In Memory

Today is seven years since my grandad passed away. I was very close to him. I regret that I never told him how much he meant to me. When I was a kid, he would take me to the neighborhood store, holding my hand to prevent a truck from running me over, buy me candy and some cigarettes for himself. Enroute and back, he would talk to me about life being fully aware that I wasn't paying any attention. He would light up and say "Please don't tell your mom I smoked around you". I was six if I can remember. I never snitched on him to my mom. Other kids did so they never got candy.

I was returning from Delhi after an interview at IIT when my mom called and told me to see her at Hyderabad before coming home to Bangalore. I knew the reason right away. My heart skipped a beat fearing the worst. I smoked two packs of cigarettes on the train standing at the door of the coach and staring into the open. I didn't care too much about my poor performance at the interview anymore.

I arrived at his place and he was weak. He was trembling. I started to shiver too. I walked in slowly toward him, stopped by the bed and asked "How are you?". He said "I was just waiting for you. I got something for you". With shaky hands, he reached over to the drawer next to the bed, pulled out a couple of candies and handed them to me. I hugged him and soon after he died in my arms. I didn't cry. People thought I didn't miss him much to cry. If only they understood that some emotions are better left unexpressed.

I miss him. I wish I could tell him. Ah, well, time for more beer. Time for more bar stories.