Nani

My hands were tearing up ruti and using it to mop up vegetables and chicken curry from the plate in front of me. A bit of this, a swipe of that, the food did not taste like anything. I was just hungry, shoveling the food into my mouth, too tired to taste. Suddenly I looked down at the plate, my fingers moving, the food being mushed together and I had a dejavu of the time I saw my grandmother’s fingers do the same. I was staring at her plate the same way. She was eating haphazardly, old, ill, slightly delusional. The food seemed difficult to chew, barely enough to keep her big body alive and well. But it did.

My nani has always been a big lady, as far back as I could remember. Everyone said that I got her bone structure. Staring at my plate and remembering her a thought suddenly crossed my mind; what if I turned into her when I grew older. Big, wrinkly, dark circles around her eyes, mopping up gravy with unleavened bread, disoriented and slightly delusional. I panicked.

Then reality hit me smack across my face.

I can only hope that I turned into her. She has been a wishing well of love for our family. Growing up, I have never seen her kitchen closed for anyone. There was delicious food for anyone who walked in through her doors at any time. She has always opened up her house, her kitchen, her life to people in need; helping, encouraging, pushing. Every tradition, every festival was only festive when we were at her house.

She is my favorite. Her children worship her and take care of her unconditionally. She has never gossiped in her life and had taught me all the essentials; how to pickle EVERYTHING, cook the best gorur mangsho with whole spices and pretend-knit for a school-play. She was the superhero who had covered my baby cot with her anchal all night for a week after my birth, saving me from villainous mosquitoes. Not once has she told me that I was getting old, I needed to get married or have babies.

She was the one who made me; the dark-skinned little misfit with self-confidence issues feel like a princess; while the rest regaled over my cousins who had milky-white skin.

To my Nani, I am grateful for your shade. I will always be your ‘Rajkoinna’ and you will always be my best.