The other day, I sent a picture of an empty bench to my cousin with a question asking her if she had the chance to speak to someone uninterrupted for an hour who would that person be. Her instant reply was Dadu. The name Dadu filled me with this insane feeling of happiness and a nostalgic smile came on my face. Dadu was our favorite person ever. Dadu is my paternal grandfather.
We would go visiting my grandfather every summer. The trip from Bhubaneshwer station to our house had my heart thudding with anticipation of a summer full of great adventures.
We would go visiting my grandfather every summer. The trip from Bhubaneshwer station to our house had my heart thudding with anticipation of a summer full of great adventures.
Dadu made us all feel special catering to all our shenanigans and being wholly a conspirator in creating ruckus. I was a teenager, and wanted to try everything beauty related. Believe it or not, my first jar of cold wax was bought for me by my grandfather. He would get me creams, and powders and call me his dear Cleopatra. Dadu and I would sneak away to have roadside snacks under the pretext of buying groceries, and come back home with such satisfied bellies and smiles, that the women of the house would grumble. Dadu would take me to the roadside vendor and get me chaat/rasmalai/kachuri/khaja/jalebi. He also made sure that the fridge had a bottle of Coca-cola before I could come home for vacation.
