“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?
