Draw a pen-portrait of ‘Your Grandmother’
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My grandmother died an 'infant' of 95 last month. She had been an 'infant' since I don't know when because I have always seen her like that. She needed to be taken care of and watched over for every second of her waking time lest she fell over or hurt herself or faced any sort of physical discomfort. Since my oldest memory, I have always seen her bereft of any teeth and hardly able to say anything except for a few mumbles. She had to be spoon-fed with soupy food and every time, just before my grandmother had her meals, a piece of cloth was around her neck, covering her entire shrivelled body, so that the soup did not spill over her clothes. Also, soup helped her to get rid of the botheration of trying to chew the food.
Her missing teeth had another practical advantage in the sense that my mother did not have to face much difficulty in brushing them for my grandmother. Actually, she ended up swallowing the toothpaste by herself, if it was not smeared around her palate!
In her younger days she must have been beautiful. My mother and her younger sister are also very beautiful. Her skin was fair but not pale and there was a kind of soft glow in it, that can be seen in the skin of beautiful women from good families. Black and white photos of her younger days, show a woman with very attractive features: her attractiveness was because of her modest and demure looks. In spite of her age, there was a thick mop of silver hair on her head. Most of the time, it was unkempt except in the afternoons, when my mother braided them after bathing my grandmother.
In my younger days, when my grandmother could speak clearly, she always had numerous tales to tell me. One of my favourite and her oft-repeated stories was about a clever hunter who was holed up on a tall tree at night because of a ferocious tiger circling its base. The hunter lit a candle and began to warm the blade of his knife, while he kept throwing pieces of meat from his tiffin-box, so that the tiger would grow used to looking for more. Finally, when the blade was red hot, he threw down the knife and the tiger swallowed it, thinking it to be a piece of meat. Thus, the hunter escaped.
Now that she is no more, we have preserved her scratchy glasses, her box of medicines and her old, rusty iron trunk that was the only treasure she ever had.
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