I'm a Goan girl, working in Mumbai as the founder of a creative agency called Totem Creative. I try to make the world happier, safer and more meaningful. I believe education, knowledge and awareness, art, writing and creating Social Impact are my means to achieve that end.

I love Animals, Nature, Art, Relationships, Sports, Technology and Stories.

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Friday, March 27, 2015

About Grandfather

26th March 2015
Bad drawing. But drawing nonetheless.

My grandfather, 'Deddy' was a very good man. I used to think in his old age that I barely know him. In my growing up years he was already bed ridden. Deddy was the only doctor in our family, n he was a great one. He was an orthopedic surgeon. It was sometime in 2000, that he had fully lost function of the right side of his body and was suddenly paralysed.

The deddy I saw after that was a short tempered crabby demanding person, who only seemed to live for his love of food. He would need help to sit up on the bed, bathe and eat. He was like this for 12 years until I was in my 1st year of college and got the call. I wouldn't say I was very close to him, but he did talk to me a lot about his younger days of apprentice, his travels to Britain and his violin. He was very proud of me because I loved sports and he thought I was intelligent because I aced biology. But the reason I loved him was because I had flashes of memory of him loving me as a child. Carrying me around everywhere, playing with me. I distinctly remember this one day in my Margao ancestral house when he came home from the market and got me 'moorin'. It's now a rare local fruit that grows inside a coconut. After squealing with joy and running to hug him, Raina and I started fighting for the moorins. He stopped us and told raina, "darling, these are for nikhi. I've got you your favourite fish." And Raina was happy too.

This morning, 7 years after his death, I had a dream of him. It was in my house, I was walking up to my room. When I opened the door a man was trying to get off the bed with the support of his hands. He was a tall big man, but alone. I recognised him and shut the door. I looked through the keyhole of the room. This time the man stood upright facing me, a woman by his side. It was ajju and deddy. I burst open the door and flew into his arms, tears pouring through my eyes. My arms only reached his waist. He was grinning widely and ajju with him. He was standing again and this time we were going to have a better start.

When I woke up from the dream, sobbing, I realised I never got to love him or mourn him fully. And worst of all, I never got to say goodbye. I guess this is the only eulogy I can write.