Da-da

My grandfather passes away four days after my 16th birthday. He had wished me on my birthday, the words trembling quietly out of his dry lips. Time of death – 3:30. I reach the hospital at 4. I wish I was there when he left. God had given us a whole year to prepare for this, but I never really thought Dada would die. “Don't cry loudly,” my fuppi tells me. “Abba will suffer then.” My little cousin cries to me, “Samreen Apu, is this actually happening? It feels like a dream.” I haven't seen Dada in my dreams yet.
15, my grandfather tells me to behave well during a summer in America. After I come back I hear that Dada has been vomiting a lot. My grandfather gets sick after a long time. I think it's because people are jealous of his good health. I can't really comprehend it. I don't remember him sick, ever. Dada gets sicker, and I don't know what's going on. Things are moving too fast. I ask Dada too many questions, I want to know him better. In the midst of it all, he tells me, “I've lived life long and well. I am ready to go.”
14, I start watching tennis with Dada. On calm afternoons, I sit beside his lying body on the wooden floor in our TV room and learn. Dada tells me about his own badminton glory days. I wish to be like him. Dada and I watch the Australian Open men's finals together. It was the longest match in history. Djokovic won that year. We were both supporting him.
13 and blooming, distant family members tell me I resemble my grandfather in figure and posture. I have his long nose, slender fingers, sharp chin. I enjoy reflecting upon our similarities. Dada tells me I am a carbon copy of his mother. I yearn to see her, knowing well that I can't. I am almost Dada's height.
12, Dada is the anchor of the entire family. He has this routine where he calls everyone to ask how they are everyday – my mom, dad, cousins, aunts and uncles. At one point he starts calling me too. Maybe he thinks I'm old enough now. We have this fun way of conveying information – we talk in raw urdu/hindi. Because he's fluent and I want to learn.
11, Dada becomes one of my biggest role models. I begin enjoying the stories that he tells me during lunch.
10 years, and I learn the magic of love. It's Dada-Dadu's 50th marriage anniversary. “They have been together for so long?” I wonder.
9, Dada's so strong and I'm so weak. We shake hands and I always try to press his palm hard, to feel dominant, but end up getting hurt instead. This becomes a routine and whenever I see him after some time, we shake hands this way, to see if I'm building any more muscles.
8, I notice that Dada brings home three different newspapers, even if we have one delivered. He tells me it's because, “Reading one will make me biased.”
7, Dada loves dry ginger. He keeps them stashed close with all the candies he gets for his grandchildren. Us cousins, we steal all the goodies when Dada isn't keeping watch. I think he knows what we do. He quite enjoys it.
6, I don't remember much. Everyone says Dada is sick. Something about cancer and his throat and him being strong. I do remember making a get-well-soon card and his eyes gleaming to say, “Don't be afraid now, I'm gonna get better.” I think that Dada's the kind of person who will always be well.
5, my grandfather and I have big fights over who gets to watch the TV. I snatch the remote from his hand and he runs after me. I hate him for not letting me watch cartoons because of his stupid tennis matches.
4, I think Dada likes my newborn sister more than me. He gives her more time. Lets her sit on his lap and play with his beard. I miss being the centre his attention.
3, Dada enjoys big family parties. He's such a lively person, always smiling. At the table, he sits in the middle, like a king.
2, someone says I might have a chance to reach up to my grandfather's shoulder by the time I grow up.
1, Dada watches over me like a guardian angel, as I begin to grow, walk, draw.
0, I speak my first word, “Da-da” while I play on the bed. Everyone celebrates. My grandfather stands by the door, pleased.