Back in Delhi

Christmas is drawing near and I can't help but think of Nicholas uncle, or Aan (father), as we called him in Konkani. He was old enough to be my grandfather: a sprightly man, with fantastically high cheekbones, and a booming, baritone voice. Ever since he had retired, he moonlighted as a bartender in Delhi's Hotel Diplomat because he loved being with people, listening to their stories, telling a few of his own.

He would visit our family often and impromtu parties would happen whenever he walked in. Bring out the cake, let's have a drink, sing me a song, let's have fun, he seemed to say with every breath.

I was six and he must have been 65 or so, the year my father died. I stopped talking that year...I remember dreading 6 PM every day, because that was the time my father would come home. Sick of watching me walk around listlessly, Aan decided to take matters into his own hands. He would pop in every other day with interesting stuff that kids love and very few adults are smart enough to know: old glittery christmas cards, bus tickets, funny gags. He was never kind in the unctuous way grown-ups usually are. Mostly, he would order me gruffly to stop moping and get on with it.

But the best memory of Aan I have is that of a magicky christmas night that year. He took me to the Goan club where a dance party was on. Handsome men and lovely women dancing with grace. There was Rego, such a brilliant dancer, dancing with Nica (Veronica) pretty as a picture. I have this clear memory of craning my neck to look at all these beautiful people with awe.

I must have been the only child there or if there were others I don't remember. I had never been to a club and I was absorbing everything like a sponge. Then, Aan took my hand and led me to the dance floor. Everyone cleared the dance floor and clapped in time to the music as the old man and the little girl twirled around the dance floor.

Then, it was getting late so we left for home, that is Aan was going to drop me home in a cab where my mother would be waiting hopping mad, no doubt. :) Aan was pleasantly high and insisted on singing christmas carols at the top of his voice all the way back home. He was weaving across the road (still bellowing!) so I held his hand and took him home, feeling so grown up.

Aan died a few years later. I am sure he touched many lives and gave them joy in that effortless way of his. And I can bet he is having a big party right now, wherever he may be.

Labels: childhood

posted by Jivitha @ 11:58 PM

1 Comments:

At December 7, 2006 12:24:00 AM PST, Aurita said…

Awesome! you brought back the magic of childhood, the pain of losing a loved one for me. I wish I could go back in time and hug you at 6 pm everyday