i was working on my laptop today, reading a pdf when grandpa came and asked me if the magazine i was reading was good. i said yes. he went and sat back only to reappear with the same question in less than five minutes. i repeated my answer. the next time he asked me what my name was. i felt a bit bad. not offended, not disturbed; i felt bad... for him.
he was born in the same year as Che Guevara, 1928. yet, thanks be to the almighty he's never had any physical health issues for 81years. only after that did his blood sugar levels increase a bit which my grandma brought down within a month through a wonderfully strict diet. even now my grandpa can read without spectacles and hear without a problem. he still speaks in English at times and he still inspires me.
without a sense of self-decoration, I can safely say that my English is good enough and the reason for this, is my grandpa. the first person that talked to me in English. he taught me, relentlessly, patiently, till I would learn to his satisfaction. he never made me do homework or read me stories or anything, he just called me names that I would find weird and then asked me to guess what it meant. after I tried and failed he'd tell me what it meant. samples are:- ugly worm, irritant, ape, etc. :)
clearly he had the same wacky sense of humor which i carry now. the best advice that i got as a child was from him, arguably. people compliment kids every now and then saying, "good boy." grandpa did that too. but one day i asked him what it meant. he said, it's just a way of conversing and that i shouldn't take it to my head as it basically meant nothing. in truth he taught me not to get carried away with appreciation. i still have trouble reacting to good words told about me.
that was ages ago. now grandpa suffers from AD or Alzheimer's Disease. simply put it means that the cells in your brain are dying out one by one. relate it to a PC's memory being formatted, chunk by chunk, day by day. it began when we found out he had trouble remembering the names of distant relatives. it always begins that way; with tiny things. then he couldn't remember which bus to take from a town to his house. he forgot where his house was, then he forgot who was who.
now it's pretty severe. he hardly recognizes people. sometimes he mistakes me for his son, and sometimes he thinks I'm his buddy and begins addressing me like he'd address grown-ups, in plurals. he doesn't remember the faces of his children, he doesn't remember that the house he lives in is the one he constructed, he doesn't remember that his son is married. grandpa sometimes cannot get his brain to process the word that he wants and most times the sentences are incongruent. they are usually never completed.
how much life changes...
he was a gazetted health inspector. something great for his times, I hear. grandpa was intelligent, respected and feared in equal measures. there are still relatives that I meet in functions who tell me that they still remember images of the man who wore the crisp white shirt and the khaki coloured pant who's baritone would straighten a few hairs of people who indulge in indiscipline. in a way, he is still feared. :)
I am told that virtually all his married life he had to stay away from home, but he did so because he had to provide for a family of four back home. yet, he has educated all his children, all of them successful and living well now. grandpa was always neat and orderly. papers wouldn't be strung out like nomads in a desert. a spotless career graph at a time of political comedy and not being lured into accepting bribes, I can go on.
when I was tiny he would make me rifles from the barks of coconut leaves and would take me along with him to pick up fallen cashew fruits in the compound. now, all he does is sit in a corner and see things. things don't register in his mind, memories are constantly vanishing. the last ones to go are language and other things I had read. that point of no return is not too far.
it is easy to get impatient, to get angry, to scold, to force. but it is impossible to know what his life would be, to see it from his perspective. imagine not remembering who your loved ones are, not remembering if you just ate or if you haven't eaten since two days, to not remember if you slept or not, to not remember your life. it's not even a consolation to feel that he's still here. this is simply not him. this is just the shell of a spent man.
I write this not because I feel sympathetic towards him, or because I feel guilty sometimes that I do not do enough for him at this age of his. I write this simply because I miss my grandpa that was. the grandpa that gave be pieces of jaggery. the grandpa that would tell me there's more fun in playing outdoors and falling than sitting indoors, the grandpa of mine who could lift me and make me feel he's stronger than anyone else in the world.
I miss ajja.
he was born in the same year as Che Guevara, 1928. yet, thanks be to the almighty he's never had any physical health issues for 81years. only after that did his blood sugar levels increase a bit which my grandma brought down within a month through a wonderfully strict diet. even now my grandpa can read without spectacles and hear without a problem. he still speaks in English at times and he still inspires me.
without a sense of self-decoration, I can safely say that my English is good enough and the reason for this, is my grandpa. the first person that talked to me in English. he taught me, relentlessly, patiently, till I would learn to his satisfaction. he never made me do homework or read me stories or anything, he just called me names that I would find weird and then asked me to guess what it meant. after I tried and failed he'd tell me what it meant. samples are:- ugly worm, irritant, ape, etc. :)
clearly he had the same wacky sense of humor which i carry now. the best advice that i got as a child was from him, arguably. people compliment kids every now and then saying, "good boy." grandpa did that too. but one day i asked him what it meant. he said, it's just a way of conversing and that i shouldn't take it to my head as it basically meant nothing. in truth he taught me not to get carried away with appreciation. i still have trouble reacting to good words told about me.
that was ages ago. now grandpa suffers from AD or Alzheimer's Disease. simply put it means that the cells in your brain are dying out one by one. relate it to a PC's memory being formatted, chunk by chunk, day by day. it began when we found out he had trouble remembering the names of distant relatives. it always begins that way; with tiny things. then he couldn't remember which bus to take from a town to his house. he forgot where his house was, then he forgot who was who.
now it's pretty severe. he hardly recognizes people. sometimes he mistakes me for his son, and sometimes he thinks I'm his buddy and begins addressing me like he'd address grown-ups, in plurals. he doesn't remember the faces of his children, he doesn't remember that the house he lives in is the one he constructed, he doesn't remember that his son is married. grandpa sometimes cannot get his brain to process the word that he wants and most times the sentences are incongruent. they are usually never completed.
how much life changes...
he was a gazetted health inspector. something great for his times, I hear. grandpa was intelligent, respected and feared in equal measures. there are still relatives that I meet in functions who tell me that they still remember images of the man who wore the crisp white shirt and the khaki coloured pant who's baritone would straighten a few hairs of people who indulge in indiscipline. in a way, he is still feared. :)
I am told that virtually all his married life he had to stay away from home, but he did so because he had to provide for a family of four back home. yet, he has educated all his children, all of them successful and living well now. grandpa was always neat and orderly. papers wouldn't be strung out like nomads in a desert. a spotless career graph at a time of political comedy and not being lured into accepting bribes, I can go on.
when I was tiny he would make me rifles from the barks of coconut leaves and would take me along with him to pick up fallen cashew fruits in the compound. now, all he does is sit in a corner and see things. things don't register in his mind, memories are constantly vanishing. the last ones to go are language and other things I had read. that point of no return is not too far.
it is easy to get impatient, to get angry, to scold, to force. but it is impossible to know what his life would be, to see it from his perspective. imagine not remembering who your loved ones are, not remembering if you just ate or if you haven't eaten since two days, to not remember if you slept or not, to not remember your life. it's not even a consolation to feel that he's still here. this is simply not him. this is just the shell of a spent man.
I write this not because I feel sympathetic towards him, or because I feel guilty sometimes that I do not do enough for him at this age of his. I write this simply because I miss my grandpa that was. the grandpa that gave be pieces of jaggery. the grandpa that would tell me there's more fun in playing outdoors and falling than sitting indoors, the grandpa of mine who could lift me and make me feel he's stronger than anyone else in the world.
I miss ajja.
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