The Granny Genes

All grandmothers are sweet; as sweet as the delicacies they make. A lot is said and written about the endearing bond between girls and their grannies. With God’s grace I too was gifted to be brought up under the love and affection of my maternal grandmother. With my mother working, a college professor, I got to spend all my formative years under my grandma. She is close to touching 90 and in the pink of her health. Touch wood!

There is a striking difference in the extent of liberty that children get from parents and grandparents. Rather it is this high dose of freedom, pampering and fuss that makes children attach close to grandparents. Often my grandma comes down to city to stay with us. Though the urban jungle is not much to her liking she stays with us because of my pestering.

When my grandma is at home she is the sole proprietor of our food needs. Even kitchen utensils seem to work indulgently at her command. She is better acquainted with the provisions stock and has a keener sense of which fruit in the fridge would do best for evening snack and which fruit is going to go bad before consumption. Her cooking skills are the best. The aroma from her dishes invites our neighbours all harrowing into our house for receipes. Come summer and the varieties of her pickles leave me taking an extra serving of food.

Till I went to college she fed me my breakfast. As I run from room to room scrambling through books and papers, getting ready for my college bus, she unquestioningly follows me with plate and dosa. I can only contrast this to my mother who would rather ask me to eat at the college canteen than run around and feed me in the morning.

The contrast doesn't stop there. With my mother, I ask her once, remind her twice and beg her once more to give me something to munch. But with my grandma, lest I should ask, she makes a snack every evening and serves me first, right from the pan. If I praise her dish a little too lavish she will see to that I eat up her share too.

No, I don’t blame my mother. It’s all to do with grandmother genes. My very own mother wears a different role when her grandson is at home. My elder sister’s son, mischievous and naughty, is all that takes my mother to become a pampering grandma. When the little boy is at home, my mother’s entire attention is directed towards him. She instantly becomes interested in cooking and becomes miraculously active for running around the house chasing him with dosa. Strange, what grandmother genes can do to mothers!