Care, always.

“Can you please come to my home quickly! Dadi isn’t feeling well and I am worried”. That is how it all had started. Amar’s message. Over a year back. We both had met two years ago at a gym. Through casual chatting, we knew that we were neighbours. He lived in the block next to mine. Amar was a student of business management. He had been living in the city for three years now. His father had his textile firm in his hometown. Instead of letting him live in a hostel, Amar’s parents decided that it would be best if he lived in a rented flat. After a few weeks Amar’s grandma too came to live with him so as to cook and care for him.

Amar’s grandma – the sweetest, wisest woman I had ever met. Having lost my grandparents in very early childhood, I was deprived of that pampering and care that comes from our senile elders. She would often cook my favourite dishes and would either invite me or over or have them sent over. She was of good health generally except for old age problems. She was a diabetic patient and since my father was one too, I used to keep inquiring about her diet. I often persuaded her to go for a walk in the evening and at times even accompanied her on those walks. Amar’s message that day scared me. I had lost my parents. The thought of losing a close elder one ... I rushed to his flat. Amar had already called an ambulance. I quickly made a sugar and lemon concoction and administered it to her. She had probably fainted due to drastic low sugar levels. The ambulance came, took her away and I also went to the hospital. For three days and four nights Amar and I took turns in sitting beside her at the hospital. His parents came from town and stayed for a week. After she was discharged, Amar’s parents went back. She refused to go with them as she was worried about Amar. I then convinced them that I will look after her. And I did. It was a very small price to pay for the love and affection that I received from her. She would just have to look at me to know something was not right with me.

Post her stay in hospital, she had become weaker. Her medical test results were also worrying. I suggested she go back to her hometown. To which she said “I can’t choose the manner or time of my death. Let me dare and choose the place.” And then one hot May evening, she passed away. In her sleep. Perhaps the most peaceful way to go. But the mental agony of never being able to her voice, to see her, to feel her hand upon my head ... That had put my peace in turmoil. I had cared for her like I did for my mother and she loved me as if I was her daughter. Constantly calling and checking up on her and dropping in to see her ... And now she had gone. Her cremation and death rituals were performed by Amar and his father. And then twenty days later, her lawyer called me and asked me to be present at the reading of her will. Not thinking much of it except something that she would have wanted me to do. It was, to put it mildly, shocking. Amar’s grandma had bequeathed me eight lakh rupees. She had mentioned her ancestral riches to me. Three houses, lot of gold, some land. But I had never given much thought to it. And today, this “gift” was unexpected. After the meeting was over I decided to take leave. A few days later I received a letter from Amar’s father’s lawyer. He had challenged the will and claimed I was bequeathed the amount when grandma wasn’t in sound health and also that I may have taken advantage of the proximity and attachment to her and persuaded her to do so. I was aghast! I went to Amar’s flat and showed it to him. The claim letter wasn’t as shocking as his response.

“It was very mean of you to do this”.

“Amar, are you out of your mind? Do you even realise what are you saying? I cared because I loved, not because I sought to gain anything. Had I known that she was to leave me this money I would have myself asked her not to.”

“Shut up and stop the drama. You took advantage of her ill-health, of our reliance upon you. Let the court deal with this now.”

I had gone numb. A motive was being sought in my care and concern. “I am sorry if that is what you think. I will give back the money to you as i receive it. I will go to the court and sign an affidavit, promising to keep my word.”

And I left. That was few weeks back. Time had refused to numb the sting of Amar’s words. I was scarred. I received the amount and keeping my word, wrote a cheque for the same in favour of Amar’s father. I had it dispatched by courier. And came home. Seeking a moment of closure. The mobile beeped and I checked the messages which preceded a couple of missed calls. Tanvi had messaged me. I read. And I froze.

“Di, can you please come home quickly? Mom isn’t feeling well. I don’t know what to do.”

Yes, that is how it all had started a year back ... I just fell on the sofa. Did I have it within me to go through all this again? What if my care was thrown back on my face again? What if an ulterior motive was sought in my actions again?

To answer Tanvi or not ... Well, what do you think I must have or should have done?