GRANDFATHER

y grandfather is a septuagenarian veteran swimming in the tidewater of his seventh decade, undefeated by the betrayal of time. His face is chisselled and the creases under his eyes grow in number by the day. He adorns a crowned fringe of fossilized hair around his balding scalp and matching goatee to complement it. Every morning he limps to the window sill and looks below at the immerse streets of Bombay through his observant eyes. He perches comfortably on a wicker chair wearing his bleached kurta engrossed in the chaos below, and every now and then he smiles, before the wires of his dentures start gnawing at his gums, and his rare smile fades away. 

Sometimes I can see the young boy in him, yearning to run loose through those streets again, barefoot on the ground. It was as if his soul sat down at one of those little kiosks, amidst all the commotion and ruckus, sipping on freshly brewed piping hot tea, or maybe that little boy waits for the day where he may put down his veil of sanguine wisdom and return to the frivolous frolicking he once wore with pride/ that children are entitled to. 

In the quiet you can hear the faint sound of his watch tick. The frayed and fatigued leather interlaces above his left wrist, where a tan line deepens every day. The silver-plated dial glints effortlessly in the nascent rays of the morning light, like it did every morning during the war fifty years ago, when it rode my grandfather’s blood-drenched hands through gruesome battle, scarlet memories that send shivers down his weak spine even today. The revered watch was a gift from his friend who did not survive the wrath of the war and every day when the hand passes eight forty-six in the morning he says a quiet prayer in remembrance of the last breath of his fellow soldier. His eyes full of suffering and dread and seems to be lost in an endless sea of agony.

And then grandma walks into the room, and laces her fingers through his and his eyes turn soft, forgetting the pain for a few moments. Their eyes locked in others gaze, holding each other tight like they always have. In her presence, my grandfather is complete, he is once again an innocent young lad tender and in love. His face is that of a puppy with nothing but unconditional fondness of her, and his radiant smile returns once more and this time does not stop.