All About Dinna!! (As published in her memorial)
Dinna my maternal grandmother cannot be described in a word, she is an emotion that encompasses my entire being. Every atom, every molecule. She is that eternal river that flows deep within that knows no boundaries. Generally, I do not talk about myself, but if someone refers to dinna’s achievements I can hardly remain humble. Vigorously nodding my head agreeing to every word of appreciation and then proudly informing the person that I am her granddaughter, gives me so much joy. It was a delight to see and hear her smile over the phone when I informed her about those lovely words that people said when her name came up in conversations. Yes, now I cannot pass on the praise I receive on her behalf but soak it all in as she forms a big part of me.
However, what I really miss is her voice over the phone asking about my whereabouts as always, especially about my writing assignments. She being a workaholic infused that into me, especially my passion and ability to write I owe it all to her. She is my Goddess Sarasvati in the human form. I spent a considerable part of my student life with my grandparents and in retrospect I strongly feel that the most important lesson she taught me is to develop a deep passion for whatever I do. Believe me when I say, she successfully taught me, the naughtiest kid in the world to love studies and I did. Not that I never sneaked out of my room to check whether she has gone to sleep to watch a soap opera with dadu late at night, I always sat at the edge of the sofa lest she come out suddenly! Sometimes, she did call out to dadu asking- “Baba, Titli ki porchhe?” (Baba, is Titli studying?) That semi enquiring and warning tone was enough for me to scuttle back to my room and sit at my table. Often, she asked me a rhetorical question- “Do you love studying?” The answer had to be yes and that too a very convincing and energetic one. Frowning or making faces at the name of studying deeply shocked and hurt her. She could never wrap her head around the fact- How can not one love studying?
She always motivated me by being an example herself, we spent evenings together, where she sat writing on her usual spot on the divan and me on the sofa beside studying. While she did encourage me to develop other skills such as music, dance or art but emphasised that it should not take my focus away from academics. Books meant everything to her! While I got decent marks in other subjects as a student of class ten, it was in mathematics where I got the major beating. Everyone in the family was scared about me faring poorly in maths in ICSE. She inspired me to give in my best effort even to the subject I hated and feared the most. One must know that me passing in maths was the cause of collective relief but getting a first division is what made her genuinely happy. When I now look back to the fearful year of 2003, the year I appeared for my first board exam- ICSE, I smile thinking how she prepared a concoction of ginger and lemon juice with a pinch of salt every morning before I left for school. She wielded the boti (Indian style knife attached to a wooden frame that resembles the hull of a viking boat) with same expertise as she did a pen. Verses kept tumbling out of her as the tip of her pen made the first scratch on the paper. Well that is how I fell in love with literature in both Bengali and English, especially poetry. Coming back to academics, she kept a keen record of my daily progress and all my exam routines were stuck on my room door for her reference. Being steadfast in faith, she prayed for success in all my exams. I remember how with joined hands payed her obeisance to all the gods in those tiny temples by the road as she accompanied my aunt and I every morning on my way to school. Even the tiny Ganesh on the car’s dashboard was never ignored. Her prayers never went unanswered! Neither she did miss a day without prayers.
When I got a break from studies, especially on those lazy Sunday evenings she enthralled me with the stories of her childhood in Allahabad, the famous personalities she met and of course the books she read. I listened wide eyed when she narrated how she took an autograph of Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru and watched Mahatma Gandhi give one of his speeches from a distance. After all she grew up in Allahabad where all major political events unravelled that has now become a part of our history books. I used to feel slightly envious that she got to see history as it unfolded!
Being a repository of knowledge quoting from any book of literature along with the page number came naturally to her! I believe there is so much left to learn from her and about her, that a life is not just enough. I hope to get her back in my next life if my karma permits!
Manohara is her favourite sweet and she took my parents to the town of its origin if I clearly remember. She loved the name of the sweet that lived up to its name. She was great at giving names, I owe my name to her. Though it seems an irony to me, having not lived up to it, but the uniqueness makes me so possessive about it. But dinna did live up to her name, an example of what passion and perseverance can help one achieve.
Her endless curiosity to learn more was evident when she accompanied us to Egypt, and she stood there with us in the sweltering heat of the desert to hear about the ancient land. Her passion and pursuit for knowledge and kindness is her legacy apart from the zillion books she has authored. The sincerity with which she carried out all her tasks, how little and big it might be is what truly inspires me. She taught me to see inspiration in a competition not an adversary I should pull down. The way she pulled up others around her was a lesson in life.
Oh, how will I miss her pre-birthday wish and the way she sang “hap-happy birthday”. My birthdays will never be complete without that henceforth. Your humility and innocence stay with me fresh as a flower, like the one you are- “A Violet by a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye!”
She lives in me through jokes she cracked and peels of laughter we shared over it, her concern for what I ate before the exams and that evergreen smile, she flashed every time we met. While we came from different generations and had a different way of seeing the world, she never admonished me for holding my opinion, she politely admitted that she and dadu are conservative. Her honesty stays with me so does her indomitable will power as a source of strength. How can I ever forget how she actively participated in my wedding withstanding the pain injuries she sustained? If ever was a dedicated grandmother she is the epitome of that and everything awesome. She is my fashion icon, symbol of romance, teacher, guide, and muse rolled into one. Can words ever do justice for what I feel for her or whatever she did for me, I wonder!
I remember how she often addressed me with a line of Rabindrasangeet- “Tomar holo shuru, amar holo sara”, (It is your beginning and my ending) but if I had to tell her, I will forever say- between you and me there is no end, only new beginnings!
Love you to the moon and back dinna!
