"Love Beyond Time"

It was a sunny summer evening, and I was busy fumbling with my old stuff. As I rummaged through our old trunk, a beautiful and huge flower printed photo album caught my eye. Its was a new album i bought last year for my family pictures which seemed to whisper stories of some kind of maharaja era. As I delicately opened the album i felt like i'm in 90's , there were tones of pictures of my father looking like a damnn hero of his outfits(i always though he could have worked for indian cinema),i too saw some pictures of my mother (always looking submissive),and then my grandparents ...they definitely looked like maharaja and maharani of that time, my grandfather with a big rifle in his hand(he was an army man) and my grandmother with tones and tones of gold jewellery ( rajput family dowry obsession perks),and then my eyes fell on a beautiful picture....a wave of nostalgia washed over me. Childhood memories came flooding back, and my eyes landed on a familiar face - my grandmother's...and she was holding me!!( the tiny me hehe).

In that photo, I was just a little baby, freshly born, and cradled in my grandmother's loving lap. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated love - a feeling that's deeply ingrained in Indian culture, where grandparents are revered and cherished( they're not in some ,but not in my case luckily). As I gazed at the photo, I could feel the intensity of our bond, the depth of our connection. My grandmother's eyes sparkled with joy, her smile radiant as she gazed at me, her tiny, innocent grandchild. And I, in turn, was smiling back at her, our eyes locked in a moment of pure, unconditional love.

At the same moment, I looked at my grandmother, who was taking her medicines with her wrinkly weak hands, she too was staring at that picture, and I saw her smile. And I smiled back. It was as if time had stood still, and the past and present had merged. The baby in the picture, my grandmother, and I - we were all smiling together, our faces reflecting the same joy, the same love.

As I gazed at that moment, I felt an overwhelming surge of inspiration to write something about my grandmother and here i am. i though of implementing it later and the idea drifted my mind as i was so immersed in scanning those old pictures .... as I turned the pages of the album, I was struck by the sheer number of memories my father had captured through his camera. He was an avid photographer, and it seemed like every moment of my childhood had been frozen in time. And what struck me most was that in every single picture of me with my grandmother, I was smiling.And that makes me smile more( in fact my good name is MUSKAN which means smile in hindi ..how beautiful!!!!!isn't it??)

My grandmother, though frugal with her spendings, sometimes makes an exception for me. She'd splurge on things she normally considered frivolous(still do), just to see me smile. I saw a particular photo where she's standing, embracing me around her right shoulder.. beaming with pride. In her traditional Rajputi attire, a stunning red suit, she looks regal. And I, tiny and carefree, am clutching a bright red, heart-shaped balloon. It's as if the balloon and her outfit were meant to match, creating a beautiful, harmonious frame. The joy in our eyes is palpable, and the love we share is unmistakable.

One childhood memory stands out - falling off a wall and needing stitches. But I didn't cry, thanks to my grandmother's reassuring presence. She held me tight, and with her by my side, I felt safe and secure , she took me to the nearby hospital with a big cotton piece firmly holding onto my head to stop the flowing blood. Her strength and resilience inspire me, and I admire her courage in facing life's challenges.

As a child, I often felt like I was being left alone, especially with the arrival of my sister. In my immature mind, I thought my grandmother's love was being diverted away from me. This feeling was further intensified by frequent visits of my aunt(Bhua) . She had a daughter, just eight months younger than me, and I would feel a pang of jealousy whenever my grandmother would care for her, especially when my aunt would leave her in our care while she attended college. Even now, I must admit that I still feel a slight twinge of possessiveness when it comes to sharing my grandmother's love and attention with anyone else.

My grandmother's love is not a finite resource, but a boundless ocean that could encompass everyone. As I matured, I began to understand that her affection was not diluted by the presence of others, but rather multiplied, allowing her to shower love and care on all those around her. This realization brought me peace, and I learned to cherish the moments we shared as a family, surrounded by my grandmother's warmth and generosity.

I couldn't help but chuckle as I flipped through the photo album, noticing that my childish jealousy had been captured in some of the pictures. There I was, standing beside my grandmother as she held my siblings or cousins, my face scrunched up in a comical poker face. My eyes would be narrowed, my lips pursed, and my arms crossed, as if to say, 'I'm not happy about this!' It was adorable and hilarious, and I couldn't believe I had been so transparent in my emotions, even as a young child.

As I stand on the cusp of turning twenty this March, I reflect on the invaluable lessons my grandmother has imparted to me. As a Rajput, she has taught me the significance of our rich culture, traditions, and responsibilities. Growing up as a girl in a Rajput family comes with its own set of expectations and duties, particularly when it comes to upholding our family's honor. While some rituals may confuse me at times, my love for our culture only deepens. Our weddings, with their grandeur and intricate customs, are truly a sight to behold. Every ritual is steeped in meaning, and I find myself enchanted by my grandmother's stories of her own wedding and those of our ancestors. She is a masterful storyteller, weaving tales that transport me to her era which was near the time when India got Independence. Sometimes she laugh, and sometimes she weep remembering her old days (she looks beautiful in both but, i never let her do the latter more than a minute, with my lame jokes, on which she still smiles).

As my grandmother ages, now eighty, I've noticed the clear signs of wear and tear on her body. Her feet and hands ache, and it pains me to see her in discomfort. But what's even more unbearable is the thought of losing her. One instance still haunts me - my aunt was casually discussing my grandmother's death, and I was overcome with emotion. Tears streamed down my face, and I cried throughout the night. The worst part was being physically distant from my grandmother, unable to be by her side. In desperation, I called her at 2 am, and when she picked up, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The mere thought of a future without my grandmother is now unbearable, and I cling to every moment we share.

The thought of her passing is unbearable, but I'm determined to create as many memories with her as possible before I leave for college and start my graduation. I love her with all my heart, and every moment we share is precious. But the harsh reality is that death is inevitable, and it will come one day. The thought of living without her is daunting, and I worry about how my sensitive heart will cope with the loss. Will I be strong enough to bear the pain, or will it shatter me completely?