Final Essay

Maha Khan

Every Thursday, my grandmother and I used to share a cherished ritual of peeling

clementimes together. Her wrinkled hands reminded me of the metamorphosis chapter I

had studied back in grade 5. I often wondered how my own hands would transform, with

veins protuding like hers, as a sign of a life well lived. There was a certain scent that my

grandmother had, one that I always craved after a long, hectic day. It was a fragnance of

jasmine and rose, soft and soothing like a warm embrace. Whenever I felt stressed or

overwhelmed, I would find myself yearning for that scent as it reminded me of her. She

was my home; a place where I could comfortably be myself without fear of judgement. I

called her my safe space because without her, home never quite felt like home. Growing

up, my mother was always busy doing house chores or worrying about my brother's

untidy uniform, and had no time to listen to my constant chattering. So my dadi became

my best friend. I would always ask her the questions that troubled me as a child, and she

would always listen to every word with such focus that it made me feel like the most

important person in the world. Whenever I came back from school feeling sad because of

some silly fight with a friend, she would make me sit with her and tell me stories about

her own friends with such fondness that it made me question why I didn't feel the same

about mine. One day, I asked her why such friendships did not seem to exist anymore.

Her answer was simple yet profound, "Child, absence makes you appreciate the things

you always take for granted." At the time. her words did not quite make sense to me, but

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as I grew older, I came to realize their weight and importance. As a child, I used to ask

my grandmother all sorts of random, dumb questions, just for the sake of it. But instead

of giving me short, dismissive answers, she would patiently spend hours explaining

things to me, making sure I understood why certain things happened the way they did, be

it my extreme annoyance towards my parents as they always prioritized my brother over

me or a silly Babbie toy they refused to buy me.

One particular memory that has stayed with me to this day is from when I recieved my 8th

grade results, and they were not good. I was deeply affected by the disappointment and

the punishment that followed. I was not allowed to meet my friends, and I felt like

everyone was punishming me for not doing as good as they expected. It was a difficult

time for me, but my garndmother was always there with her warmth and love. I remember

the sinking feeling in my stomach when I repeatedly got grades lower than I expected.

The constant reminders to study harder, the lectures on how these grades would affect my

future, and the disappointed looks on their faces made me feel like I was letting them

down. It made me question my abilities and whether I would be able to meet their

expectations ever. As the pressure mounted, I found myself spending more and more time

studying, to the point where I would neglect other aspects of my life. I stopped hanging

out with friends, stopped playing sports, and stopped doing the things that used to bring

me joy. The only thing that mattered was getting good grades, and the fear of

disappointing my parents was all consuming. The constant pushing from my parents

made me feel like I was running on a never ending treadmill, where no matter how fast I

went, I never seemed to make any progress. The stress and anxiety built up, and I found

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myself completely on edge, unable to relax or enjoy anything. During a difficult period of

my life, I found solace in my grandmother's stories about her own struggles. At the time, I

did not realize that the main purpose of her storytelling was to instill hope within me and

to make me understand that in order to see the light at the end of the tunnel, one must

keep searching and not give up. Through her stories, I learned a great deal about her past.

At the age of just 14, her family arranged for her to marry a stranger in Pakistan, and she

had to leave India in under a month. Once she was just beginning to get used to sharing

her life with someone else, she became pregnant at 16. This pregnancy had its ups and

downs, and shortly after giving birth to her first child, she became pregnant again with

her second. Despite all of these challenges that she did not choose to go through, she

never lost hope or became resentful towards life. Instead, she woke up every morning and

faced her struggles head on, all while finding time for her personal interests like sewing,

embroidering, and crocheting. She loved showing off all the things she made for her

grandkids, and it brought her immense joy. During that tough time in my life, my

granmother's advice spoke to me on a deep level. Instead of self sabotaging and thinking

that I was not worthy of doing anything after one setback, I began to practice things that

brought me joy. It was during this time that I picked up paints for the first time and found

an empty sheet rolled up in a store. Without thinking too much about what the artwork

was going to look like, I started painting mindlessly. After a few hours, I ended up

creating something that looked like a colourful collage brought to life on my canvas, even

though it was not perfect, but for me, it was like an escape and a feeling of immense

pleasure that made me forget everything else that had been going on in my life. Everyday,

I would pick up my paints and create a piece of art without any concern about my skills or

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whether I was good enough or not. With constant practice, my skills started to improve,

and by the end of the year, people started offering to pay for my paintings. Even though

my studies continued, I found something that gave me joy and purpose in life.

Looking back on my life, I can't help but notice how rapidly time has passed. It seems like

only yesterday that I was child, playing with toys and running around the house carefree.

As time went by, my priorities and goals began to shift, and before I knew it, I found

myself in adulthood. Despite the challenges I faced along the way, I remained focused on

pursuing my lifelong passion for studying the arts as accepted to my dream school. But, in

the midst of all the excitement, I realised I had overlooked something. My grandma, who

had always been a constant in my life, was becoming elderly as well. I had been so

focused on my goals that I had not spent nearly enough time with her. The recent news of

my grandmother's dementia diagnosis has hit me hard, and I'm finding it difficult to come

to terms with it. This woman had always been a symbol of strength and resilience in my

life, a constant source of support and guidance. There are days when I would start

yearning for power outages late at night as it would remind me of the chilling tales of

horror that would take me back to her childhood in Shukabaad, India. She frequently

reminisced about running with her brothers in the rice fields during summers, and telling

jinn stories in the courtyard of her haveli, where the aroma of dried chilli would drift

through the air. Hearing her stories always made me feel connected to my roots and gave

me a glimpse into the rich culture and traditions of our ancestors. For instance, she often

spoke of my great grandmother's remarkable ability to make 30 chapatis in under 20

minutes. The image of my great grandmother effortlessly rolling out dough and cooking

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up a storm in the kitchen was one that stayed with me long after my grandmother's stories

ended. Another detail my grandmother often shared was how my great grandmother

would always apply oil after showering and encouraged everyone in the family to do the

same. It was a small detail, but one that spoke volumes about my great grandmother's

dedication to self care and the iimportance she placed on looking after oneself. As I

listened to these stories, I felt a growing sense of pride in my family's tradition and

values. I realized that the little details my grandmother shared were not just anecdotes, but

a window into a way of lofe that had been passed down through generations.

Looking back on my life, I realized that all I am today, all of my beliefs and principles,

are a direct result of the teachings my grandma taught me over the years. Now that I know

she has been diagnosed with dementia, I cherish every moment I get to spend with her. I

try to express my gratitude and love every chance I get, knowing that one day she may not

remember who I am.