Parth and Amey. Those were the names of the two kids in the family who were traveling with me to Sohna, a small village in the Gurugram district in Haryana, India. Originating from Mumbai, the train we were on was scheduled for Delhi, after which it would have been a two-and-a-half-hour drive by road to the village. I met the entire family when I boarded the train from Mumbai. Parth (9) and Amey (6) were playing the Indian version of the classic American board game ‘Monopoly.’ Amey would protest every time his player would land in a city owned by Parth. On the other hand, Parth would get excited and tease Amey asking for board game money. Lying on the upper birth of the 3rd A/C coach, I could see Amey plead to his mother that his brother was cheating in the game. Seeing his mother console him took me back to when I was a kid.
“Daadu, this is not right. You are cheating. ‘Again.’ ” I protested in front of my grandfather as he won the 12th game of rummy in a row.
“You always do this.” Pushing the cards away, I folded my hands across my chest, sat straight on the lower seat of the A/C coach, and pretended to get angry, hoping my grandfather would come and hug me. He always did.
My grandfather had always been a jack of all trades. He always ensured that I lived my life to the fullest. Throughout my childhood, it had been my grandfather who had pushed me, no, instead forced me to pick up and experience multiple things like riding bicycles, singing, climbing up trees, trying to ride wild buffaloes.
Having worked as a foot soldier in the British army, he traveled worldwide. Met a demure Indian Girl in Bermuda, married her and had three children with her. He worked with the military for five years after his marriage, after which he returned to India and bought a small piece of land in the village where he built a vast three-storied house, which I call my ancestral home. This is the house where my father and uncles were raised as children, this is where my cousins and I were raised as children, and this is where I am headed right now.
“We are in Delhi.” Parth shouted aloud with excitement pointing at the station sign, which slowly floated past our window as the train came to a stop at the station. All of us took our luggage, and amidst the chaotic gathering of porters at each entry gate of the train, we alighted the train one by one. I made my way to a place at the station where I could say goodbye to Parth and Amey and their parents.
“We have a car waiting for us outside. Are you sure you don’t want to join us. We are going to the same place, and we have a lot of place for one more co-passenger.” Parth’s father offered me the lift.
“I don’t want to be a burden on you, really.”
He clapped his hands and let out a hearty laugh. Picked up my only bag and started walking to the car. “You aren’t.” He said as he signaled me to follow him with a tilt of his head.
He wasn’t lying. It was a spacious car that could accommodate two more people. The family I was traveling with loved to talk. First the children, then their mother and then finally their father spoke to me about things I would not share with someone until I would have known them for months. By the time the father started pouring his heart out to me about how the village was much better than any city, I found myself looking at all the buildings swooshing past us from the window, and suddenly, I found myself remembering my grandfather again.
“Life is too short not to enjoy, my child.” His thick heavily accented Haryanvi voice still echoed in my ears. After coming back to India, he picked up farming and made a fortune selling potatoes. Bought more land, hired people under him to do the farming for him and entered into the entertainment business. He produced three regional movies, starred in one of them and had a scandalous affair with the actress of one of the movies. All 3 of them were instant hits. The affair however made him quit the show business. With the ample money he made he opened a hotel and rented it out to local celebrities only. This got him in touch with local politicians with whom he became great friends. With the help one of his friend he became a politician and retired a politician at the age of 70.
My grandfather was a very eccentric man. He would get up at 3 am and cook a feast for 20 people while living in a family of 5 with three children, just because he felt like doing so. He would invite unknown people into his house as guests for dinner at his own whims and fancies. He would shave only on the 3rd, 12th, 17th and 29th of every month. He would only wear red underwear and had ten shirts of the same color.
To us children, all of this was the subject of numerous jokes, but one thing which stuck with me was his constant diktat, to all his children and grandchildren, to never enter the room on the terrace.
The room on the terrace was an additional one-bedroom studio apartment my grandfather had built.
“God had come in my dreams last night and directed me to build this room.” He said to all of us. But we all knew this was his secret meeting place with Seema aunty, the actress from one of his movies. After being forced not to meet Seema aunty by my grandmother, Daadu locked the room and threw the key in the canal nearby. But this had an impact on his health and his attitude. He became quiet, started mumbling, and kept to himself. He would get irritated at the slightest of discomfort and sometimes would dance in joy without any reason. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t mental. For a very long time after throwing the key in the canal he lived a very active social and political life. It was only at his home that he behaved strangely.
We assumed that he was getting old and therefore tolerated his antics. But things started to go downhill when he started disappearing for hours at a stretch, without anyone knowing where he was. It started with just about an hour of disappearance, and by the time anybody could suspect anything, he would disappear for 2-3 hours. We took turns to stay with him so that there was someone with him, but he always managed to slip away. Upon being asked on his return, he would say that he saw Seema and went after her calling her name. And that she ran away from him upon hearing him call out her name. It seemed he was getting mental, but he did not act like one. The doctors could not come up with any theory. This went on for about a year when one fine day, he left and never came back. He went missing.
The police conducted a massive manhunt. The local people formed search parties and looked for him. TV and newspapers reported him missing and flashed his photos. For about a year we ran pillar to post to try and seek help to find him and we got no clue. So we assumed that he had either died or was never coming back.
We conducted a havan at the house requesting the Gods to bring him back and keep him healthy and safe. Almost 500 people attended the havan. Havan, was followed by a feast. To arrange for the seating of so many people we had arranged for plastic chairs and furniture a day before the havan. We intended to give it back the next day to the vendor whom we sourced it from. The house, however, could not accommodate so much furniture, and we instructed the house help to keep the chairs in the room on the terrace. I guess it was the wrong suggestion because nobody had opened the room for a year since there were no keys. The maid arranged for a bolt cutter from the neighbors and went upstairs to open the door. He cut the lock open, unbolted, and opened the door only to send out the loudest shriek his lungs could afford to let out. He came running down to me, panting and horrified. He was stuttering.
‘He, He, He is there. He is there.’ He said.
‘He, who’ I asked, worried.
Your grandfather with Seema Ji.
