Three Decades with Dadu: Tanvi Khemani

Part 1: Halla^[1]

“Dadu, why do you call me Halla gadi^[2]? Was I really such a noisy kid? No one else calls me that… Oh, okay, I wasn’t irritating, I was cute? That’s good, I suppose. But I’ve grown up now. Yes, I’m 7 years old! I’m a big girl! But you can still call me Halla gadi if you want.”

“Dadu, I reallyyyyy want a dog for my tenth birthday. Mom and dad said no. They said you hate dogs and you’ll never allow one in the house. Why, dadu? They’re so sweet! No, they aren’t smelly! We’ll give our dog a bath regularly. He’ll be the cleanest dog in the world. Why not? Mom had a dog when she was a child! We also want one. Don’t be mean! Can we get a dog? Pleaaaaaase?”

“Dadu, would you like to learn how to say ‘Yo?’ All the young kids are doing it these days. Okay, so you basically fold two fingers down like this and say ‘Yo!’ when you’re greeting someone. It’s like a substitute for ‘Hi!’ Let’s try it. Say it with me. One, two, three, yo! See? Wasn’t that fun? Now you’re also a cool teen like us!”

“Dadu, you grew up speaking Marwari, right? And dad speaks fluent Marwari and all your siblings speak Marwari, so how come us grandkids never learned Marwari? What do you mean, we’re always too busy studying? That’s not fair! I have my board exams this year. I have to study. Will you teach me some Marwari after my exams? Promise?”

“Dadu, I’m doing a project for school on Rajasthan. Do you ever miss Rajasthan? Life there must’ve been so different. Calcutta is so different. You and your friends rode camels regularly, right? Of course I’ve seen a camel! In fact, I rode one at a fair. It was so scary! I nearly fell off. Don’t worry, I didn’t get hurt. I just hung on for dear life. What, you and your friends raced camels over the sand dunes? Really? Wow. That sounds so scary. But also fun. And what else did you do during your childhood?”

“Happy 50^th anniversary, dadu and maua! I can’t believe you guys have been married for half a century. In our generation relationships don’t even last a few months… No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend. Uff, I’m telling you the truth! I’m focusing on my college applications. Anyway, dadu, I‘ve been dying to ask you- why did you choose to marry maua? You both had a love marriage, right? What was she like at 15, when you first met her? What made you fall in love with her? How cute, look, he’s blushing! Tell us, dadu! We all want to know!”

“Yes, dadu. I’m going to Bombay for my Master’s program. What do you mean, what’s the point of studying so much? It’s my dream to do a PhD! Well, if all the good Marwari boys dislike highly educated women, that’s not my problem! I’m not dreaming of marrying boys like that anyway. Hmph.”

Part 2: Vartalaap^[3]

“Dadu, the lockdown will be extending for another few weeks. We can’t go out of the house. Yes, I know your friends are still going to the club every day to play cards, and I know you’ve been meeting them every day for over 40 years. But you have respiratory problems, and the doctor said you have to be extra careful with this virus. You’ll have to stay home for a few months till a vaccine comes out. It’s just too risky.”

“Dadu, I want to watch Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam with you and maua. This lockdown is so boring. Oh, I know. Let’s do a movie night. It’ll be a good change. Any evening is fine. I’ll get some popcorn made.”

“Wow, this movie is gorgeous! Meena Kumari is so tragically beautiful. Dadu, did the wealthy zamindars still host mujras like these when you were growing up? Or was the era of the courtesans over by then? What? You went to a mujra once? And you took maua? Were women even allowed in the audience? How was it? Were the dancers as beautiful as they are in Hindi films? Tell me all about it!”

“Yo dadu, pranam. I’m well! I know the news channels are saying scary things about the smog in Delhi, but don’t worry, I’m okay! I bought an air purifier. If the pollution increases in Calcutta, we’ll get one for maua also. It’ll help her with her cough. Oh, work is going well. My office hours are very long. I miss you two too! Yes, I’ll be coming home for a few days for Diwali. I don’t know for how long— my leave is yet to be approved.”

“Dadu, I wanted to show you my new lehenga. I’m attending a friend’s wedding. What’s that? You think I look like a rajkumari^[4] in my lehenga and jewelry? That’s so sweet, thank you! Ha ha, don’t worry, no one will fall in love with me and take me to the mandap today. Not without your blessings, anyway. And I’m not looking that beautiful. Oh, you think my hair looks beautiful? Thank you.”

“Hello Dadu, are you busy? You’re at home? Good. I just called you like that… I could use a laugh. Oh, it’s nothing… I had a tough day at work. Oh, oh, please tell me the story about the time you and your whole group of friends tried to cheat on a test and got caught by the principal and charmed your way out of a punishment! Oh, and the story of the time you snuck into a movie theatre and came face to face with Bade Dadaji and Badi Dadima^[5], who had also sneaked out of the house? I can’t believe you were so mischievous back then. Why did I waste my childhood being such a goody two shoes?”

“Dadu, see, my flatmate said my hair was looking really nice today, and I told her how much you enjoy seeing it, so I thought I’ll show it to you on a video call. Yes, I’m taking care of myself. I’ve recovered from my cold. Okay, I need to go, our cab is here. Bye, dadu!”

Part 3: Phusphusahat^[6]

“Dadu, I’m coming home to spend some time with you. Don’t worry about my job. My company has given me an extended leave, given the circumstances. Oh, I know you’re fine and there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Mom and dad told me you’re responding well to the chemo. No, I’m not worried. I just want to spend some time with you. I’ll see you in a week.”

“Dadu, do you remember last year, when we watched Pyaasa together? We had such a lovely time. I know you love all the songs. I do too. Would you like to watch a bit of it with me now? It’ll make you feel better? No? You want to take a nap? Okay. Good night.”

“You’ve been fighting your illness for so many months, dadu. The doctors say you’re responding well to treatment. I know you feel worse. But your parameters have improved.”

“Dadu, please recite your favorite lines from Madhushala. I really want to hear them again.”

“Dadu, would you like to eat something? Please eat something. The doctor said you need to have a lot more protein. And carbs too. You’re barely eating one roti through the day. You’ve lost five kilos in three weeks. How will you fight the disease if you don’t eat?”

“Dadu, I made your favorite cake specially for you. You’re not hungry? Okay. But please have a couple of bites. I made it myself. Thank you! I’ll get you a spoon.”

“Yes dadu, we spoke to the doctor about your toothache. He has said we’ll have to take you to the dentist for an extraction. It can’t be done at home. It’s too risky. No, I know you don’t want to go outside. Walking tires you these days. But we need to go to the doctor once. It’ll ease your pain.”

“Dadu, look, we brought Bruno here to see you. I, too, wish you could pet him. I know, it’s a struggle for you to sit up. It’s okay, I’ll pet him for you. How old is he? Oh, he turned 4 recently. See how he’s wagging his tail? He’s saying, “Dadu, get well soon!””

“Dadu, I know you want to go soon. I know you’re fed up with being stuck in bed this entire year. You hate being unable to move by yourself. And your whole body hurts. I wish we could help. But the doctors were very clear—they can only treat your illness. They aren’t allowed to give you anything to help you go faster. I’m so sorry. But we can talk to them about increasing your pain medication. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Part 4: Sannata^[7]

Inner voice: Okay, time for some self-talk. Deep breaths. Yes, it’s hard to see him like this. But I have to spend time with him. I can’t let him see how sad I am. I must put on a brave face. God, this is so hard. I’ve never seen such illness and suffering up close. I so wish we could help him. The chemo is keeping him alive, but at what cost? Mom and dad were right. There are no easy options here. Well, I can’t let maua or dadu see how worried I am. I’m representing all the grandchildren. God, I wish my siblings were here too. Okay. Deep breaths. Smile. Come on. You got this.

“Dadu, what would you like to have for lunch? I can’t hear you. I know, you’re finding it difficult to speak. Why don’t you gesture instead? How about a thumbs up for yes, and, um, just shake your head for no.”

Okay, I need to calm down. This is harder for him.

Just be patient. Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale.

“Dadu, are you trying to tell me something? I can’t make out what you’re saying. Why don’t you take a deep breath and then try to speak? Maybe your mouth has gone dry again. Why don’t you drink some water? You don’t want to? Okay, we’ll spray some water into your mouth like the doctor suggested. Okay, I’ll come closer to you.”

I must keep smiling. If I look sad, it’ll make him feel worse.

Brave face, come on, I can do it.

 “Sister, can you make out what he’s trying to say? We can’t understand anything.”

He looks so agitated. What do I do?

His eyes are filled with urgency.

He knows he can’t write or talk. His affairs are all in order.

What could possibly be so important?

“Dadu, the doctor has prescribed an artificial saliva spray for you to help you speak more easily. And a speech therapist will start coming every day to teach you some exercises. You are dehydrated and very weak, so you’re unable to speak. But these steps will help. No, I don’t think the spray will taste bitter. I’m going to go buy it now.”

I hate seeing him in this state.

Anything to get out of the house for a few hours.

“Dadu, since you’re not able to speak, I’ll try to guess what you’re saying. Are you feeling cold? Do you want to sit up? Do you want some water? Has your pain increased? Do you want me to draw the curtain? Would you like to eat something? No? Okay…”

He tries to talk to me every day but I can’t understand anything.

He looks at me with wide eyes full of urgency.

I hate this. I wish he would just rest instead of fighting it.

I just want him to stay quiet.

Talking puts such a strain on him and he just can’t speak properly any more.

It’s heartbreaking to watch him struggle everyday.

“Dadu, you’re so weak. And your medication is making you drowsy. Please don’t fight the sleep. You need to rest. I know you want to say something to me, but you aren’t being able to speak. No, none of us can understand you. Why don’t you get some rest, and you can speak to me in the morning when you’re feeling a bit stronger.”

What is he trying to say? I have no idea…

I hate this weird rasping sound he makes when he tries to speak.

I haven’t heard his voice in so long.
Will I ever hear his voice again?

Part 5: Smaran^[8]

“Hi, didi. Dadu passed away last night. He was asleep. He went peacefully. I know, he suffered a lot in his last few months. I’m glad he’s finally got mukti. But I’m going to miss him. They’ll be cremating his body today and then we’ll organize a baithak. Yes, the next few days will be very chaotic. There will be many visitors. After all, he was the head of the family. I know he’s in a better place. I’m still in shock. We knew this was coming, but I can’t believe it’s over so fast.”

“Remember, maua, when we watched Pyaasa with dadu, and dadu sang all the songs out loud? I’d never heard him sing before… Yes, I miss him too. Would you like to listen to some music? No? Okay.”

“Pranam buaji, how are you? Please sit. Yes, it’s very sad. But he was at peace when he passed. Oh, this painting? I made it during an art-themed event. Dadu liked it so much he put it up in his room. It’s a copy of a famous Van Gogh painting. Now? Well, I guess I’ll just leave it here. We don’t want to change his room. Would you like some tea?”

“Hi girl! Long time! Yes, I’m doing okay. I still can’t believe my grandfather is no more. Oh, by the way, I finally got a haircut. Yup, super short. I know, it had gotten so long—remember how much my grandfather loved my hair? Well, I hadn’t got it cut in the last nearly 2 years. Since his diagnosis, yup. I couldn’t bear to. He’d grin widely every time I’d walk into his room after shampooing it. Even in his last few days. But I finally got a much-needed haircut. How does it look? I hate it.”

“Hello, doctor. I had an okay week. I was really looking forward to this session. I don’t know what I’d do without therapy. Once again, I want to spend the session talking about my grandfather…”