Nani

Hello hello, in the last few days my subscribers have tripled and now include some people I actually don't know in 'real life' as well as some people who know me a little too well (hello mother) and although this has been very exciting, it also has made me a little panicky in terms of what to post here. Suddenly I feel like I should be writing about what is happening in the world right now, but the truth is I have nothing particularly intelligent to say about any of it. So, to my new subscribers, hello and I hope you are doing okay given the circumstances. Welcome to my tinyletter where I basically just write about whatever pleases me (so far it has been fantastically liberating, I recommend it). This week I will be writing about my grandmother.

I am privileged enough to be living alone at this time which means that I can spend my days exactly as I please. I can get up whenever I want, cook whatever I am craving, read whatever I like, spend hours daydreaming without being interrupted in anyway. I am aware that my life might not always be like this, but I have fought hard to have a space I can call my own for some years and I plan on enjoying it to the fullest. 

My nani also lives alone, about a half an hour drive away from me. Last August she turned 80 years old, which didn't seem to affect her all that much, she is not a particularly emotional woman (I did not inherit this fine quality from her).  My grandfather was an army doctor which meant that my nani spent her entire married life moving from one place to another. She has lived in Lahore, Karachi, Pindi, Dhaka, Multan, Gujranwala and other places she can no longer remember. My grandfather eventually tired of this lifestyle and they settled in Lahore, which is where he passed away about twelve years ago. I remember the funeral, my nani's relatives suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. I had never met them before, they are not a close knit family by any means. Tall, wiry men and women, their old age barely managing to slow them down. Some of them lived alone, their partners having succumbed to various inevitabilities. I remember my nani crying as she turned to my mother and asked, "Will I have to live alone now too?" I think at the time my mother must have reminded her that she had four daughters so of course she wouldn't have to live alone, but, much to everyone's dismay, that is exactly what ended up happening.

My nani owned a plot of land in Johar Town and so after my nana's death she said she wanted to build a house on it. If she'd had a son, I am convinced it all would have played out differently. But four daughters, my nani's side of the family had always had an astonishing number of daughters, equals four sons in law. She never admitted it openly but it was clear she wanted to live in her own house. And so her daughters came to Lahore to oversee the construction. A small kitchen, a lounge, a bedroom downstairs. Another bedroom, a terrace and a store upstairs. Outside, much to my family's chagrin, cows roamed around on a mostly broken road. But my nani didn't care. She was almost seventy years old when, for the first time ever, she had her own house. For the first few years her daughters tried to reason with her. My khala in Chicago tried to get her to come to America in the hopes of getting her a green card. She went a couple of times and then refused saying the flight was so long and there wasn't anything to do in America. My mother tried to get her to spend half the year with her in Karachi. She would come, spend about half the time she was meant to and then make an excuse to go back. It must have been frustrating to see your mother refuse any help. But my nani didn't budge. She was too old to be a stranger in yet another place, another house that didn't belong to her. 

 Last December, my nani did a very out of character thing which is that she called me to come and see her. Usually, she doesn't call because it's not her style and if I want to go see her I have to tell her a few days in advance because she does not like surprises. I hadn't visited her in a while and when I walked into the house she was praying. I was struck by how dark the house was.

"You should get some table lamps," I told her.

"I have no place to put any," she responded. On every table in the house; a tissue paper box, a lace doily, a pen and a writing pad for to do lists. 

What she wanted to do that day was go and eat some tawa fish because it was winter. In winter my nani wears a sleeveless sweater and a knit cap around the house and, when she needs to go anywhere, a big sweater and a shawl. I held her hand as we walked down the road and looked for a rickshaw to Peco road. When she got into the rickshaw, I suddenly thought she looked so frail. During the ride I wondered what would happen if the rickshaw toppled over. How would I protect her fragile bones from breaking? I shuddered. My nani hummed to herself. She was clearly in a good mood. When we got to the tawa fish place, she gave the order and then stood near the cook, watching him grill the fish. 

"So you got a distinction," she said to me as we ate. I nodded. 

"Does that mean you beat all the other girls in your class?" I open my mouth to remind her that my masters program was not segregated and that I haven't actually ever studied in a segregated school, but then I closed it and nodded again. This seemed to satisfy her. After we ate, we walked around in search of jalebi. That night I went home and thought about her frail body, wondering if she still went up and down the stairs even though we have told her so many times not to do so. 

It is easy to forget, in the midst of all this worry, that my nani is brave. She spent her whole life in the devoted service of others. She went to Kinnaird college because that's what girls from 'good' families did at the time, she married at the right age, she had four children, took care of the house, took care of my grandfather, ensured her daughters studied and married. Every single thing that she was supposed to do, she did. 

I have never once heard her say that she dreamt of anything else, that she ever wanted anything that was not the life she led. Even if she secretly did, she doesn't believe that anyone owes her anything. She doesn't even want anything from anyone. All she wants is to live in the house that belongs to her.  She too wants to get up whenever she pleases, cook whatever she likes, daydream without being interrupted. Perhaps this what she dreamt about when she felt her children were ungrateful or her husband was being difficult. Maybe not. She won't ever say, but what she will say if anyone ever brings it up is "apni ghar ki toh aur baat hoti hai" and really, who could argue with that? 

PS: This week I want to share Sadia Khatri's amazing essay in Dawn which is also about space https://www.dawn.com/news/1548351 Happy reading xxx