Aaji

An elderly beautiful lady, draped in white printed saree, wearing four red bangles over her wrinkled wrists and flashing the prettiest smile I have ever witnessed was my epitome of love while I was growing up.

She often recited 'Raja-Rani' stories and even described how my Raja should be but did not wait around to help when I’ll have to find one. Maybe, she would have stayed if I made her promise, but Aaji, I hope you have forgiven me for letting you go. I called her 'aaji' because I never knew her real name. We became each other's companions on a summer evening while playing 'hide and seek, she helped me find my friends hiding who were in her room. Whenever I asked her about her being alone, she always answered 'I'm waiting for baba'. Baba used to visit his ‘tube well' and cows every evening while aaji would wait for him with her hot cup of tea. The kind of love she had for baba, is the kind of romance I wish to experience in my life.

Aaji and baba used to stay alone, a little far from their family house. I can vividly picture her room, aaji laying down on a cot with her grey sheet and pillow, a pot, glass, and her stick kept beside; her green trunk containing three sarees, two dhoti kurtas, and another set of red bangles. Like a carefree teenager, she always overlooked her neighbors complain about kids making noises at her place till dusk. We were her family and oh god, she loved us. I remember counting her wrinkles and saying '

humke budh naikhe hokhe k, jhurri ho jayi hamaro' (I don’t want to grow old, my skin will be wrinkled too),

when she would smile and say, Tu na hokhabu, tu sundar hokhabu (you won’t, you’ll grow beautiful). Only if I understood, I was witnessing the holiest form of beauty.

Visiting her every evening was almost a ritual for me. She would keep waiting on days I didn’t go and ask if I was unwell the next day. Aaji always saved some from everything good she ate and would identify me by my footsteps. She always talked about loneliness, kindness, love, and never failed to tell me her childhood tales. She once told a story about how she slapped and kicked a guy for eve-teasing her when she was in 5th grade. What a queen!

This continued for two years and then I moved to a city. Every vacation I met her and she asked me about life in the city. Aaji loved trains. Only twice in her life she had been on one and always said

'Ticket le ke jail jala' (Do not travel without tickets).

I could never digest that Aaji would leave someday until I came to visit her in class 9th and found out that she left us. Aaji kept her favorite shawl with his grandson, telling him to give it to me when I visit next. The bond between a person who is about to die and someone who is getting ready for the world is angelic. She was 93 when she passed away, leaving a void in my heart for life. I still go and sit outside her room, but cannot peep inside from the window as it is closed forever. If I ever can ask for something back, it would be her.

Dear Aaji, now I have stories about metro cities, and yes there are these fancy local trains I regularly travel in. Now, I understand the concept of loneliness and the love you always talked about. But you are not there. Why didn't we have phones back then, at least we could have had a picture together. You know I'm bad at drawing, but I always paint you in my memories. I never said but you were among the most beautiful things I have loved on this planet.

Wish you were here aaji. I’ll keep writing to you and hugging your shawl until we meet again!