My Didu Strongest!

Didu = Maternal Grandmother.

My maternal grandmother.

And just in case you're wondering, NO! My granny does not look like the lady above. Maybe she owned a pair of glasses like her, sometime during her lifetime (Didn't they all?). But the similarity ends there. Then why the pic? Well, that was the only good blog-worthy picture I got when I googled the words 'Awesome Old Lady' (Well I can't really blame google here, cos the closest match I could think of was Miss Marple, and all she did was sit in a chair, knit and solve mysteries. I think they should come up with an octogenarian  caped crusader kind of thing for senior citizens. They need a role model too right?!) Yes. That's Didu. Awesome Old Lady. She might not have gone out into the wild, chasing lions with a rifle, yelling 'Bad Kitty!', but she has some serious star potential. I always knew it. She was never the regular grandmother that I heard stories about from my friends. Ofcourse she was loving, and spoilt us brothers with candies till we complained of toothache. But that was not all. I always suspected she had some hidden superpowers, or had been a spy in her past life, or something similarly cool. Well, the last bit was a bit of a stretch, I agree. But hey! This is my blog. Deal with it.

I'm too sexy for my shirt : Considering this is a post about Granny, some of you might think this to be a bit inappropriate. But the song defines her. Yes. She has an aversion towards excessive clothing. And by excessive I mean regular. Often to the point of embarrassing her grandchildren and family members in general. Her absolute favourite activity of the day, is to emerge from the bathroom after an hour-long shower in nothing but a soaking wet translucent gamchha (which is a threadbare inexpensive cotton rag-towel, for the uninitiated) and walk to the verandah in broad daylight, with the intention of putting her clothes to dry. She walks nonchalantly paying no attention to the red-faced family members, zig-zagging across the room  with various items of clothing, just to cover her up. FAIL. She spends another hour spreading her saree out on the line. Such ceremony, I tell you. I wonder why she takes the pain to wash it everyday when she hardly puts it on. She even spends a few minutes chatting up some obscure vendor passing by on the street below, about how expensive potatoes have become these days, as if they were best buddies from school, mostly yelling to make herself heard, and garnering unnecessary attention from the curious. All of this, in just a bedraggled gamcha. 

After contemplating how to avoid being seen with her in the future, lest they find out we're related, I drum up my most I-mean-business like voice and ask, " Didu, why don't you put some clothes on next time? " Her reply. " Its the age of exhibitionism. Also, it's hot no? " Point taken. I haven't come up with a good enough counter to that argument till date. Honestly, if she was born in today's age, she would have at least become a Bollywood star/starlet, if not a successful swimwear model. She has talent. Trust me.

Penny wise - Pound foolish : Didu has always had a fascination for coins. And irritatingly so. Its like, anything greater than a rupee doesn't stick to her. And imagine paying ten bucks in quarters on a regular basis. Here's a sample conversation with a regular rickshaw driver. Let's call him Dhanno ( I know Dhanno was a horse and its a bit demeaning, but in my defense, he was NOT as pretty as Basanti. )

Didu (getting off in front of our house): How much?
Dhanno: Mashima, ten rupees.
Didu (yelling): What?!! Are you mad? Take five.
Dhanno (shocked by the drastic reduction in fare): What are you saying, Mashima? What do you get for five bucks these days?
Didu (sounding profoundly wise): This is not America or Bombay (They have the same cost of living remember?). This is Calcutta. You get a LOT for five bucks. For example...
Dhanno (cutting her short, and sounding slightly defeated): Okay FINE! I'll take eight. But not a penny less.
Didu (decisively, her game face on): Seven!
Dhanno (exhausted): Deal!

Particularly pleased by her victory, Didu goes on to 'gather' seven bucks from her purse, her fuzzy glasses not helping in the least. Turning to me ( Yes. I was standing next to her, with my head down, the entire time. )

Didu: I can't see very well. Darned glasses. Would you be a dear and get seven bucks from my purse?
Me ( sensing this was a trap ): No! Why can't you do it? Your glasses seem perfectly fine to me.
Dhanno (chipping in impatiently): Hurry up you two! I don't have the whole day.

I proceed to rummage through her purse obediently. All I could see were coins. No paper notes. No fivers. Just ones, twos, quarters and quite a few embarrassing 20 paisas, which had gone out of circulation twenty something years back. I swear I wanted to cry. After a good fifteen minutes of frantic searching and furious counting I manage to put together seven bucks. Phew! But there was one problem. How do you hand over a bunch of coins to someone? In a pouch? Tell him to cup his hands so we can pour them in? Well  Didu tackled that with ease. She told him to do exactly that. CUP HIS HANDS! In hindsight the entire scene was kind of funny. But at that moment, standing there, soaking in the shame and gawking at Granny's incorrigible behaviour, there was nothing remotely amusing about it, trust me.

On our way up, I asked, "Didu! What happened to the ten rupee note I stuck in your purse yesterday?" I did it secretly the night before when she was fast asleep, to save myself this inevitable trauma. That ten-rupee note was precious. It was my weekly allowance. It was hard, but I absolutely HAD TO do it. "You did? I had no idea. Where did it go?" Seriously. Where did it go? Did it just turn into quarters overnight. Or her bag had a hole in it, which only allowed paper bills to pass through. I guess there's only one explanation. Magic! I told you she had superpowers. Wait. I think I saw a cape. *goosebumps*

I am a DiscoDancer : Didu has had arthritis for what seems like ages now. But she has a fascination for dance. (Not that they are related. But when I think of weak knees, dance doesn't exactly cross my mind. ) And I'm talking Bollywood here. Not Bharatnatyam. Not kathak. Bollywood. If there's an award function on TV, she's hooked. What with all the Sheelas, Munnis and Chikni Chamelis  gyrating on screen, her seventy-year (?) old eyes light up at the slightest sound of thumping techno beats. Its not surprising that not everyone in the house share her sentiments on this issue, especially my mom. She's more into singing reality shows. Thus ensues an unending battle for the remote control. Who will win? Music or Dance? Not to mention the men have no say in this. Nada.

Didu (in a rather reproachful voice): Your mom makes me so angry.
Me (paying no attention): When does she not.
Didu (sensing the indifference): No. Listen to me. She always watches that stupid show on TV. And never allows me to watch what I want.
Me (rather curious): And which one would that be? (expecting the name of some KKKK.. serial. The four K's apparently have some sort of numerological significance. My Ass.)
Didu (solemnly): Indian Idol.
Me (quite taken aback. Actually I dont mind that show. Although Anu Malik gets on my nerves with his retarded efforts to rhyme): Why? What's wrong with that? What do you want to watch instead.
Didu (excitedly): Jhalak Dikhla Ja.

And here I thought she wanted to follow Aastha or some similar 'spirituality' channel, where they keep chanting tunelessly all day like a bunch of dead men. I guess that's not her thing. And considering I've seen her often doze off in the name of prayer/meditation, and the fact that her day-to-day questions range from whether Ranbir really loved Deepika, or whether Saif's 'Kareena' tattoo was real, I should have known better. She should have been in showbusiness. Dayam!

Madame Smartypants :

- A recent skype conversation during which I happened to be in an extremely whiny mood :

Me (sulking): Didu! I hate making lunch everyday. I'm sick of my ham sandwich.
Didu (peering into the webcam. I think she brushed her nose once too.): Why don't you buy something for lunch everyday?
Me (more sulking): It's expensive. You know how big a miser I am.
Didu: How expensive is it? Can't be more than two dollars! (She's still not used to inflation.)
Me (trying my best to enlighten her): Two dollars converts to a hundred rupees!
Didu (in a tone of correction): Nope. It converts to 111 rupees.
Me (shocked out of my wits): How the hell do you know that?
Didu: Simple. I follow currency exchange rates in the newspaper.

I died. Well almost.

- My Mom and Didu keep fighting all the time. They cannot live without each other, mind you. But their life seems almost incomplete if they don't lock horns at least once a day over something inconsequential. I guess its just women. Anyway the verbal exchange that eventually follows is a guaranteed treat. Here's a sample.

Didu (to a yelling mom. I still don't know what the issue/non-issue was.): Why do you scream so much?
Mom (still yelling): Cos you're hard of hearing.
Didu (unable to contest that): Err. So what? You can yell and still be polite no? (That's not possible right?) Anyway, when you yell you sound just like Bimala. (Bimala has been our househelp for almost ten years now. With a heart of gold, subliminal cooking skills and a shrill glass-shattering voice, she's a force to reckon with.)
Mom (flipping her lid): Are you comparing me to her now? Ofcourse. I'm illiterate.
Didu (strangely calm): You don't have to take offence. So was Kalidas.

Well she does have a point. Mom stopped yelling almost instantly. She was taken aback by her spontaneous brilliance. Who wouldn't?

So are you convinced that my Granny is awesome-bordering-on-superhuman? If not, I feel sorry for you. Cos I'm a believer.