Buckle Up, Buttercup!

warm & golden like hope; on my grandmother's 78th birthday

My grandmother is the sun in my universe. Her laughter is infectious, and her hands always smell like fresh dough or the tulsi plant she plucks twigs from every morning. She has taught me how to plant seeds, both in the soil and in life. From her, I learn patience and the joy of watching things grow. She never complains but sometimes cries when the pain of watching my grandfather suffer becomes overwhelming. In these moments, she wishes his pain would become hers. I don’t like that. I can’t imagine any suffering upon her, although I feel it’s a greater suffering to watch someone you deeply love, go through hell. So it’s kind of ironic.

There’s a strength in her that I can’t quite fathom. She moves through the day with her grace. Her salt-and-pepper locks braided and twisted in a low bun. Sometimes she lets her mane loose and puts a ribbon on it; it’s adorable!

She truly is the center of my world. She holds it with her bare hands. I see the depth of her love, her unwavering commitment to nurturing life, even in the face of death (which hasn’t come, but we all know it’s coming).

I used to be blissfully unaware. Now I'm too aware for my own good. I fear losing her. Imagining a life without her existence is pretty much panic attack and deep sorrow. More sad than running over puppies or dropping pizza upside down. My mindfulness practice has allowed me to live in this moment. To enjoy a single morning breakfast. A cup of buttermilk. A press and burp gas-release session at a time. But every time I feel joy, it's immediately overshadowed by a knowing of our fleeting time together. I'd wish her a hundred healthy years but then I'd still only be 55 and that's too soon to lose her. Any time is. Even when I turn one hundred and one.

I know, I know, I know, there's probably a lot of you who've never met their grandmoms, have met but are not in touch, lost them and wished there was more time. You're probably on your way to tell me how lucky I am to have her in my life. How I should enjoy the time I have instead of worrying about the time when I won't have her. I knowww. Trust me. I do. And still, faint nerves crawl into my beating heart. They prick it with a bittersweet knowing. Time is just numbers. Marks on a clock. It's irrelevant. To have experienced even a single hour around my grandmother is a gift from a lifetime. By now I've collected 2,19,384 precious hours. I will keep collecting more. They'll never be enough because the heart is greedy. It always wants more.

There are great poems on what a poet would give to just spend one more moment with the love of his life.

I won't ever be ready for the day she's not around. I think about it often. It's natural, no? When you are so aware of someone's existence and you value it so much, you would naturally think of a time and space where they won't exist? Tell me it's true. You do it too?

Today, my grandmother turns 78. I’m buzzing with a special kind of energy. I wrote her a poem. It’s called Buckle Up, Buttercup!

Buckle up, Buttercup!

we're going on a ride,
not the smooth kind,
more like a bumpy trail through
an overgrown forest.

Look at the wildflowers,
sprouting up between
the cracks of our conversation,
like daisies in the middle
of a city sidewalk.

Resilient, aren’t they? Just like us.

Earth beneath our feet,
it’s not always solid,
sometimes it’s quicksand,
pulling us into memories
we thought we’d forgotten.

But then we find our footing,
stand on a mountain,
feeling the wind whip around us,

WE ARE ALIVE!

Everything smells fresh,
like the world’s just taken a shower,
washed off the dust of yesterday.

Sometimes, our words stumble over roots,
hidden and tangled, but we keep going,
because there’s always a clearing up ahead,
where the sun breaks through,
warm and golden, like hope.

Buckle up, Buttercup!

We’re twisting & turning
into flowers and forests.
And I wouldn’t want to walk
through this wilderness even without you.

With anyone else but you.

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Here’s a 30 second video from a few years ago. It’s in hindi. Dadi’s talking about her bindis! Resting in her lap is my favorite way of bonding with her. She runs her hands through my hair & pets me. I like that.

Do you have memories with your grandparents? I’d love to know!

Nature is brimming with poetry, if you just take the time to listen. This 9-page guide offers everything you need to dive into the beauty of nature with a poet’s eye. From choosing the right location to engaging all five senses, this guide will help you unlock the writing potential hidden in leaves, birdsongs, and morning dew. Bonus resources included for even more inspiration!

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