I stared into those eyes which now swam in large tears. Ever since I was a kid, as we left our Kolkata home to come back to Delhi after the summer vacation was done, she has always facinated me with those strange tear filled eyes. My Grandmother has always bade me goodbye with tears and I never understood why.
As we increased in length and breadth with time, our vacation spans reduced in similar proportions. Now we can hardly afford to spend more than a week or two at Kolkata. work has replaced our lazy summer afternoons. Time is now too precious to waste. A stroll by the river or hogging our evenings away at a Phuchka stall would mean a heavy cut down on the heavy chance that we hold, of scoring all those heavy scores in the examinations.
My Grandmother has always bade us goodbye with tears and I for one never understood why she did that. I remember, as a kid, when she bent to plant a tear soaked kiss on my cheek, I would tell her not to worry, we would be back again by next summers. I could never understand why she wept as we boarded our train.. She could always give a phone call when she felt like. I was a kid I had known, but this was amusing when She behaved like one.
We boarded the train to Delhi from Kolkata today. And in all these years nothing has changed. Those big, divinely beautiful eyes glistened with tears. For the first time I observed her closely. The tall lean frame stood there on the platform in a white cotton saree. Her Saree, I remember was magical. It had tremendous healing power. When as a child I ran to her with my hurt knees she would wipe my tears away with the end of her saree and strangely soon, it would begin to hurt less. It would always give those ugly, pockmarked, red eyed, slimy green ghosts of my nightmares, a run for their lives, with its tender touch.
Perhaps The saree still held its magic but over the years, I have learnt to live without it. I have learnt to believe that green ghosts of my nightmares donot exist. I have learnt to sophisticatedly dab my eyes with tissue papers when emotions begin to blurr my vision.
I have learnt but I guess I havn't learnt enough. The tissue soaks away the water but it never soaks the pain. Ghosts of my dark past, continue to terrorize me.
Today as she waved at me as the train began to depart from the station, I saw her dark skinny hand, her long fingers, which in the past had massaged my baby skin with mustard oil, tied my curly hair in two long braids, held my story books high as I laid under them and heard her take me away to the land of wicked witches and pretty fairies, shoved in me bitter tasting medicines during illness and then magically produced sugar cubes when I had swallowed. Cooked numerous meals for me, waved the hand fan when there was a power cut.
Given me tokens of money to buy myself little pleasures with, held the phone tightly to her ear, when I called.
Moments ago they were placed on me in blessing when I touched her feet.
I think I understand why she always bade me goodbye with tears. It was because, each time I left, time would shed away the old and put on me a new garb. All these years I returned but returned never as the one who had promised to return. She silently wept her Goodbye because each time I left, she knew, I was perhaps leaving never to return again.
The Train hooted and began to speed. I gazed in pain in those eyes which sparkled brightly with tears. I cherished the moment, as she feebly smiled, and slowly began vanishing behind the red velvet curtain.
