After Grandpa Died, He Lived Happily!

His grandfather died! My friend could not attend the funeral. His father decided against it considering the loss of time and money it would incur. Father was rather snotty about his rank and office. He knew well that a son is pleased with inheritance rather than affection. In pursuance of this belief, father never wasted his love on his only son.

Unfortunately, even mother’s behaviour was a little uncharacteristic. She was a mother by virtue of being wedded to the father of the boy. She never persuaded him for a second helping at the dinner table nor entreated him to stay at home a little longer during vacations. The cords of motherly love when under constant strain by a disciplinarian father can sometimes go weak. In her case, they snapped.

Grandfather was the only family he knew. When he got the news of his death, he was inconsolable. His grief was writ large on his face. He used to share everything with his grandfather who always encouraged him like a friend. But now, he had nobody to turn to but his college friends.

He walked up to his friend's flat and knocked at the door. All the inmates of the flat were irritated at the disturbance. The newspaper was carefully folded and pushed back under the mattress. The door was opened to a dejected face. The guy at the door remarked, “Has someone done your girlfriend?” There was no reply. The sad figure slumped on the mattress by the shoe rack. No one bothered to enquire any further.

The boys got back to work. The newspaper fold was brought out. Out of the assortment of cigarettes, the small and cheap ones were frisked till all that remained of them was the butt. One of them, master at sifting cannabis, took charge and crushed the weed between his palms. The powder and the seeds fell in different direction as if under the influence of some spell. Such was his acumen. Quickly three joints were rolled and they were ready for a jaunt.

One of them asked the corpse-like figure staring at the ceiling, “Are you dead?” “My grandfather died a few hours ago.” He started sobbing uncontrollably. They could not think of any comforting words except those stereotyped expressions - ‘whatever happens is for good’, ‘forget it’, ‘nothing to worry’. One of them handed him out a 5-litre Bisleri bottle expecting that water would do him some good. The mourning friend struggled to open the seal and with great difficulty titled the bottle. Two mouthfuls he drank and a good many mouthfuls drenched him. The awkwardness of the whole business interfered with his tears.

With a mourner amidst them, the inmates thought over the possibility of executing their plan. Instead of blaring music, it was shehnai vaadan by Bismillah Khan. While the tone was being set for the solemn revelry, one of them emerged from the kitchen with a joint tuck at his lips. The twisted tip of the joint was burning bright! Our despondent friend was lost but, thankfully, wasn’t crying any more. The smoke was slowly overpowering the atmosphere. The joint was being circulated among the buddies and 50ps candies, bought by dozens, were distributed among all. Interesting topics came up for discussion and ridicule.

A hand stretched out to our sorrowing friend. It was a very solemn gesture, neatly executed, too serious to be assailed by casual objection. The invitation was duly reciprocated. He drew on the joint as if inhaling a sigh of relief. It remained with him till the light was almost at the butt. A pair of greedy lips waiting for their turn sucked the flame out of existence.

Now, they all had completed a holy circuit and were rising together to new levels of awareness. The results were scintillating. To one of them, languorously laid buttocks gave an impression of kudam (hollow, round section of veena). He opined that veena takes after a female body and must have been the invention of a despised lover who took fancy for his beloved buttocks – the result being kudam; music just a cover-up for his perversion. They started examining one another's kudam. The grandson was unanimously elected as the wielder of the best kudam and they also decreed that if ever he had a chance with a girl his kudam would be his sole recommendation. A smile shone on his lips and died out.

The shehnai had played for long in the background. The number that followed was Eye of the Tiger. One of guys remarked that the beats felt like an elephant thumping its feet. He got on his hands and feet and kept time by vigorously moving his limbs up and down. It was a convincing act. The song ended and there was a heavy banging on the door. It was the chairman of the society. He was unimpressed with the thumping on his roof 12 at night. Before he could vent out his anger, the fate of our friend was conveyed to him and they said that they were trying to cheer him up. Buffeted by sorrow and smoke, our friend was trying hard to comprehend the situation. The boy behind him was whispering into ears. “Idiot, your grandfather is dead...dead...dead. You were sorrowing so well. Why don’t you do it now!” He poked him with his finger, but the fellow started giggling. The chairman said very unkind words and gave an ultimatum to the flatmates to vacate the flat in a week’s time.

Poor fellow, the sympathy he basked under a little while ago was supplanted by choicest expletives. Even the dead grandfather was not spared from being made the butt of abuse. Someone also imitated the way he was crying, 'bhaae,bhaae, bhaae'. My friend had a very naive comment: “You are only losing your flat; I lost my grandfather. I am in no mood to fight. Let’s end it here. Let’s roll a last joint before dinner.”

A joint was rolled and they were pulled back into hearty discussions. Somebody’s hand fell on a book that flashed the picture of a noted personality with a verse from the Gita written underneath. He tried reading it out to our friend first in Sanskrit but failed miserably. Then, he read the translation: ‘Weapons cannot cut it, fire cannot burn it, wind cannot dry it, nor can water soak it.’ Our friend retorted, “Go and read it out to your grandfather. Stop bugging us.” Everybody erupted in laughter. Our friend’s lasted a little longer this time.

It was chicken for dinner. Everybody ate to their fill and continued their blabber till sleep overtook them.