the vacations I remember...

My grandmother is close to 90 now. Until a few months ago, she was the one visiting all her daughters (my aunts and mom) residing in different towns. I was talking to mom last night over the phone and she told me that grandma cannot travel anymore—it means that it’s a chance for all of us to return the affection and care she has been bestowing all her life. It also means that the little ones at home will not get the goodies from the farm and granary.

There were a few summer vacations when we were sent to spend in the village unaccompanied by our parents. As we packed our stuff two weeks before the date of departure, my grandma would also start storing her wooden boxes with our favourite fruits and nuts. She would go gooseberry picking and would have sweetened snack made out of them by the time we got to the village. She would have decided on the chicken to be cooked for dinner. The spare room cleaned and sun dried in case we refused to sleep with grandpa and her. The best rice would be husked , all the pots and pans would be filled with water just so that we don’t insist on going water fetching. Firewood aplenty to keep the kitchen warm. Grandpa would have started making baskets with cane to send mom some.

It was our time of unending adventure—no vacation would end without a walk( an hour) to the paddy field—fetching water on bamboo pots( despite resistance) picnicking on the farm cottages, feasting on wild berries and village shops. It was also a time when we were admired and cheered for the little fact that we were people from the town. Between my paternal grandparents and my maternal’s is a 500 meter yard stretch of walk way and on both sides are houses. As we walked up and down, we would be cheered by the village boys. Those walk ways felt like ramps and us like models.

She would tell us stories about my parents, mostly about my dad and how he befriended my grandparents before he even asked my mom on a date. The folktales I listened in wonder—magical stories which I thought were true—recounts of Army torture, starvation, grouping—their survival stories in the jungles. Many many more.

My grandma made sure she was by the bedside when her 18 grandchildren were born.

She never went to school but she learned to read the bible and sing hymns. She sang songs in the church with her group until a few years ago coz she started singing off tune.

The last time I met my grandma was 2 years ago, I speak to her occasionally but she doesn’t enjoy phone talks so there is hardly any bonding time. ..I don’t know how long she’ll live but I don’t know when I can see her. For now, I’ll have to get by with the memories. But I hope and pray that I’ll get a chance to thank her for making me feel like her favourite grandchild (all 18 of us do) and for making my vacations memorable Coz the only vacations I remember are the ones I spent with her.