Nibbling On Nostalgia

I sat there in front of my nanu (grandpa) and nani (grandma) with a spread of lunch in front of me. There was soft rice flour rotis, tangy mango chutney, chai and of course a little bowl of ghee. My grandparents have always been considerate about that little bowl of ghee on the table, they always insisted I put a spoonful on my rotis or rice. They believed it’s good for brain, the glow on your skin and of course a little grease is good for a ‘happy tummy’. As I take in a piece of rice roti that melts in my mouth, lathered with ghee and dipped in mango chutney I could not help but smile, my body is loving the food just as much, my heart feels light. It’s funny really how for our grandparents a little bulge is not obesity, a little grease on the food is not fat, mistakes are easily forgettable and sitting outdoor is the definition of the utmost leisure and joy. For them it is different, it’s almost like they hail from a different planet. I have failed to find that form of acceptance, love, the kind that forces you to eat your stomach full of home cooked food. For them the joy boils down to a thing as simple as feeding you, taking you out on a walk. And I think my life is complicated. If I see it from their lense, I can almost hear nanu say,” the stress just causes creezes on your forehead, you don’t want that, Do you? Do you want forehead creezes like me? No, right? So, do not take stress.  Now let’s go for a walk.” I don’t know if my nanu would talk the same way, but mom says how much my father resonates nanu, so I assume it’s the same. I never met nanu or nani. I was born three years after their death. I have no memory of them. However, I have a very vivid picture of them in my head and its reflection in my life. I had read this thing somewhere,” When people die, they become ghosts and live in form of poems inside of you, that’s how you keep the alive”, I sort of believe in that. The essence of my grandparents was breathed into life by the memory that I extracted from my parents. And I think that’s beautiful. They were beautiful. As I finish my lunch and lifted my head to the portrait of my nanu and nani, I smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of the wonderful mango chutney recipe that she passed onto my mother’s kitchen, it sure will be the heartiest poem of hers I will cherish in my ‘happy tummy’. My heart is now full.