Unconditional Love – Grandparenting

(This blog is an excerpt from my book Effective Parenting: A New Paradigm)My father came to live with us a when Ankita had just turned ten – months, not years. He had retired as a professor four years ago and spent the initial period catching up with his friends and relatives. A forced bachelor, he had no responsibilities and wanted to make the best use of his new found freedom.

My wife Madhavi had to join duty after her year long maternity and child care leave. I had hinted to my dad that we would need his help, in the initial years at least, since we did not want to leave Ankita at the mercy of a maid servant. He had assured me, “Don’t worry beta, I’ll be there a couple of days before Madhavi joins office.”

“But Babuji, a day or two won’t do. You should be there at least a month ahead. After all Ankita has to get used to you.”

Babuji had laughed, “Beta you are forgetting I am her dadaji, the bond between a grandfather and a grandchild is much stronger than you think.”

And he was right. Ankita was a very shy and sensitive toddler and would rarely go to anyone else. Even with me she was comfortable only when in a good mood. On every other occasion it was ‘mama’ mia for her!

The first ‘encounter’ between Ankita and Babuji is etched in my memory forever. When Babuji entered our living room Ankita was sitting on the floor playing with her stuffed puppy. He went down on his knees, spread his arms wide and very softly said, “Ankita beta, aaja (come).”She looked at him, her eyes growing a wee bit wide with curiosity. She then stumbled to her feet and toddled straight into his arms. It was as if she had been in his hug for all the ten long months of her existence on planet earth.

I and Madhavi looked at each other stunned. That was only the beginning. By the time Madhavi left for office, Ankita was as comfortable with Babuji as she had been with her mum. From the time we went for work (we are employed in the same steel plant and have a 9 to 5.30 job) till the time we returned in the evening, Babuji took complete care of Ankita.Gradually, we came to know from the maid servant and the neighbours the extent of his concern and commitment. Babuji always gave her a bath, placing her in his lap. The routine would

commence with him pouring hot water first on his feet to test whether it was okay for the little one. Every dish that was cooked for Ankita too was first sampled by her grandpa and only after his clearance was given to her.

Ankita’s was always a fussy eater. Feeding her was a task which would make even a Budhist monk resort to sledging. But Babuji was not a Budhist Monk, he was a grandpa. To this day our neighbours recall an engaging scene they witnessed in the month of May. Around one in the afternoon a small procession would be seen in front of her house. The leader would be a cow, followed by Babuji carrying Ankita in his arms, with the maidservant trotting side by side, a bowl in her hand. While Babuji invited Ankita’s attention to the charms of the bovine beauty, the maidservant fed her. This charade continued for almost an hour for most of May, with the Mercury touching 46 degrees celsius.

A year or so later Babuji decided to introduce Ankita to the world outside. Naturally you would expect that he would take her to a park or a zoo or even a market place. No question. His favourite destinations were a half a dozen banks where he had invested his life’s savings. And that is where he took her almost every day, telling her stories all the way. He knew three stories in all, the very same ones which he had told my sister and me. But it didn’t really matter to Ankita – for her he was nothing less than the Pied Piper himself

When she started lisping she could not pronounce Babuji and ended up saying Apuchi. And soon Babuji became Apuchi for all of us, including me. At the age of three she got admission to a school nearby. I and Babuji, sorry Apuchi, used to go everyday to drop her. Apuchi would go till her class say ‘hi’ to her friends and come back. A couple of months later I met Ankita’s class teacher at a social function.

“Mr. Kumar, last week I was showing the kids a few pictures, asking the little ones to identify them. After some time I showed them a picture of an old man sitting under a tree reading a book. And guess what the entire class shouted – ‘Ankita’s Apuchi’.” I can’t forget the look in Apuchi’s eyes when I related this little incident to him. It was almost as if he had been made the honorary consultant of all the banks on his ‘hit list’.

During those days I and Apuchi often had arguments regarding how a child should be brought up. Though I raved and ranted, I always ended up accepting, grudgingly of course, that his gentle wisdom was far more correct than my in- your- face acumen. A year later Aniket was born and history repeated itself. Three generations now went to leave Ankita to school, but it was Ankita’s Apuchi who continued to remain the most sought after.

For many, many years he lived only for his grandchildren. No one and nothing else mattered to him anymore. Seeing his love I was reminded of a saying in Hindi: ‘Asal se zyada sood pyara hota hai’ (One is more fond of the interest than the capital). Apuchi taught me that the connect between the Gen Ex and the Gen Next is pure and pristine – a connect that the generation- in- between can rarely comprehend. He also taught me that even in this day and age, love can be unconditional and sublime, in fact true love is unconditional and sublime.

Thank you Babuji, sorry Apuchi……….. Also see more info @ http://parentedge.in/blog/