My earliest memories of you are a little vague...intermingled as they are between your first two houses, one in Aspirin Gardens and the other in West Mambalam. Memories of a model MiG plane, the drives to the beach in the Matador van, the same Russian slideshows that you showed us year after year after much begging and pleading on our behalf, your prized coin collection from which you invariably let us keep a coin or two each, the anecdotes about your interactions with Russians. In fact, despite later events, I guess I owe you, more than anyone else, my lifelong fascination for that country.
And then, there was the chess. So far as the rest of the family was concerned, you were the undisputed King of Chess. I cannot recall how often the phrase "Nobody plays chess like Balakrishnan thatha" would pop up in family circles. You knew the fact and were proud of it. I still recall your earliest lessons, where you meticulously showed me how the pieces moved and taught me to count the value of each piece, and repeatedly mentioned the golden rule of castling early. My favourite games with you where when, usually after beating me soundly in the first game, you would set up the pieces again but play without a Minister yourself. The result was usually the same but at least I could put up a fight in these games.
I can go and on about the good times that you showed me - the endless games of Canasta, your drawing me the same picture of an "aanai" decked in chains year after year, the walks to Panagal park and the long train rides to the Beach - but I guess these are memories every little kid should have. For every little kid, the relationship with his grandfather is special; an older person who somehow manages to bridge the vast age gap and become a kid himself, someone who can provide the comforts of an adult yet without being an authority figure.
But then times moved on and circumstances changed. We grew up and starting moving on the path to being independent adults ourselves, while you grew older, and with it started to lose your own sense of independence. I started noticing that troubled frown on your brow increasingly often, and it continued till your last day but through it all, you still ensured that you did not neglect your duties as a grandfather.
I guess it was tough. Your newest grandchildren were growing up in a world where kids didn't care about model MiG planes and slideshows any more. Instead, it was you who had to adapt to changing technology - from the omnipresent cellphone to the DVD to the Internet. And yet, somehow, you coped. I remember how thrilled you were when we gave you your first cellphone so you needn't walk down to the phone booth to make STD calls anymore. Although it did take us a while to get you off the habit of inserting your hearing aid in one ear and putting the phone next to the other! And I knew for sure you were doing alright when I saw you deeply involved in a game of chess with my youngest cousin...correcting his moves from time to time...although he had you scratching your head in despair a lot more often than I did!
And I guess life came full circle when my brother decided to marry a Russian. In a flash, you became the old 'Russian thatha' once again. You had always cribbed that you had forgotten all your Russian but somehow that didn't stop you from having long talks with K in her native tongue. And you were the star attraction at their wedding, by virtue of being the only person who could communicate fluently with K's parents. I can still see your smile as Mom sat you by K's dad so he wouldn't get too bored, and soon you guys were chattering away happily in Russian, ignoring all around you.
Our own relationship had continued on unscathed. The walks to the beach had ended and the Russian stories were taken up by others, but we took to talking about philosophy, spirituality and religion instead. I could not have been more proud when you told me you were releasing a book on the subject. I actually had a grandfather who was now a certified author! Wow!! And you, in return, appreciated my habit of blogging. As I write this now, I wonder what you would have thought of this post. About the number of corrections you'd probably have made! But I guess you'd have liked it...you always did like people saying good things about you! :)
I remember clearly our last chess game a few months ago. Things were more even between us now...you had lost some of your touch with age and lack of practice, and I had been honing my own game through computer programs for the sole purpose of beating you soundly for once. What a humdinger of a game it was! We both forgot about our own sides of the board and went all out attacking each other, we were both convinced we had the winning move at hand, and then I finally checkmated you exactly one move before your own checkmate. You looked at the board with surprise, scanned it in vain for an escape route, splat out your standard expletive of "Chah! Shaniyan" and then proceeded to lecture me on maintaining my defences! And then went in and told my uncle that I wasn't such a bad player, after all!
When I got the call a few days ago about your passing away, I kept waiting for the news to sink in, for it to hit me in the head, but somehow it never did, even later, throughout the funeral proceedings. And it still hasn't. But maybe its because the first thought that came to me when I put the phone down were the words you mentioned to me not so long ago "The only thing that's inevitable about life is death, and yet it’s about the only thing that we refuse to accept"
So I accept that your time had come. You had lived your life, and it was time for you to go. And I will not mourn your death.
But I do miss you. A lot.
And then, there was the chess. So far as the rest of the family was concerned, you were the undisputed King of Chess. I cannot recall how often the phrase "Nobody plays chess like Balakrishnan thatha" would pop up in family circles. You knew the fact and were proud of it. I still recall your earliest lessons, where you meticulously showed me how the pieces moved and taught me to count the value of each piece, and repeatedly mentioned the golden rule of castling early. My favourite games with you where when, usually after beating me soundly in the first game, you would set up the pieces again but play without a Minister yourself. The result was usually the same but at least I could put up a fight in these games.
I can go and on about the good times that you showed me - the endless games of Canasta, your drawing me the same picture of an "aanai" decked in chains year after year, the walks to Panagal park and the long train rides to the Beach - but I guess these are memories every little kid should have. For every little kid, the relationship with his grandfather is special; an older person who somehow manages to bridge the vast age gap and become a kid himself, someone who can provide the comforts of an adult yet without being an authority figure.
But then times moved on and circumstances changed. We grew up and starting moving on the path to being independent adults ourselves, while you grew older, and with it started to lose your own sense of independence. I started noticing that troubled frown on your brow increasingly often, and it continued till your last day but through it all, you still ensured that you did not neglect your duties as a grandfather.
I guess it was tough. Your newest grandchildren were growing up in a world where kids didn't care about model MiG planes and slideshows any more. Instead, it was you who had to adapt to changing technology - from the omnipresent cellphone to the DVD to the Internet. And yet, somehow, you coped. I remember how thrilled you were when we gave you your first cellphone so you needn't walk down to the phone booth to make STD calls anymore. Although it did take us a while to get you off the habit of inserting your hearing aid in one ear and putting the phone next to the other! And I knew for sure you were doing alright when I saw you deeply involved in a game of chess with my youngest cousin...correcting his moves from time to time...although he had you scratching your head in despair a lot more often than I did!
And I guess life came full circle when my brother decided to marry a Russian. In a flash, you became the old 'Russian thatha' once again. You had always cribbed that you had forgotten all your Russian but somehow that didn't stop you from having long talks with K in her native tongue. And you were the star attraction at their wedding, by virtue of being the only person who could communicate fluently with K's parents. I can still see your smile as Mom sat you by K's dad so he wouldn't get too bored, and soon you guys were chattering away happily in Russian, ignoring all around you.
Our own relationship had continued on unscathed. The walks to the beach had ended and the Russian stories were taken up by others, but we took to talking about philosophy, spirituality and religion instead. I could not have been more proud when you told me you were releasing a book on the subject. I actually had a grandfather who was now a certified author! Wow!! And you, in return, appreciated my habit of blogging. As I write this now, I wonder what you would have thought of this post. About the number of corrections you'd probably have made! But I guess you'd have liked it...you always did like people saying good things about you! :)
I remember clearly our last chess game a few months ago. Things were more even between us now...you had lost some of your touch with age and lack of practice, and I had been honing my own game through computer programs for the sole purpose of beating you soundly for once. What a humdinger of a game it was! We both forgot about our own sides of the board and went all out attacking each other, we were both convinced we had the winning move at hand, and then I finally checkmated you exactly one move before your own checkmate. You looked at the board with surprise, scanned it in vain for an escape route, splat out your standard expletive of "Chah! Shaniyan" and then proceeded to lecture me on maintaining my defences! And then went in and told my uncle that I wasn't such a bad player, after all!
When I got the call a few days ago about your passing away, I kept waiting for the news to sink in, for it to hit me in the head, but somehow it never did, even later, throughout the funeral proceedings. And it still hasn't. But maybe its because the first thought that came to me when I put the phone down were the words you mentioned to me not so long ago "The only thing that's inevitable about life is death, and yet it’s about the only thing that we refuse to accept"
So I accept that your time had come. You had lived your life, and it was time for you to go. And I will not mourn your death.
But I do miss you. A lot.
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