Gene Pool

I took my grandmother out. I thought she looked tried of life’s banality and needed a break (or maybe it was me), but together we went. We had stepped out of a book launch – a translation in Bengali of La Douleur. My French was rusty and I can’t even understand Bengali to save my life, so I sat there, with a fake smile counting the minutes ticking by and was the first one to flee (I didn’t even try out the flavoured tea they were offering) with gran ma in my tow. She is much more sociable than I am. It was her friend who translated that book. Mrinal Sen was there, he also knows her. I was quite thrilled for that one second to be among old people who were sparkling like precious antiques.

We wandered around aimlessly for a while, taking in the sultry, humid weather mingled with dust, honking horns and neon restaurant boards of Park Street. I asked her what she wanted to eat. She said she was game for anything, it took her to a Spanish bar and pub (atleast that’s what it said), it was first time for me too. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise- futuristic décor, eye tonic staff and good music. I think gran ma was much more thrilled than I was. Maybe she remembered her Canada days… to my surprise she asked for the drink menu and ordered a beer. I ordered a frozen watermelon margarita- something I had never heard before- and found myself staring at a huge fountain of crushed ice topped with margarita mixture and watermelon juice. By the time I could finish even half of it; my gran ma was on her second mug.

I was feeling woozy in head but relaxed and nice, I commented,” This is new you. I never thought we would have such a nice time. Now I also know which side of the gene pool I inherit. My dad’s family never even touched alcohol. They were pure vegetarian Brahmins…”

“I know darling. But I am happy you go after our side. We are more interesting,” she replied and winked.

It is strange how naïve we are as children. We have this perfect world around us and as we grow older, we start spotting cracks, blemishes and let’s say how imperfect our world really is. The final straw comes when we ourselves realize we are not perfect and become more tolerant of ourselves and maybe others. Learning how to see and not really see at times.

When I was a kid, my gran ma was someone I had most fun with. She still is a hugely entertaining person. A free spirit…but apart from just humour, jest and vitality, now, after 20 years, I also see the sadness of leaving her alcoholic husband after 20 years of marriage, of losing her sister to malaria- the deadly of all kolkata diseases, of going through the harrowing time of breaking the news to her second daughter that she was adopted… still as she herself says,” I don’t care what happened in the past, I am here to live my present, my future.”

My maasi had the perfect marriage in my eyes, I remember, 15 years back, they were posted in Dehradun, Mausaji is in the defense services. I was 13 years old and had gone to spend the summers. They had this huge old house with lots of servants. I got whatever I asked for breakfast and used to see from the window the couple sitting in the verandah sipping tea and gazing each other adoringly (yuck! Should have known then… it does sound sickly sweet). Ten years down the line … I knew enough to realize that my Maasi was having an extra marital affair and my Mausaji was too artificial in life to do anything about it (I think, he too was having an affair… pretty convenient say?). Talking of extra marital affairs… I am the not the one to pass judgements anyways.
“Why are you giving such a funny expression?”

That jolted me back to present and I asked her, “Do you think I have taken the dark side of the family too?”

“Well dear, everyone has a dark side, some people accept it and live with it and some try to hide it. It is a double edged sword, but everyone has to deal with it”

“How come ma turned out to be so different?”

“She had genes from your Nana’s side I guess; they were always prim and proper. He was too except for his alcoholism,” she replied winking at me.

I smiled at her spunk. Thankfully somethings still remain the same.