Childhood. Story 2: The Promise

Today, the bungalow adjoining my grandmother's in Trivandrum is a swanky one. I will save the elaborate description and just say one thing about it to give you an idea: It houses a swimming pool on it's roof.  But this bungalow didn't always stand there, next to my grandparent's. Till I was about 15, in it's place stood a regular home, a classic small city home of regular size and design - with a verandah, a small space away from its small gate. But what made the home special was who lived there. 

Two brothers. Confirmed bachelors. In their 80s. I don't know how old they were and if they were ever married but they had aged and only had each other now. One always sat on a rocking chair in their verandah, always in high spirits and ready with a laugh, when anyone visited. Those high spirits were shared by his brother who was the more mobile one around the house. They both had roaring laughs. Being next door neighbours we visited often during those 2 month summer vacations that I spent with my grandparents. Quick 15 min visits with mangoes or jack fruit from our garden. They would give me handfuls of rose-apples from their backyard in return. These visits were full of warmth and laughter at oft repeated jokes.

This story is about one such summer, when I may have been 6 or 7 years old. I was a bit gloomy that day because it was the last of that summer vacation. We were headed back the next day.  We went over to this house to say bye. For some reason rocking chair appupan went on saying to me in malayalam, "will you forget about me?" I found his query strange every time he repeated it but I would confidently say "no" each time. He laughed and insisted, "no...i think you will forget about me". I vehemently repeated that I will not. Each time I said that, he would laugh gleefully. His laugh made me smile wide. "I promise", I said.  

I wanted the year to pass by quickly because it was the only way I could make him believe me.  

The following year, when we went to Trivandrum, I was happy that I still remembered him clearly with the same fondness and couldn't wait to tell him that. When we went over, he looked at me with no recollection of me whatsoever. I think I could hear my baby heart break by the shock. My grandmother explained to me that sometimes old people lose their memory. He doesn't remember most things. That's when I got introduced to irony.

Being left by the very person who was afraid that it would be me who will leave him. Happens. Sometimes because of amnesia, sometimes other reasons. All part of life. 

You can read the first story in this series here.