From The Girl Who Loved Fairy Tales

Back To The Roots

Do you know what is the scariest part about 'death'? 

 I asked Kashi uncle, without expecting any reply. After all, not every question demand answers, sometimes all we need is someone to share our emotions. He gave me a glance a bit embarrassed. He is my family driver whom I know since my childhood. Moreover like a parental figure for me.

 "I know nothing pa",  he innocently replied with a smile. 
He seems a bit low today as if he still hasn't recovered from the grief of losing his boss, his very own travel companion.  He has been papa's driver since ninety-two until his death.

 I never had such a connection with Papa as he did, I wish if I had. But it's too late for such a realisation. That might be the scariest part about death, we won't be able to see or feel that special person never ever in our life. And the regrets for not making those moments precious when we were with them feel intensively horrible. My papa, Mr Peter Cameron is one such regret of mine. Sometimes fate is so impatient, it won't wait for a better culmination. 

 After the demise of mamma, papa developed a kind of driving phobia. It was an accident. We were going to Shimla to visit my grandparents. I was in papa's lap while he was driving the car. A truck fastly came from the opposite direction and smashed our car. We both fell into the road, but mamma trapped under the truck. That was a spot death, she didn't even give us a chance to save her. 

  Papa became a very different person after the death of his beloved. He developed a kind of escapism from all his responsibilities, even from me. He became more workaholic and handed over the responsibility of bringing up his three-year-old to his mother. That's how he defended himself from the grief.   

"Ally pa, do u still like thaen mittai?."

 Kashi uncle asked me by shattering the deadly silence. He often calls me 'Paapa' or sometimes 'Ally pa'. It's a Tamil way of greeting the younger ones and I love being called that, it always had abundant warmth in it.

 "Kamala aunty made this for you, " 

he opened the car door and took a steel Dabba from the glove box. I grabbed it out of his hand with huge cravings like that 6-year-old. 

 "You haven't changed a bit" 
he chuckled and glimpsed at me with great affection. 

 I eagerly opened the Dabba and the sight of those glossy orange-tinted sugar balls evoked a dribble of nostalgia under my vein. I gulped one and the holy drizzle of honey oozed my taste buds. He smirked watching me enjoying the mittai.

 "It's rarely available at some Indian shops in London, but never ever tasted the same, aunty definitely have some magic ingredient in it", I blushed with joy.

 "That magic is nothing but love," he whispered with a smile. 

 "Have one?" I asked by taking the Dabba towards him. 

 "No paapa, diabetics" he chuckled and gave me his typical 'I am dead' face by popping his tongue out.
He always did that to make me laugh. But I insisted and he couldn't resist.

  It's a foggy day and the chill started insinuating under my skin. I dragged the jacket over my shoulders. it's only the mid of May but seems like monsoon arrived a bit early in Darjeeling. It's been a long time I have been here and Papa's demise called me back to my roots. 

 " Go inside pa or else you'll get cold, do you need anything when I am back?" He asked while closing the car door.

 "No, convey my regards to Kamala aunty", I waved at him and footed into the veranda and continued there watching the car fading away in the mist. 

" ma'am, someone is calling you," The maid said by handing over the phone. It's my grandmother, my mother's mom. I took the call. 

  "Are you okay?" A tensed voice came from the other end. 

  "Yes I am, don't worry",  I faked as always. I have now become an expert on that. 

 " why can't you come here? It's been one month you stay in there all alone, you could have come with us" she mumbled.

 "I am not alone, Kashi uncle has arranged a maid to look after everything. How is grandpa?" 

 I tactically tried to change the topic, but she caught me and I finally ended up on agreeing to visit them before leaving to London. They are now having their retirement life in Alleppey, Kerala. That's where grandfather Alexander grew up.  Grandmother Leela is a little strict and bossy, not as easygoing as grandma Camilla, my papa's mom.
My mamma, Mrs Maya Cameron was their only child, the perished and lost lass of Colonel Alexander Joshua and Mrs Leela Alexander. 

 Grandmother Leela is a brahmin, she belongs to a Tamil Iyer family based in Travancore. She might be the most graceful woman I ever knew. The way she carries herself in those nine yards, her style, her simplicity. Any man can effortlessly fall in love with that elegance, no wonder that grandpa did. I have great admiration for her since she looks like my mamma. The long and wavy hair with a slight golden shade, sharp and pointed nose and a triangle-shaped face. Everything about her reminds me of my mamma except those tiny stoned nose ring. 

 Mamma did her schooling in Delhi, then they shifted to Shimla when grandpa became a Lieutenant colonel and posted at the Army Training Command. Mamma was my first loss and all others left me one by one. God gave me the most to count on my loses. Sometimes I wonder, why life is so unfair for me, only for me!!

   The drizzle started sprinkling on the little white daisies and the fragrance of monsoon infused with the freshness of earth made me Saudade. Here is where I belong, the land where my ancestors rest,  it's for this land my grandma left her roots and the land where my parents fell in love. Everything about this city is special, every essence of it. I love to call it mine, my queen of hills. Aww.. how I missed been here!!