Grandma, are you reading this?

My paternal grandma passed away when she was ninety-two and I was twenty-one. The last few years of her life gave me a lot of memories that bring a smile on my lips.

Grandma always disliked me as I was not docile and homely like her other grand-daughters. She always thought that I was hoydenish. Now what could I do? I was born into a family where boys were in majority. My uncle has two sons. And my parents, a girl and a boy.

My father hails from a family of seven - they were five sisters and two brothers. The sisters got married off and had families of their own and they believed that girls are not human beings but creatures that were born to lead life in a particular manner. Fortunately my parents thought otherwise. My dad believed that a daughter should be pampered and spoilt. The result - me!

I loved denims. I loved bikes, I still do. I loved laughing out loud at silly jokes. I loved playing cards. I loved climbing trees. I loved rolling on the grass and jumping on the hay stack. I loved sitting with my cousins discussing serious issues. My grandma had not seen a girl do these things as she hadn't been exposed to a world like that. And I refused to understand because I never saw young girls confined to the four walls of their big houses. We both were like two ends of a road that would never meet.

I still remember how she was happy to see her grandsons jumping on the haystack. Then she looked intently and walked towards the haystack. She saw a little girl, with hair all open, jumping and screaming with joy. "You! Don't you understand? I've warned you so many times not to jump around like this?" As if I cared.

My annual visits to Kerala would last a month. The whole month my uncle and parents would be fed up of my grandma's constant carping. But neither me nor my grandma would give up. She would keep threatening me that she would exchange me with the tribal woman's daughter. "Ha ha! What fun!" I would exclaim. Man...that pissed her off so badly.

Then I grew up. I was nineteen. It was time for the annual visit.

As usual she came running to the car looking for my brother. I stepped out. She stopped as if something obstructed her steps. Slowly she came to me. She ran her old frail hands on my face and on my hair. Her eyes welled up when I smiled at her. She saw a bangle on my wrist and a thin chain on my neck. She saw kohl in my eyes. For a change I was wearing salwar kameez. She hugged me tight and kissed me. She said she was sure that I would change.

Had I changed? No I hadn't. I was still the same. It was just that I had started respecting sensibilities of other people.

Then it was just me. I became her favourite grand-daughter. She would keep advising me on skin care, on marriage, on almost everything that a woman could think of. She would tell my dad that he should not get me married to a man who would ask for dowry. Look for someone who would come seeking her love. Someone who would respect her as a woman. Someone who would respect her opinions. I was stunned. Her values in life were so much like mine...

But it took both of us a long time to realise it. Today she is no more. She went through a demential stage before passing away. And during that phase she would constantly ask me who I was. And every time I would remind her that I was her favourite child's daughter.

The reply was always the same, "Why do you say that? Why don't you say that it's your favourite grand-daughter?"