I have observed that I have a special liking for old people. Thinning grey hair, a disarming toothless grin and a truckload of stories to tell - grannys and grampas have a way of sneaking into a cozy corner of your heart in no time. Each wrinkle on their forehead has a different story to tell. Be it their allusion to the times when 10 paise would fetch them a canful of candies to how the world was much simpler back then.
On a more personal note, my grandparents have a very special place in my heart. For me, they belong to that age that I wish I could be born in. I have vicariously tried to live their lives when they ruminated about the years gone by. They have an adorability quotient, which is comparable to a toddler. Perhaps this explains the special bond my sister and I shared with them in our formative years.
My mother alleges that my Dadu had a huge influence in spoiling my sister beyond rectifiction. Not that she has turned out to be a bratty girl, but the fact is my mom didn't get a free hand in scolding or beating her up as a disciplinary measure. Dadu would invariably intervene and rescue my sis — who would often use her vocal chords to maximum capacity even before my mom had landed a blow on her — from my mother's tyranny.
I have also seen Dadu concocting amusing stories for my sis, who was nothing short of a tyrant in her insistence that she wouldn't hear any stories that had already been told, nothing from the newspapers and nothing that remotely sounded like an excerpt from a real life incident. That would leave the poor man with little option but to stretch his imagination and fabricate stories that sounded hilarious to maturer ears.
One night, he was really exhausted and dozing off to sleep, but my sister, the hard taskmaster that she is, was still not satisfied with my Dadu's ingenuity. Dadu, who had already exhausted his repertoire, came out with a gem. "Once upon a time, there was a king. He married the queen and then... the tiger ate them up." You can't imagine the punishment meted out to him for this utter disrespect for a plot. Now he had to tell her a story even during the afternoon.
On a more personal note, my grandparents have a very special place in my heart. For me, they belong to that age that I wish I could be born in. I have vicariously tried to live their lives when they ruminated about the years gone by. They have an adorability quotient, which is comparable to a toddler. Perhaps this explains the special bond my sister and I shared with them in our formative years.
My mother alleges that my Dadu had a huge influence in spoiling my sister beyond rectifiction. Not that she has turned out to be a bratty girl, but the fact is my mom didn't get a free hand in scolding or beating her up as a disciplinary measure. Dadu would invariably intervene and rescue my sis — who would often use her vocal chords to maximum capacity even before my mom had landed a blow on her — from my mother's tyranny.
I have also seen Dadu concocting amusing stories for my sis, who was nothing short of a tyrant in her insistence that she wouldn't hear any stories that had already been told, nothing from the newspapers and nothing that remotely sounded like an excerpt from a real life incident. That would leave the poor man with little option but to stretch his imagination and fabricate stories that sounded hilarious to maturer ears.
One night, he was really exhausted and dozing off to sleep, but my sister, the hard taskmaster that she is, was still not satisfied with my Dadu's ingenuity. Dadu, who had already exhausted his repertoire, came out with a gem. "Once upon a time, there was a king. He married the queen and then... the tiger ate them up." You can't imagine the punishment meted out to him for this utter disrespect for a plot. Now he had to tell her a story even during the afternoon.
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