30 Days Of Gratitude – Day 4 – My Favourite Memory

Day 4 of my gratitude posts. This is definitely a no-brainer.

My Favourite Memory… and I’m smiling already, just the thought of it has got me grinning like a Cheshire Cat. I have to say, sitting with my grandfather and listening to his stories and he seemed to have a never-ending amount of those spanning across a variety of topics both fantasy and reality. We would talk about absolutely everything a child was allowed to discuss.

My favourite memory is sneaking a moment during every birthday celebration, house party or social gathering to listen to my grandfather’s stories. My parents would entertain a lot and my grandfather was a bit of a recluse (I probably get this trait from him) and would discreetly seek moments of solitude by going into the kitchen to check on the food or looking out for me. Most times he would catch me trying to find him. My parents used to throw lavish parties with nothing less than a hundred guests and everyone was so stylish. I used to find that so overwhelming and yet, I loved watching them dance and sing.

Somehow or the other, my grandfather and I would find a quiet place and exchange stories. The crowd and noise would fade into the background and it was just my grandfather and me in our own little world full of fantasy and magic. Sometimes he would talk about his childhood, sometimes he would tell me stories about the second world war, other times he would tell me about his first job or how he tried to join the hockey team and failed miserably because he couldn’t get the hang of being the goalkeeper. He would tell me about how he revived mining in Goa along with his best friend Dayanand Bandodkar. He would speak of the Portuguese rule and how glorious those days were. How he would get invited to all the governor’s parties. I would get lost in worlds I would never experience. Sometimes he would leave me with bits of advice that made absolutely no sense to me and when I’d ask he’d just smile and say “you’ll figure it out when you grow up.” Then I’d be scared I would forget.

Everyone was busy dancing we found our peace away from the crowd.

I am who I am today because of how he moulded me. His stories, his cryptic advice, the way he rose from nothing, his determination, strength and a wisdom beyond his years. Now that I’m all “grown up” everything makes sense. It was like fitting missing pieces of a jigsaw and completing the picture.

Sometimes people tell me I’m like my father. I smile, shake my head and disagree. I gently tell them that I am nothing like my father but everything like my grandfather. I have his attitude, his temper, his habits. I spent most of my life with him and in a way, I feel I am him, definitely not in looks but in intellect. I definitely have his storytelling prowess and his eye for detail.

After he died, I’d play and replay everything in my mind because I wanted to remember every single second. Every time I miss him I go back to one particular memory and stay there for a while listening to his stories once more.