly darker.
There’s one less person who adored me unconditionally.
A person who was both a paternal and maternal grandfather to me.

Sitting beside you in your final moments, I stared into nothingness, eyes getting blurred with tears trickling down my cheeks, all I could think about was your voice, your attire- white vest and a dhoti, the imarti you always brought home for me.
I think about the summer vacations years back, when you’ll be standing at the bus stand, waiting for us.
I’ll jump out and hug you.. “Nanajiii…”

You’ll take me for walks, morning and evening.
You’ll watch ramayana and religious Channel with me.
You’ll tell me stories of birds and animals when I’ll refuse to eat.
Sometimes you’ll just sit silently on the Chaunki in our Verandah, near the Neem Tree, watching our Cows.
Remember when you brought bananas and helped me feeding the cows?
I remember them all. Clearly.

When holidays would end, I’ll pray for us to miss the bus, and thanks to the bad transportation services at those times, my prayers were almost always answered.

An extension to the holidays was the best thing that could happen.

How are the neem and mango trees coping up without you?
How are the fields coping up with your loss?

Have they been crying too?

I wonder.
I wonder about them as I remember the Dussehra holidays, when you’ll take to the annual puja fair after all the cribbing and crying.
I always complained you loved Shwetank bhaiya more than me, not ready to accept the alternative.
And you’ll laugh and say “Yesb jhoot baat hai. Dono ko maante hai ki.”

And I’ll hold on to him as your last memory. Even as you taken away, I could find solace only with him.I could cry only on his shoulders.
More than anyone else, you are our strongest bond.

I remember your warmth, your concern, and how my achievements would make you swell with pride and even at the smallest things I did, you’ll proudly say “tum to badi hoshiyar ho”.

Your voice is still ringing in my ears and I don’t want it to stop.
All the memories keep revolving around my eyes.
I don’t want to let go of any memory of you. Ever.

I’m sorry for all those days I missed your call.
For all those times you wished to see me, and I couldn’t come.. exams, classes..alas those things seems tiny now. I should have come to you, when you still remembered me.
When you still fondly called out “Runnu” ❤️

I regret it.
And I think I shall regret it till I breathe my last. The tears are are unstoppable. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to let go.
You never loosened your hold on my fingers. How can I?

But I know after two years of struggling with your health, you’re at peace now.

Stay happy.
I wish to remember you with this smile instead of the silent flower clad person who didn’t respond to my cries. That wasn’t you, right?

I miss you.

With you, my nanighar has come to an end. 😭
Hoping to meet you someday, somewhere, where there’s no separation, illness or pain.

Waiting to run into your arms again.
Waiting to clutch your fingers again and walk beside you.

My dearest nanaji ❤️ you’re forever in my heart.

Yours tearfully,
Runnu ❤️

5 thoughts on “A walk to remember”

  1. Poignant and beautifully penned…

    We are all so lucky to have had spent time with our grandparents. So much they teach us, so much they love… Losses like these are unparalleled…

    Love and Health!
    Take care…


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