The title? How I saw my ‘Maamu’ become immortal. Who am I? Just a 16 year old, who found writing this article way more interesting than my Economics text book. Maamu? My maternal uncle. These 16 years were fun! A sense of growth and change in each one of them. I’m just 16 years old and I have no knowledge on how to particularly write a piece of story so basically this is just a rawly written piece by me.
7 June, 1997, I was born (with a lot of difficulties). I, being the only child was pampered a lot. I was my maamu’s favourite and he was mine! He had this habit of clicking photos of me, framing them and then decorating them in his flat. We went for walks, him carrying me and walking around the colony we live in.
Years went by, things didn’t change. I was very fond of him. I could recognise him just by the fragrance of his favourite perfume and the noise his watch made when he opened the door with the keys from outside. It was a normal day, the 4 year old me was throwing tantrums for not going to school. The deal was, if you agree to buy me a toy from my favourite toy shop after school, only then would I get ready for school and as usual maamu agreed. This is why my house cabinets are still loaded with more than a hundred toys. Maamu would make me sit on the petrol tank of his red bike, so that I could catch the handle of the bike and feel as though I was riding it. He would ride me on his bike to school, would buy me 2 packets of waffers, would get my shoes polished from the ‘polish-wala’ on the road, would make me drink coconut water from the ‘naariyal paani- wala’ and only then would he send me inside the school gate. Yes, I was pampered a lot. The weekend s were even more fun! I remember, it was a Sunday, I and maamu were on his bike with my soft toy monkey, Jojo. We were riding all our way from Colaba to Chowpatty, when suddenly Jojo fell off my hands. We couldn’t find it again. I was upset and more than me, maamu was upset because I was upset, his princess! After 2 days when I came back from school, I found Jojo resting on my bed with a few stitches of white here and there. I was the happiest person! I grew older, 6 years old. Maamu had a bike accident but was fine, as told by him. A few days later, maamu was rushed into the hospital. The ‘dudh-wala’ and the neighbours got worried when he didn’t open the door for hours. My paa and other mama had to break open the door. They found him, laying down on the floor, in a pool of his own urine, shaking profusely and had white fin coming out of his mouth. He was subjected to have brain tumour. My maamu had cancer, stage 3. He was soon brought back to consciousne ss. His hair had to be shaven off for the operations that had to be done. I went to meet him after all his operations were done. He looked different and weak. He had a very deep scar on his bald held, it looked like a fold. He covered his head with a cap, when I came to meet him. He didn’t like me coming to the hospital at such a young age and for one more reason. My maamu being MY maamu, had decorated his hospital room the same way he decorated his flat. My photo frames everywhere around the room. The people in the hospital thought that I was his daughter because of the amount of affection he showed towards me. After a lot of treatments maamu was sent back home. His journeys from house to hospital continued.
I was now 8 years old, having computers at home was something very great at that time, we didn’t have one at that time. My teacher scolded me for not submitting my project. Projects were meant to be all fancy and colourful in standard three. I came back home, started weeping like a widow and when asked what happened, I just said, “We don’t have a computer! I can’t make a project!.” The very next day, maa gave me the phone to speak to maamu, he said, “Let’s make your project together!” Yes, he was and IS my hero. We made the project and we nailed it! Mine was the best project of my class. I was proud. My hero kept protecting me and making me feel like a hero for the rest of the years.
One year later, I returned home from school, opened the lift door and found my daadu (my paternal side grandmother) standing outside the life, waiting for me to arrive. She looked worried. ”Maamu is no more, Maa’s gone to the hospital,” she said. It didn’t sink in to me for quite a long time. I didn’t know what was happening, I was just 9 years old. I didn’t know what death was. I didn’t cry. Maa saw him die in front of her eyes in the hospital. She was depressed. He used to go for chemo therapy everyday. This therapy, that therapy! The day he died was his last day of therapy. Nothing worked. He didn’t like going to the hospital at all. He wanted to stay at home, enjoy life, ride his bike, play music, play the piano. But alas!
It’s been years now! Things have changed. I have changed. I now know what had happened. I miss him. No, I am not depressed. He is there, right there with me all the time.Yes, I can sense him. I enjoy life, the way he wanted to and I will keep staying happy because I know he is watching me.. He is immortal.
Kashmira Pochkhanawala
K.P.B Hinduja College Of Commerce, Mumbai
existingnomore@yahoo.com
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