***

Go back and check the date of the diary entry in which Giriraj dies and compare it with the date of this flashback. You will understand his actions and emotions. 

Word Count : 3700

Audio Theme(s) : 

Remembrance (Slowed )

Or 

January to December.

https://youtu.be/cZlRsQ7Pfrg

 Or

https://youtu.be/8jzxfRblCSY

***

56 | The Only Truth

| 8 years ago |

| May 1, 2015 |

| Friday |

| 1030 Hours |

Buttoning the cuffs of the formal white shirt, he turned around to assess himself in the mirror. Instead his gaze fell on the packed luggage bags set aside in a corner of his single-occupancy hostel room.

Just then, the rickety old door opened wide with a bang as a 'not so feminine' female rushed inside.

"Bro!" The tomboyish young woman passed on a black academic robe and hat to him wrapped in a plastic packet as her knees made a 'not so graceful' touchdown on the cracked cement hostel flooring. A metallic sound followed her fall as a khukri and a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses fell down on the floor from her hoodie and face, respectively. "I swear, one of these days I am going to chop off Professor Banerjee's balls! I have been running around on the campus the whole freaking day! What does he think I am? A freaking horse or a donkey!? Here, your academic robe and hat." She hollered out, quickly picking up her khukri and glasses.

Mahadevan sized her up from bottom to top. A dirty pair of Converse shoes with mud-caked soles and untied laces, blue jeans with muddy knees, a sweat-soaked white tee peeking out from underneath her loose black 'Oggy and the Cockroaches' printed hoodie. Her straight black hair was chopped off into a boyish mushroom cut barely reaching the helix of her ears, while her small yet double-eyelid eyes, screaming of her northeastern origins, were framed by her thick pair of glasses. She sneezed violently as a bubble of snot landed right on the bridge between her chapped upper lip and straight red nose. She thrust her right hand inside her right jean pocket and pulled out a kerchief. Plastering it on her nostrils, she sneezed again, this time even more violently. "Fuck, this potty cold!"

She looked straight up like a messy female version of Harry Potter with an uncouth mouth and a serrated little khukri.

Madadevan clicked his tongue. "Donkey suits you better."

"Bro!" She punched him on his upper arm.

Placing his academic robe and hat on his mattress-less bed, he sighed and crouched down on his knees. Directing his hands in the direction of her mud-caked Converse shoes, he tied her shoelaces. "At least check if your shoelaces are tied or not before running around Indira. Just the way you check if you are carrying your khukri around or not."

Indrani Vishwakarma sneezed again, the snot bubble flowing out from her nostrils. "Fuck the damned shoelaces! Wear your graduation robe fast! The convocation ceremony is going to start in some time."

"Okay." He got up on his feet, chuckling faintly.

"By the way, bro..." She trailed off, roaming her eyes around in his hostel room in search of something. "Have you packed your Hajmola bottle too? I had idli and sambhar in the mess this morning." She rubbed her stomach in circles. "And now my stomach is creating these weird-ass noises. I did drink a glass of Jal-jeera, but that shit didn't help at all, and now I feel I need Hajmola, bro."

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." Mahadevan shook his head in amusement, turned around, and fished out a bottle of digestive tablets from the side pocket of his shoulder bag. "Why do you eat every meal of your life like it's the last meal of your life?"

Snatching away the bottle from him, she scowled. "Why do you eat ice cream and paneer when you know you can't digest them?"

He sighed again, picking up his graduation robe. "Go, change, and come."

"Who cares! It's not my damned convocation ceremony anyway. I am going to pass out next year!"

Thirty minutes later, Indrani got herself seated in one of the back seats of the auditorium while Mahadevan had his eyes set on the main entrance.

"Is that insufferable little camel going to come today?" She asked, following his line of gaze.

"Who?" He asked, confused, still staring at the main entranceway of the auditorium.

"Your sorry excuse of a brother." She replied, making a gagged expression.

He shrugged, shaking his head. "No. He is in the States."

"Thank God." Indrani gagged again, remembering her school bully. Instantly, another drop of snot dribbled down on her fresh pair of jeans. "This potty cold!"

"Mind your language, young lady." Mahadevan admonished her in a calm tone.

"Yes, old man!"

He sighed, unlatching his gaze from the entranceway to look at the stage. He was supposed to sit in the first chair of the second row as per the roll of honors.

"Who is going to come from your family today?" She asked, curious.

"I don't know." He shrugged nonchalantly.

She scratched her chin. "Bro, after the placements got over, almost everyone on the campus knows who you are. I don't see any reasons behind your family not coming to the convocation ceremony. They don't need to hide your identity anymore because by now I think even Oggy and Bob know that your last name being Dogra isn't just a coincidence. You are actually 'the Dogra.'"

He stared at her, bewildered. "Oggy? Bob?"

"Those two rats from hostel six." She grinned.

"You named them?"

"I did." She grinned wider. "Hehehehe."

He poked her forehead. "Grow up, Indrani."

And then she laughed.

Laughed so loud that the students sitting in the front looked behind, staring at her, like deer caught in headlights, rubbing their palms on their palpitating chests.

"What?" She tipped her chin, glaring at them. "I am not selling Biryani here! Look at the damned stage! Or do you want me to chop off your buttocks?!" She pulled out her khukri.

All the heads turned around in a trice.

Mahadevan sighed for the umpteenth time, shaking his head.

Around two hours later, as he descended down from the stage with his scroll of honor, medal, and degree certificate, his gaze automatically fell on the bespectacled, tomboyish girl in a gray-colored hoodie sitting in the last row of the auditorium, whistling her guts out, jumping like a kangaroo.

He chuckled in amusement.

Just then, his visual senses landed on the authoritative old man sitting in the front most row, looking at him, sitting next to the dean.

He stared at the man in blatant shock, eventually feeling his lips curving up feebly.

Giriraj Dogra passed him a barely perceptible smile, clutching his walking stick weakly with his frail hands.

Mahadevan bowed his head and strode towards the back row instead of his designated seat.

***

Giriraj Dogra waited patiently for his grandson, standing next to the convoy of luxury vehicles and an entourage of security professionals.

He glanced at the dial of the watch around his right wrist and then looked up. Karim and two more security professionals were marching towards him with his grandson and a girl who looked like an adolescent boy, tailing behind them.

He clicked his tongue in displeasure.

"It seems you have forgotten the value of time, young man." He remarked, training his eyes on Mahadevan. "You have a flight in three hours more. Be quick."

Mahadevan lowered his gaze. "Sorry."

Giriraj nodded.

Indrani glowered, wiping off the snot from her fiery red nostrils.

Meanwhile, Karim looked on as the other two security professionals loaded all the luggage bags in the car boot.

A few minutes down the line, as Mahadevan placed his hand on the grab handle of the car to get inside, he heard a loud sniffle from behind.

He immediately turned around, only to witness a crying and sneezing Harry Potter.

A large drop of snot dangled down from the edge of her left nostril, and the air she was breathing out had caused it to blow up into a big bubble while tears slithered down her cheeks.

"Bro." Indrani sniffled. "I never knew, but even snot tastes salty like tears." She wiped her nose with the sleeves of her hoodie.

Mahadevan doubled over with laughter. "Idiot." He poked her forehead.

"Without you, Mess Anna will only give me two idlis from now on!" She cried out. "Less rice, Sambhar and chicken, too!"

Karim chuckled in the background while Giriraj smiled.

"Now, listen." Mahadevan caressed her cropped hair. "Don't overeat. Sleep on time."

She sniffled. "I will try."

"Don't carry your Khukri everywhere." He trailed softly. "Learn to curb your anger."

She nodded.

"I don't need to say this, but study diligently and submit all your projects and assignments on time."

"I always do so." She shrugged.

"Yes." He smiled encouragingly. "Work hard, and try to get placed in VINCI & Co. in the placement drive next year. Yeah?"

She grinned instantly, hugging his waist. "Obviously!"

He smiled feebly, a little taken aback, although his eyes were getting sheeny behind his rimless specs. This was the first time she had hugged him. "Go back, Bacche." Caressing the crown of her head, he continued. "You have an assignment due the day after."

"I will miss you." She sniffled. "Bhai."

"I won't." He teased her.

"Bro!" She punched him in his abdomen, rubbing her snotty nostrils on his polo t-shirt.

He hissed yet laughed at the same time.

***

Mahadevan stared at the whitewashed walls of the empty classified waiting room of the airport and then ducked his head down to glance at the economy class ticket from Bangalore to Paris, and his passport resting on his lap.

There was a delay of four hours in flight. And right next to him sat his grandfather, sitting silently and staring at the wall ahead.

He turned his head around. Karim was standing next to the door while the other security men were alert outside the waiting room, guarding it.

"What happened, boy?" The old man raised a brow, clutching his walking stick tightly.

Mahadevan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I am hungry."

"Should I get something from one of the buffets or cafeterias, Sahib?" Karim suggested, bowing slightly.

Mahadevan exchanged glances with him, ready to pass a nod.

"No need." The old man raised his hand commandingly, showing his palm.

Karim retracted back to his initial position, and Mahadevan turned around, resuming his 'stare at the wall' contest.

But much to their amusement, the senior Dogra picked up the small handbag kept on the metallic chair next to his own chair. He unzipped it and extracted an extremely ancient-looking cartoon-printed plastic tiffin box.

Maybe because of how aged it was, the paint of the cartoons printed on it was chipping off, leaving behind just some traces of the funny-looking caricatures along with the faded hue of the plastic lunch pail.

A wave of recognition flared across Mahadevan's eyes as he stared at the tiffin box.

"Here." The senior Dogra passed it on to him, not meeting his gaze by looking elsewhere. "Eat."

Taking hold of the plastic box, Mahadevan traced his fingers across its lid. "Where did you get this from?"

He adjusted his specs. "I kept it."

"All this while?"

The old man looked up, finally meeting his gaze. "Always."

It was the first tiffin box that his grandfather bought for him back when he started school.

Mahadevan's lips curled up frailly as he unlocked the tiffin box.

Four parathas with a side of egg curry.

"Eat." A soft whisper echoed from the seat beside him.

Mahadevan nodded, tearing a piece of the paratha.

Giriraj looked on as his grandson feasted on the box of home-cooked food, a wave of peace rippling through him. "Chew your food properly, boy."

Mahadevan nodded, chewing on the piece of egg white coated with gravy.

Karim smiled, witnessing the sight in front of him. By chance, his gaze landed on Mahadevan's left shoe. The laces had somehow unfastened on the way to the airport.

"Sahib, your shoelaces..." He pointed out and stepped forward to do the needful. Mahadevan looked down and nodded his head. Just as he was about to keep the tiffin box on the empty chair to his left, the senior Dogra showed him his palm, signaling him to stop.

"Eat." He tipped his chin at his grandson and then glanced at Karim. "Continue with your work."

Karim stopped dead in his tracks, bowed his head, and retraced his steps.

Giriraj Dogra got up from his chair with the help of his walking stick, tilted it against the arm of the chair, and then squatted down, supporting his right knee on the cold tiled flooring of the airport waiting room.

"Grandpa..." Mahadevan gulped, retracting his legs.

The old man looked up. "What? I used to tie your laces when you started going to school." He voiced out curtly. "Eat now."

Then he ducked his head down and tied the laces, forming a neat bow.

Karim looked on, smiling faintly, as the senior Dogra finished tying the shoelaces, got up on his frail, shaky feet, and settled back on his chair.

Mahadevan's soft gaze roamed on the weak frame of his grandfather. For some reason, he appeared too old, too fragile. Suddenly, the wrinkles on his face looked too deep while his earthy pair of eyes behind his glasses, quite alike his own, seemed too sunken.

"Eat, boy." Giriraj whispered again. "Don't waste your time."

Mahadevan nodded slowly.

Five minutes later, he locked the empty lunch pail and rose from the metallic airport chair.

"What happened?" The old man asked again.

Mahadevan smiled. "I will just wash this tiffin box and my hands and come back."

"Let it be." Giriraj waved off his hand, taking away the box from him. "I will get it washed later. You go, wash your hands, and come back."

"Okay."

The old man had his wrinkle-laden eyes fixated on the entranceway of the washroom attached to the waiting room. He slowly stuffed the tiffin box back in the handbag and zipped it up.

He waited patiently as Mahadevan emerged out of the washroom with his wet hands holding a kerchief.

Handing over a bottle of water to Mahadevan, he trailed. "You are blinking your eyes quite frequently. Are you feeling sleepy?"

"I didn't exactly sleep much last night." The young man nodded his head sheepishly and settled down on the chair. "I have my neck pillow in one of my bags. I will just take a quick nap."

"Take it out later. Too much of a hassle now." Giriraj's hard tone reverberated in the waiting room.

Gently patting his palm on his left thigh, he mouthed. "Support your head here and sleep, boy. I will wake you up on time."

Though dazed, Mahadevan lowered his gaze and nodded. Bending his waist towards his right side, he placed his head on his grandfather's lap. The old man stroked the crown of his head twice as he slowly closed his eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

Coursing his frail and pale fingers through his grandson's thick black curls, Giriraj resumed patting his head gently, setting up a continuous rhythm.

Karim surveyed his surroundings for one last time and decided upon leaving the grandfather-grandson duo alone for some time. Pushing open the door, he stepped out.

Giriraj caressed Mahadevan's head as a trail of hot tears trickled down his fragile and saggy cheeks, dribbling down on the soft black curls underneath his hands. Bowing his head down, he placed a kiss on Mahadevan's head. "Sleep, my child."

Hours later, the old man looked on as his grandson pushed his baggage carousel towards the emigration check counter.

"Young man," he called out.

Mahadevan halted on his way and turned around. "Yes, grandpa?"

"Come here." Lifting his right hand, Giriraj beckoned him towards himself.

Leaving the baggage carousel behind, Mahadevan strolled closer to him.

Giriraj smiled ever so slightly. "You were a tiny little chubby thing as a baby. Always giggling or eating with an underwear on. Unlike other children of your age, you started talking very late, and when you were born, your Didaa was only ten years old." He chuckled. "Her own childish hands were tiny, but when she was around, she wouldn't let anyone else hold you or Daman. It was the same with Ira too."

He paused, patting Mahadevan's shoulder. "When you were born, she held you first, and I held you second." The creases scattered around the corners of his old pair of eyes crinkled as his lips curved into a weak crescent. "When I die, I want her to hold me first, and you to hold me second."

"If my hands feel cold, just engulf them in your warm ones. Then put my head in your lap and caress it like this." He rubbed Mahadevan's shoulder softly. "Place a picture of your grandma next to my body and I'll know that I died a happy death."

Mahadevan's eyes widened. "Why are you saying such things?"

"You never know, boy." Giriraj chuckled. "Your old man is too old now."

Mahadevan stepped forward and engulfed him in a bear hug. Giriraj's chuckles didn't cease. He raised his hands up and rubbed his back. "Oil your hair regularly. They have become too rough. Don't be lazy. Don't ever procrastinate. Work hard and give your hundred percent in everything. Sleep and eat on time. Drink enough water every day. Yeah?"

Mahadevan detached himself from Giriraj, nodding his head.

"Remember, it's okay to be tough. But here . . ." The old man paused and placed his palm on the left side of his chest. "This thing here, it should be soft. Yes?"

"Yes."

"Good." He smiled. "Are you taking along the shawls that Darsha gave you?"

"I am," Mahadevan replied.

"Only those three that she wove or the other seven too?" He probed further.

"All ten of them."

"Good. Keep them safe. Don't leave them around carelessly. Those are far more precious than you think they are." He took a pause and tipped his chin in the direction of the emigration check counter. "Go now."

Though perplexed, Mahadevan nodded his head and turned around. Pushing the luggage carousel forward, he started walking.

"No guts." The Dogra patriarch voiced out.

"No glory." The Dogra Heir shot back.

Just then Giriraj's phone rang. Fishing it out of his blazer pocket, he received the conference video call.

In an instant, three different faces graced his eyes from the phone screen.

"Good evening, Grandpa!" Nirjhara giggled.

"Good evening, Paa!" Darshana wished jubilantly.

"Yo, old man!" Aridaman munched on a slice of potato chip sitting next to Nirjhara. "What's up?"

"Brat." Giriraj muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"Is he gone?" Darshana questioned anxiously. "Gosh, he has never gone abroad alone."

"Yeah," Nirjhara added worriedly. "Is Bhai okay?"

"Don't worry. Nothing will happen to that bookworm." Aridaman crushed another slice of chip under his molars, making a loud crunching sound.

"Eww! Close your mouth and chew, you buffoon!"

"Wait." Giriraj switched the video call from the front camera to the back camera. "See."

Darshana, Nirjhara, and Aridaman focused their eyes on the known tall and masculine frame of a young man in a black windbreaker jacket slowly moving towards the other end of the airport with his luggage carousel.

Darshana sighed, smiling dolefully as her eyes teared up.

"I just want him to reach Paris safely, good lord." Nirjhara remarked.

Aridaman's lips curved up faintly too.

The aunt and niece pair blew flying kisses in Mahadevan's direction.

"God, I am not going to kiss that giraffe!" Aridaman gagged. "I wish him an unlimited source of Biryani in Paris, though."

Darshana and Nirjhara chuckled.

"By the way, Pa..." The former trailed.

"Yes, beta?" Giriraj replied.

"How was the egg curry? I hope you didn't burn the parathas."

Giriraj licked his upper lip awkwardly. "I may or may not have burnt the onions a little while making the masala base. The parathas were fine, though." He paused. "It was your recipe, so it's your fault!" He puffed up his cheeks and breathed out heavily, causing his whiskers to shake violently.

"What?! You cooked it! How is it my fault?" Darshana exclaimed in blatant astonishment.

"Grandpa, you cooked?!" Nirjhara hollered out in shock.

"Old man, don't you dare say that you cooked for that giraffe!" Aridaman bolted up from the settee like a bullet.

"Brat, sit down!"

"But you have never cooked for me too, grandpa." Nirjhara pouted.

"Little girl, you are coming back for your vacation next month, aren't you?" Giriraj asked softly. "I will cook for you then, I promise." He chuckled.

"I want Butter Paneer!" Aridaman ordered.

Giriraj laughed, glancing at his eldest grandchild's slowly distancing gait for a moment. "Alright."

"Pa, I am cutting the call now. I wanted to talk to Devi." Darshana announced.

"Me too!" Nirjhara added.

Aridaman scratched his cheek nonchalantly. "That idiot only knows about his books. He needs a lecture, so add me in too."

"Alright then, love you, Paa!"

"Love you, Grandpa!"

"Love ya, old man!"

Giriraj gulped the knot down his throat and switched off the mic and camera. His gaze momentarily fell on the gradually disappearing frame of his eldest grandson, eventually shifting onto the three people on his phone screen, as a fresh trail of tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. "Love you too, mere bachhon." A tender whisper escaped his quivering lips.

And the call got disconnected.

His frail frame slowly strolled towards the lounge area with Karim on his tail.

Thrusting back his phone inside, he took his wallet out. As he flipped open its leather cover, his soft gaze settled on the two photographs inside. To the left was a black-and-white photograph of a couple smiling ear to ear with two tall teenaged boys standing behind their seated frames and an infant sleeping in the lady's embrace. To the right was a faded color photograph of three kids—two boys and a girl. The girl was shorter and looked younger than the two boys.

Drop by drop, more tears trickled down on both the photographs. "I love you all." He wiped his tears and steadied his frail quivering lips. "And when I die, this shall be my only truth."

***

All okay?

Anyway. . .

Now, go back and check the date of the diary entry in which Giriraj dies and compare it with the date of this flashback. You will understand his actions and emotions. 

***