Don't you worry.Its just that MBA education puts you in the habit of complicating simple things by using scary abbreviations such as "P.G ; M.G " .This post is not about any economic models or corporate debts, rather its about grandmothers . So relax.
Now , as is somewhat obvious , my dad 's mother was my paternal grandmother , whom I shall abbreviate as P.G ( Daadi in Hindi).
And in keeping with my penchant for abbreviations , my mom's mom , or my maternal granny would be called M.G (Naani in Hindi).
Now , P.G 's dad was allegedly some pretty important guy who handled a lot of important legal stuff for some Raja Yashwant Rao Holkar ( i cant resist pronouncing that as "Khol Kar" ) .This holkar guy was a highly lazy and useless lad. So P.G's dad amassed a lot of wealth.He had a sprawling farm house with an artificial lake and real rabbits and ducks .He owned a couple of cinema halls which played black and white movies . And as is pretty obvious , his ego was as high as a eucalyptus tree.I have seen his photograph which hangs at my P.G's place. He looked grumpy , constipated and ready to whip out a hunter any moment. My dad recalls how he got mad when my dad , as a five year old , broke a flowerpot at his farm house .So that speaks fairly of P.G's dad attitude.
And my P.G ( daadi ) inherited her dad's ego along with his grumpy outlook . I am sorry to sound disrespectful , but this blog is the only place where I can be my disrespectful , unashamed , corrupt self , so kindly let me be. She had a ego huge enough to outweigh a blue whale and a jewellery collection huge enough to kill a blue whale under its weight.( Sidenote : I have nothing personal against blue whales). P.G had three sons , all of them had sound education . The eldest studied engineering at DCE , another at IIT Delhi and the youngest studied medicine at MAMC .Also , the youngest son grew up to be the father of a dashing and handsome boy .In other words ,he grew up to be my dad.But everytime I visited P.G's place , it sounded as silent as a monastery with the only talk being about education and our highly "respected" ancestory.
But if I felt P.G to be as dry as the Sahara desert , my M.G ( naani ) is the pacific ocean of "mamta and dulaar". Everytime I visit her , she feels I look as thin as some undernourished refugee from Somalia , even though in reality I am more like a burden on India's food reserves. She doesnt undertstand what an IIM is , but asks me about my studies with interest . She is too simple to understand what a cricket match is , but laughs to see me celebrating Sehwag's century. She is not educated at all , she doesnt know how to dial a telephone number , is embarassingly low on ego and religiously feeds "baajra" to sparrows every morning. At family gatherings , while P.G used to be surrounded by women in heavy silk sarees who looked like a walking jewellery store , M.G used to stand around shyly in her plain and ordinary cotton saree.
But both P.G and M.G taught me the same thing , in their own and disparate ways.
That before being a educated and rich person , try to be a good person. That more than the jewellery P.G wore , the cinema halls her family owned , the elephants who trumpeted at her "baraat" , I would fondly remember the stories M.G regaled me with , the way she exclaimed how thin I had become after the hostel stay , the compassion she treated even a street dog with .That its not about how much you own , but about how you make people feel.
And even though there is no point in writing what I would now , I would because I have to .I feel I have betrayed what my M.G stands for. All I want to be is someone who is more like my M.G .But after my breakup , there is one girl in this world for whom I am the most detested person . I have infused her heart with hatred and mistrust. Even though I never touched her , I feel I have violated her emotionally by making her dream the dreams I was too weak to turn into reality . And I don't want her to forgive me , because it is not her hate I detest. It is my own opinion of myself as a good human being which has degraded.More than for ending it , i am sorry for starting it at all . All I wish is that her hate is just against me , not against the concept of love , which may rob her of the love she may find from someone who is a better person than me .
Anyways , since this post has been a lot about grand "motherly" antics , I would take your leave with a "motherly " piece of prose , to be found below.
Once a pretty girl was happily drinking a coke in a restaurant when a cockroach comes out of the bottle of the coke.She screams and is about to squash the cockroach....
Cockroach : " No mom !!! dont kill me !"
Girl : "Bloody cockroach !!!! how did you imagine me to be your mommy ??"
Cockroach : " Kyunki main tumhari " Kokh " se nikla hoon "