1000 words explaining how I might be devoid of emotion

Yes, I cried while writing this too

Lately, everything has reminded me of my late grandfathers. I don't know why, but I take a moment to pause and remember them. The reality is, that I was too young, too naive, and too detached when they passed away. I don't remember a lot from those days, about them. My nana passed most recently if you will. I think it was 2020? Or a little before that. I still don't have very clear memories of my childhood, especially with my grandparents, but I know they loved me, a lot more than I did. I think that's what makes me sad, that I never appreciated them the way I should've and now it's too late. My doctor prescribed me a medicine my dad used to take. I remember because the smell and name of it were so distinctive I found it fascinating as a kid ‘Be-Ca-Sule’. I still don't know what it means but ever since I was a kid I associated it with him. When I tore the packaging the pungent capsule smell hit me, and for a moment I stared at it, recollecting a memory I could only feel.

My heart cried at that moment because I could feel something I never recollected correctly. I remember instances of him, when he, my Amma (grandma) and I huddled on the bed with snacks and watched Sun TV’s Deal or No Deal. The show was entirely in Tamil, I didn't understand one word, but I remember being hooked. I also remember him explaining the show to me while we would try to guess the numbers. That is my most vivid memory of him. There's also another one, where we used to have this navy blue tin of British butter cookies, dad had brought, but instead, the tin contained all his (Tata’s) medicines. It's sad how I don't remember much of him except for two vague memories and his physical appearance. He stood tall and lanky at a staggering 6’3, with salt and pepper hair an overwhelming number of white hair, round glasses, his favourite blue and white checked shirt and a signature pure white lungi. His voice was gruff and commanding but always softened when he spoke to my brothers or me. I mostly know him from all the stories Dad has told me, but all of them were before I was born and they were all told like Dad was trying not to cry.

I remember the day he died. I was at home with my maid, and my grandpa confined to the bed. The nurse said he passed away in his sleep. I was so young I didn't know what was going on. I remember my maid giving me some snacks to eat and rushing me to my parents' room while relatives poured in like heavy Mumbai rains and flooded the house. I remember understanding that he died; I didn't understand why I wasn't feeling anything. No remorse, no hurt, nothing. I was just empty and confused. I knew I should be crying, so when they took him to be cremated, I forced out tears, somewhere along the way they turned into real ones. I vividly remember, neither my dad nor my aunt cried. Like tin robots, my dad just did what he had to do while my aunt bought pizza hut for all of us kids and spoke to some people I don't remember. I to date don't know whether he he was holding strong for my Amma or because he had made peace with his father dying.

I also remember the old aunties from my building all coming in to console my grandmother the next day. I remember them saying stuff like it's all going to be okay and that he was a good person. How? They never knew him or visited him when he was bedridden, they never came to my AAmma to help her pass the time when her husband was confined to the bed like a dead rat on the road. I remember asking my mum, why they all randomly came when they never did anything more than greet her. My mum explained to me that it was what people did after someone died. I still don't understand that pretend concept, but maybe that's cause I still don't understand why people pretend with their emotions.

My nana was a good person too. I know I spent a lot of time with him. I remember giving him a fake head massage (he was bald) and him at least pretending to enjoy it. I remember all of playing cricket in my nana's house, the only time the entire family was involved, including my nani. We used to all be fielders whereas my nan would bowl and my nani would bat. The plastic yellow bat and the red ball, we still keep in the house for his remembrance because that was the only time I saw my nana and nani together so happy. My nana and nani used to take me to swimming lessons at the club, I don't know what they did but every Saturday at 430 in the evening they used to take me to the club and sit and watch me flail like a fish out of water in water. Please it was so embarrassing. I also remember watching my nana smoke out of windows, it was his vice, he was a great person, so he's allowed that. I also remember going with them to the Juhu Haveli because they loved going there. I remember holding his hand as we walked through the lines only so I could taste the prasad (tulsi water) because I swore it tasted different and so much better.

I remember when he died, we knew it was coming, but my nani did somehow. So she and my mum were with him on his final day, but my mom had something going on and she didn't go. I think she still regrets it to this date. I remember my mom telling them on the phone that my dad would go there, and that I will be alone for the night. I remember my Amma calling me saying she would come if she needed me to. I told her it was fine, I had my dogs, and I wasn't alone. Again, I wasn't able to cry. I cried one very random night a day or two before his funeral. I don't think I can deal with loss, or maybe the loss of a grandparent just never hit me the way it should have. I remember my sister calling me and crying and telling me it was okay, but apart from my dad, I was the only okay person, everyone else was a mess. I thought as a kid I didn't understand stuff so not crying was okay. I don't know why now I never did.

I honestly miss being a kid. I miss going to mandirs that now I just pray from out, or being invested in Tamil soap operas whose not one word I could have understood. I miss my younger grandparents, but mostly I miss not loving them and appreciating them the way I used to. I am sorry I should've done better.