In A Struggle to Remember
He used to have blood stains all over his face after his routine shave. Despite many pleas by my father to switch to the “latest” Gillette presto, Grandpa still favored his old metal razor. After the shave, a gentle rub with a ‘phitkari’(potash alum) would clean up the massacre and culminate his ritual. He was a man of his time. Used to reject modernity where ever he could but couldn’t shy away from embracing it where necessary. Only recently I stumbled upon his old shaving kit. The old man’s tools never betrayed him. After a little cleaning his razor glowed brightly, as if ready for the old routine.
At times, grandpa meets me in my dreams and talks to me through my memories. Memories that are usually attached to a place or a thing and are likely to get triggered when I witness a change. If that change is sudden, turns out the memory associated with it strikes me faster, as if for a final time to supply my mind enough images to remember it. Through these occasional blows of change that I come across daily, I tend to remember more than I could’ve normally recalled on my own about him. But as new change overtakes old memory, for how long shall these impulses of remembrance strike me?
While looking at his old house which is only a stone throw away from my place, I realized how powerful material monuments are in keeping a memory alive. Through time certain things have changed in that house which subconsciously bothers my memory and like a reflex to that, the brain pours out the past afresh as a final attempt to help me remember. As a result I avoid going there often or even look at that direction, being scared of finding a change that I can’t hold upon.
My Memory wants to remember that the small metal gate shall be answered by him who, in a gray kurta, would receive me with a warm hug. My Memory would like to witness the sight of grape vines covering the entire porch and small bunches of sour grapes being devoured by a trail of ants. At last, My Memory would like to believe that the plastic water cooler from Nanak nagar still sprays out water during those June summer afternoons while he would happen to relish his siesta. But, Alas, all memory can do is make me believe. The struggle of remembering falls upon what my eyes witness. The Absence, The Change, The Dried up garland on his photograph and The Decade Old Shaving kit. But that doesn’t mean I shall stop believing.
I believe in dreams. Dreams of long evening walks with your wrinkled hand holding mine, Dreams of us sipping that sour grape juice and making all those faces and lastly, Dreams of that phitkari gliding over your smiling face.
I believe and I remember. Still.
‘A stone throw away. But I have no stones now. No one to wave to now, no one to call. The small alley feels never ending. I never step on it, the path towards the small house where no one awaits me. Wild weeds have outgrown the empty plot. The smell from the drain, left and right, guides towards the now unknown. Another house lives nearby. He used to see you come and go every day, for the evening walks, leaving behind that Nokia black and white on which I used to play snake and space impact. The snakes and the ships are old now, like me, a witness to your life. I never knocked the gate for I hate noise. Rather I would gently slide my fingers into the gap and push the metallic hinge till it opened. Oh those flowers and tulips in your little garden felt so small in front of the majestic grape vines that had grown into a ceiling of its own. The washbasin still had those old toothbrushes. I took of my shoes and opened the steel gate but… it was locked. I pushed and banged in fear. I saw you sleeping peacefully. That peace seemed eerie. I was scared of your sleep. That old dream always haunted me, Of the eternal sleep. After a few more helpless blows to the door I saw you awake, alive. You saw me as I saw you from the rusty steel mesh. You saw my fear and smiled. You sensed my fear. Fear of losing. It’s gone now but where? Through that smile? Through that hug? As I see my reflection on your photograph, I see no fear now. I see a smile. I see you.’
