when my grandee ...

A nightmare, a release or just death!


Dunno how grandpa (called him grandpal, I did) died, I know he wheezed a lot – its was asthma or something I was told…? How can superman suffer?
I think the whole world had come for the funeral, all I knew was that grandpal was there my ‘superman’ lying with his eyes closed and not calling me ‘beta’ arrreeee he was not even looking at me.
I only saw black, then they took him away, I slept in the very place that he had lain, I wanted to feel his body warmth, yes, it was a warm cold, empty yet smelling of flowers and incense sticks and the stench of demise, the bed was wet, everyone ‘s tears had dampened my grandpal’s resting place, which used to be my refuge from papa’s belting when grandpal would grab me quick and hide me under covers and tell pa ‘ who you looking for? Beta’s been sleeping here for quite sometime.’
It’s another story that when pa lifted covers, I’d be there eyes too tightly closed to look real asleep or the twist of a grin used to be there plastered on.
How old was I? The past flashes like vernal showers when not yet spring and my eyes get puffy like when you cry.
Soon I was fast asleep the people gone for the funeral and not even ma was around for me. My nightmare started then, and till date when ever I waft into the darker echelons of the world beyond, I see that I followed him right to where he was buried, burned …how do the Buddhist do it? How he suddenly turned into a stranger and chased me back, while little papaya seeds formed into dancing bald dolls and clambered all over me.
Tell u I have just recently started having papaya’s without seeds, I see seeds I freak out!

Grandpal was my first hero, the scourge of many beaus who wanted to woo and beg for the lovely hands of my beautiful aunties I was told. That my pa had had to really really impress the old scoundrel and then like a scoundrel himself in the end flattered my ma into eloping with him. Well, that’s the way love in the hills take place, you don’t get what you ask for decently, you steal – the rose from the garden. That’s the way of expression that parents of the errant groom have to sing along, when they have to return with the bride in three days time along with a treasure trove of gifts and a goat too (eeks!)!

Hills, hills, hills of affection, simplicity and twists. The mist always hides the magic of moments, just when you think you are walking in clouds, there is a knee jerk reaction to a steep climb. Only the sherpas are sherpas, they climb mountains, the rest are lazy and sunny in their chase for moon beams when there is nothing to do, everyone day dreams and there are no poppy seeds here for that bit of high!
Suffice to say, I have tried dissecting a pretty poppy, checked out its seeds, put it out to dry, powdered it and then what! Nothing happened, it tasted like nothing ---just seeds deflowered by a girl knee high.