About eager awaiting and long expectations; but when everything lead to void and emptiness. About old age - the thirst for the beloved.
The white French windows were left wide open. The warm breeze was making way through the open space and pushing through the white lace curtains, blowing away some pages of the newspaper that lay on Grandpa’s lap.
If you imagine that Grandpa was disturbed by this act of the wind – I am sorry to confess that you are wrong. The pages of the newspaper lay scattered on the red floor which still smelt of fresh ‘floor polish’. Bantu had polished the floor recently, while Grandpa had supervised him closely with an extra add – on to his usual sternness. A retired Army Officer he was, who never thought he had really retired. Every word he spoke and every action he made was sure to make others around him, never forget his past. The only time that Grandpa forgot his ‘military stuff’ was when he was dozing in the afternoons after scanning through every bit from the papers, but always excluding the cinema page and the advertisements. Who wanted to know about these at this good old age – he thought and always fretted for those who fixed their eyes on such pages.
Except for two, all were afraid of Grandpa. If you are now inquisitive to know who those two are – I shall gladly present them as the afternoon winds, and the tall dark lady in the kitchen who was baking some cookies – Grandma.
Grandma, lovingly referred to by the neighbours as ‘waffle anty’ or ‘waffle aachchi’ was not square in shape nor sweet to taste. Grandma was given that name as she was the person who introduced ‘waffles’ to the total vicinity. I can see what’s running in your minds. Of course Grandma was not running a waffle business. They were just those sweet and crispy home – made waffles which she distributed along the lanes to known and unknown and amused herself with their words of appreciation. Grandma enjoyed those moments, and took out her diary to note them before she forgot.
The bell rang. Not the door bell - as the house did not have one. No, not the bicycle bell; certainly not at this hour of the day. Didn’t I tell you that Grandma was baking cookies? So it was that funny bell from the old oven to announce the arrival of cookies, which also made Grandpa arrive to his normal senses.
He looked around him. Saw no one. So it is her bell he whispered to himself. He was scared to make her angry. He longed for those cookies so badly.
Grandpa stood up slowly to pick the pages of the newspaper. He had to walk to and fro when finally he had all tightly held between his fingers. His elderly, but steady feet reached out to the dining table. Grandpa always wanted everything to be put back in order – even if it was the newspaper which was ready to be sold to the nearby grocery shop. He spread out the pages on that large wooden table. The table was made of teak wood, carved to suit the ancient days. The six chairs had a head rest with names carved on them. He looked at the three chairs which belonged to his children. He remembered those wonderful days when he and grandma sat for meals with their three young kids.
‘’Papa!”
It was Sweety their youngest. She looked pretty in her orange dress. She ran towards Grandpa and hugged him tight.
“Did you come alone darling”, that was Grandpa inquiring.
“Of course not Papa. We are all here to celebrate. I hope Mama has finished with her baking.”
Before she could finish, Chunky and Maddy walked in with the ‘in – laws’ and little ones following them.
The voices began loudly. “Hello Papa”; “ Grandpa...........”; “Where is mama...........”
Chatting, Screaming, Clapping, Shouting, and also not forgetting to taste everything that was found on that dining table.
“I am so happy that you are here – thanks for remembering children.”
“Mama why did you think that we will forget. We have arranged a party for you tomorrow”, said Chunky, their elder son.
“Why? Have you forgotten the presents honey?, that was Chinji reminding her husband about the new dresses they had bought for their parents.
Grandma and Grandpa gleamed with pride. Who would have imagined all this happening to them today.
Grandpa began to play with his grand-kids while Grandma continued to gossip with her kids and her kids in – law.
“I want some more cookies Grandpa”, Pinky the youngest of the grand-kids shook grandpa’s shoulders, wanting him to get her what she wanted.
“No darling, not now. This is not the time for cookies”. Grandpa said it in a soft but firm voice.
“What is not the time for cookies? Don’t you want them now? What has happened to you Ben, I have been shouting for so long and why don’t you hear me?”
Grandpa raised his head. Grandma was standing near to him, shaking him by his shoulders. In her hand was a plate of cookies.
“So it was you after all”. Grandpa said it with disappointment and distress.
Grandma sighed. “You have been dreaming again then Papa.”
Grandpa held her hands. Tears rolled down his soft cheeks.
“Have a cookie. Happy Anniversary to you Papa. Happy Anniversary to both of us.”
Grandpa’s hands stretched out to take a cookie.
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Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
