Simple Living, High Thinking !

April in Hyderabad is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The “Hussain-sagar” lake shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, green trees. Red banana’s ripe. Strawberries burst. Dissolute flies hum in a sporadic manner. Then they stupefy themselves against clear windows and die, baffled in the sun. This is what I observe daily during my travel back to home in train. Nevertheless, the nights are clear but Showing a brooding ill humor expectation.

One fine day, in the train, I observed an old man sitting beside me. He was lean, bony and in shabby appearance. He was accompanied with a small kid. I, for some reason, was observing them. That old man was telling some story to the kid, who was indeed very restless. No conceit, not a trace of arrogance. His speech is clear, and for a large part, bright; his eyes, though a shade sad, are luminous.

The conversation made me feel nostalgic about my days with my grandfather. It is no joke bringing up kids — especially boys, mind you! My grandpa was a professor in English (he did his double MA, PhD); they instilled rich values in us that is beyond any curriculum. They knew only one thing, that children should have a sound body and mind to shoulder responsibilities in later life. I still remember one soft drink with name “gold spot”, which was then famous and my favorite. My grandpas used to bring it for me every other day without fail. Health drinks like Ragotine and Oval tin were available but my grandpa prepared ragi malt at home. There were no gas stoves or mixers or grinders or milling machines. God knows how many tones of idly flour was ground manually. Some homemade medicines were stored like treasure and given only when we fell sick. So also was the grandpa’s homeopathy kit — the cure-all potion.

My grandpa would cajole me to have regular oil massage for having smooth and shiny body free from muscular cramps; warn my brother that we would be dark all over if neglected. We used to obey him subject to the condition that we should be given a candy after it. After oil massage, he would give both of us nice candies and apply a pinch of pepper on the head to ward off cold and cough. Although I would try different stunts to escape but my grandpa would stand stoically with a long wooden stick in his hand to ensure compliance.

Come summer vacation, my grandpa would keep us engaged all the time. Scrabble, cricket, hockey, and caroms were taught us. Any time we complained of boredom, slokas, books, mathematical tables, riddles, puzzles, poems would be given to us. If I still remember any slokas or English poems I owe them to my grandpa. He was the first person to kindle this side of me. We would play outdoor during evenings to our heart's content or water the garden in our home, drawing water from the well.

At night, my grandma would round us up for dinner. She would squat on the floor amid us with a bell metal pot full with curd rice. Mixing some curry or pickle, she would hand over to us morsels of food(I can never forget this), simultaneously entertaining us with interesting tales. With our attention riveted on her story, we would gulp down whatever was given without any fuss. And later realize that we have completed the whole pot full of rice. Once done with this, we would again go to grandpa to listen stories.

Oh, how we enjoyed the food! I still recall the way the elephants retreated at the sight of Prahalada in the story! He always used to amaze us with the style of narration

We were hardly shown interest to movies because my grandpa’s stories produced better a cinematic effect. As we grew a little older, we realized that he needed our company as much as we enjoyed his.

My grandpas gradually prepared me for the life ahead in all ways — making me learn the etiquettes, music(my brother learned this), taught me as how to respect elders and as how to behave with strangers. Above all, he taught me to be open-minded and enthusiastic to learn anything any time and be collected in times of adversity.

Although he is not with us now but, his was simple living and high thinking. Years have rolled by, and situations have changed, but my grandpa remain ever green in my memories.

I am no Shakespeare I really wish I had the most perfect and beautiful words in the world to say my grandpa. because if I did I would say them—I‘d say how great he feel me when I am with him—How always he used to correct my stupid grammar, how I love the little thing which he asks me to do and how I love his stories –Bur most of all I would tell him that he would make me a better person, My own person.

Its like I have lived all my life again. All this while I have never thought about any of these. I know you are the reason behind my every single success

.

To My grandpa, who always allowed me to dream