They Mean the World!

 It is a truth universally acknowledged that grandchildren are indeed special to grandparents. Not a weak, but the weakest, spot they are for the grandparents. No crime has any punishment in that world. Parents who were strictness personified for their own chidren have hearts melting faster than the butter when it comes to their children's children.  This generalisation holds true generation after generation. No wonder, even a rather glutteral, harsh sounding language like German has the gentlest terms, Oma and Opa, for the grandmother and the grandfather respectively.

The grand equation, twice removed from the original, is a mushy mystery. The eldest generation pampers silly the youngest, often bypassing the middle one, may be, because the grandchilren are an assurance that a part of them would continue to flourish long after they have left the world. This elemental desire for continuity is the deep seated Darwinesque force driving the very universe, flora and fauna included. How can homo sapiens be any exception?  

The supreme magic of the sheer affection for the grandchild hath Aai- Papa in its thrall, too. Amar, who celebrates his birthday on May 23, could get away with anything. Neither liked it if Amar or Siddhu were so much as scolded. Neither Aai nor Papa had never ever even so much as slapped either of us. So if their grandchildren were beaten up, there literally would be tears in their eyes as disciplining through discourses was their method.

In their turn, grandchildren adore their grandparents, too. Ensconced in Papa's arms, Kunal used to love watching for hours on end the dredging machine with its mechanical arm. He loved the bus rides, too, as he would always get the window seat and he could also get to ring the bell. Amar would wake up without any alarm so that he could accompany Aai for the early morning Bhajani Mandal performances. Without fail, every evening,  he would go with Aai to the Ram temple nearby  . During the little walk, eternally on would be the typical, treble, high pitched childish chatter. Both of them loved the "ABCD" dress Aai had stitched for them.  Siddhu and Aai used to have deep discussions on the phone immediately before and after the telecast of the Hanuman serial. He loved only Aai's version of Ramayana and Mahabharata as bedtime stories. Once he got a flower from somewhere near Neel Heights because Papa needs flowers for puja.  Endless would be such stories because Kunal and Amar spent a major part of their childhood at Mukund Nagar. Distinctly I remember, and have neatky stored, their letters, Kunal's pics of Papa's tenth day rites. 

Time passes by. The grandchildren grow up. Their worlds widen. The constant companionship of the early childhood, that promised the elders a return to the very spring of life, withers away, but the bond binds the wor(l)d weary old lives. Aai used to love it when I showed her even the latest pic's from their d.p's! The very house would rejoice with their loud guffaws and louder debates and discussions. She used to eagerly wait for their visits. Papa's joy would know no bounds when Sanju family and Raju family would come to Mukund Nagar for festivals. If the children were not brought along, both would feel bad and very sad.

Time flies away on supersonic wings, life slips away like sand through fingers. A grandparent may be no more, but continues the forever 'grand' wish that for their brightest babies may the bestest be in store, blessings that design destinies forever. Hence let me end my piece today with a take on 

Akele hai ham  to kya gam hai

Chahate hain to bhi hamare bas me kuch nahin ab

Bas ek zara saath hon tumhara

Tumhare to hai hum!

Pratima@ek tha bachpan