Jan. 23

One year ago on Jan. 23, Gregg and I got married for the first time. We had our Indian ceremony in Oregon, and I had a blog post all planned out for the ocassion, complete with some pics from the wedding and a few random highlights from a year of "wedded bliss." I guess it's a good thing that G and I got married twice.

Because this year, with life being the twisted thing that it is, Jan. 23 was really all about something else entirely. Early that morning, my mom called me to tell me that my paternal grandfather had passed away just hours earlier. It shouldn't have been a shock, but it was. He'd been deteriorating for weeks, but somehow seemed to be hanging in there and even getting better. And anyway, he was my grandfather, and I figured he was invincible. There's lots I could tell you about these last couple of weeks. Life certainly hasn't been uneventful. Me deciding to go to India. Me realizing that I probably shouldn't go to India. My dad rushing to get there. My mom discvoering the intricacies of the internet. So many things that would make for a more exciting/tragic/comic blog entry. But honestly I'd rather just tell you about my grandfather. My grandfather, who was one of my favorite relatives, and the first close relative that I've really lost.

In front of my grandparents' house in India, there is a little bench, and in the morning and evenings, that's where my grandfather would be. Watching everyone come and go. Waiting for friends to come by with the latest gossip or political arguments. I remember visiting when I was in college and going with him on his errands. We'd run to the bank or pharmacy or where ever he needed to go. And everywhere he went, he'd introduce me (you know, to the random bank tellers and street vendors), telling him how I was grand daughter, visiting from the states. And I went to Stanford. I'm sure they were all fascinated. I think it was on that trip that we took a pony cart home one evening because I'd never been on one, and he thought I'd get a kick out of it.

It might have been on that trip too that he got into a fight with some Australians at the bank. Like all Indians, he had no concept of standing in line, and cut in front of an Aussie couple. They took issue, and I had to hold my grandfather back a bit before it turned into an all out brawl. He kept telling them something in English, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was.
Sometimes, on those earlier trips, we'd go eat at a restaurant after doing whatever he needed to do, just because he liked having any excuse to eat out.

Though he had been getting frailer recently, he used to be a big man with a loud booming voice. He always had an opinion and loved to be right. I'd argue back every chance I got, and it seemed at times that nothing could make him prouder than have one of his granddaughters stand up to him. He valued intelligence and education, and was always interested in our jobs or daily lives. I remember I visited once right after I had come back from South America. I developed my trip pictures while in India. Some were from South America, some were of friends from home that I took to finish out the roll (back in the days of non-digital photography), My grandfather was fascinated by every single one. I think some might have involved some drunken friends but hopefully it wasn't that obvious.

But my favorite memories are the little things that I'll never quite remember exactly. The mornings sitting around with him while he sat in grungy old easy chair, telling me stories about something or other. I liked hearing of his travels or younger days, and he was always happy to oblige. It bugs me now that I can't really remember any of the details. Makes me wish I had taken a tape recorder and record every single conversation we'd ever had.

Always a character, and definitely never boring, there are lots of reasons why he was one of my favorite relative. He'll be so missed.