She Needed a Bye Back

I visited my uncle’s house early last month. It had been more than two decades since I had last been there. Back then, it was nearly a kilometre’s walk from the main road. I wanted to retrace the steps of my boyhood, but the area had changed beyond recognition. I found myself mentally comparing the old map I carried in my memory with the reality before me. Even so, I pressed on, trusting my instincts to guide me. I managed to get close by asking for directions to the local temple and the lake, but eventually I got lost. In the end, I needed my cousin’s help. I was only two short streets away from his house.

Whether I visited my cousin’s house or he came to mine, we would spend almost every weekend together. His village was beautiful, with lush paddy fields stretching along the lakeside. It was the first place I had ever seen handloom weaving up close. In fact, on almost every street one could see the traditional practice of street sizing.

During those visits, we would play cricket, cards, or dayakattai. My uncle was always right there in the middle of it all, less like an elder and more like one of us. We always needed someone to keep score anyway, but he played remarkably well too. 

On this visit, my cousin introduced me to a friend of his. As we talked, we realised that we had met several times during our school days and had even played cricket together. Neither of us could remember the other’s face or any particular occasion from back then. It felt like meeting for the first time. He pointed at my cousin’s belly and joked that the leanest person in our old group now had the biggest belly. It was true. My cousin had been incredibly lean and was a dancer during his school days. Now a businessman, he tries to stay healthy by playing tennis or badminton whenever he can find the time. 

Later, while sitting with a few other family members, another cousin arrived from far away. She introduced her sons to one of the oldest relatives in the house. He immediately began asking about her town and the people there, spinning an intricate web of family connections—none of whom I recognised. Somewhere along the way, I realised, I had drifted away from my relatives.

As evening approached, my cousin’s two-year-old daughter, sitting in her mother’s arms, pointed at my uncle and said, ‘Grandpa.’ ‘Say bye to Grandpa,’ her mother told her. ‘Where is he going?’ the child asked immediately. ‘To rest,’ her mother answered. ‘Bye, Grandpa,’ she said, waving a second later. But even faster than her wave came her sudden cry: ‘Grandpa is not saying bye to me!’ Her expression changed instantly, and for a brief moment, it felt as though her little heart had suddenly sensed something far deeper, something she could not yet understand.

Of that entire day, that was the exact moment my eyes welled up—a single tear, heavy with the weight and memories of so many years of bonding with him.