Grandmother’s abode
JESUIN GEORGE FERNANDES
The Vel-Mar transport corporation bus groaned, lurched back and forth before it finally managed to negotiate the steep incline in front of the Nuvem Church and halt on the main road to Margao. It was a balmy summer morning, and my mother and I had reached our destination. As she guided me down the steps, the strong arms of the jovial bus cleaner gently planted me down before he hurried to off load our baggage.
Earlier in the day, on our way to the bus stop, my mother was only too happy to tell everyone interested that she was going to stay with her mother for a few days; the joy very much palpable in her voice. I had a blurred idea of the place we were headed to as this wasn`t my first trip, but the first that I remember well. Old Idalin had abandoned whatever she was doing to join the entourage that had come to see us off and kept us amused with her antics. After a long wait as the red bus leisurely rolled along, I could hardly contain my excitement. A gentleman had promptly vacated his seat for us—so rare these days—and I was soon in for a surreal experience; the trees, the houses and everything appeared to be moving back like a movie unfolding on the screen. The moving visual left me spellbound and I kept asking mother when we will arrive at our destination, secretly hoping that the magical journey would not end!
Like all good things my dream ride ended sooner than expected and we were now stranded at some distance from our village house. My mother began to scan the area, hoping to spot a known face who could help us with the baggage. After a futile wait, we decided to hit the road with mother lugging the two heavy bags while I took charge of her handbag. The sun had begun to beat down and we stopped to rest at regular intervals along the long and winding red road. My shoes (probably hand-me-downs from my brother), had started pinching too, but I neither had the heart nor was in the mood to complain…
When we finally arrived, my elder siblings, my many cousins, uncles and aunties in varied shapes and sizes were already there to accord us a hearty welcome. As soon as Georgie relieved me of my shoes, grandmother whisked me away for a hot cup of tea and chunks of cashew apple pie; the kind that only her magic hands could produce!
Nestled amidst sylvan surroundings at the foot of the rolling Khirbhatt hills in Nuvem , Grandmother`s large house was an enchanting place where the aroma of ripe fruits and wild berries wafted in the summer air. The sparkling waters of a spring bubbling in the backyard kept the place cool and pleasant. But what made ‘Shamai-ger’, as we called it, even more special for us was the grand old lady of the house herself–our adorable and rustic yet graceful and elegant grandmother, Maria Devina, who, together with Tia Martha got busy as bees to ensure us, a houseful of noisy grandchildren, those unforgettable summer holidays !
