So.. I like romances. And love stories. And I adore happy endings. Pretty surprising for someone who cannot hold on to any relationship on her own.
Here I am after a busy Sunday – a movie in the morning (Life of Pi – finally, if you want to know) followed by India’s first Soap Box Race. And people from my office were there – driving down the hill on a vada-pao shaped box!!!! Fun! Also, they had to do a little dance before it. Super fun!! And one of them dressed up as a Maharashtrian lady and gave away free vada paos to the spectators. Winnnnnnner!!!
Anyway, like I was saying, after all that I come back home and now I’m watching Drew Barrymore in a rom-com. That’s how I shall unwind the most leisurely spent day.
But then, none of these movies come anywhere close to real-life love stories. Let me tell you about how my grandmother – Mummum – met my grandpa, or dadai. She had come down from Assam to Calcutta to study medicine. This is probably around the time of independence. And it wasn’t a great thing to fall in love – especially given the difference in cultural background. But then, she met him. He was the landlord’s son’s friend. And he liked her. Him. Six feet two. She. Touching five feet. When she fell sick, he came over with baskets of fruits for her. And he hid when her father came to visit her – even after they got married, I hear. Once married my grandpa would come home early from work and would start calling for Mummmum. He would sing songs for her. They would spend evenings standing in the verandah looking at the world go by. It was only after my mother was born that mummum’s family accepted it and blessed them for the wedding. If his family said anything against her, or criticised her for not learning the Bengali lifesyle, he would stand up for her. He was scared to fly. So, he would book extra tickets on each of his flights and take her with him and hold her hand during take-off and landing. She learned Bengali, and she learned how to cook meat – even though she never had any. She became the perfect wife for her perfect man. When, much later, my grandfather passed away, mummum kept a lock of his hair with her. Which she has never given to anyone else. Last year, when she wrote a letter to me along with some books she was sending, she circled the date. August 4th. And she wrote, ” This is the day when I first saw your dadai. It is still as special to me”.
There are days when I want to believe in happy endings. And those are probably the days I speak to her.