I must admit, that most deeply personal things I have ever written has featured my grandparents. In an almost cliche, all of my personal essays to various colleges in my undergrad were about how my grandfather was an inspiration-- and his untimely death a monumental event in my life.

So today, when I decided to speak to my friend to understand how you set up a scrollstack, I knew that even if I ended up mostly writing about what I love most in this world(Poli sci), my first write up will have to be about my grandparents. Especially my grandfather, who's efforts and kindness is duly remembered by everyone around me. And who I miss deeply everyday. This is a short excerpt from my creative writing thesis-- a project that was my way of writing into existence my own complicated thoughts about how I remember my grandparents.

Every evening my grandmother and I would venture out at 5pm to buy an orange bar. My grandparents lived in a small flat in Solan– a hill station close to shimla. My grandmother missed the mountains desperately and the Chandigarh heat was too oppressive for her to take, so they made Solan their summer home. My grandfather was also helping his best friend set up a small research university near the main city. But the best part about them moving was that I got to spend my summer months with them. So, the first week of June would be spent trying to pack and arrange everything for me to be there for at least two weeks. 

My grandfather would drive down in a turquoise blue maruti 800, the same car he drove till the very end of his life. He even bought a new car, a swanky Honda City that just remained in our driveway because my grandfather much preferred  his old car. But every June I would be bundled off in the car and sent off. Of course there would be enough motion sickness pills in me to put a little dog to sleep– I still managed to somehow extend the 2 hour journey to 3. But my grandfather was patient. He would stop at the McDonalds, the only one on the way to Solan, at Jabli. He would buy me the Happy Meal box, and eat the burger that he might not have enjoyed very much. Until very recently, Solan did not have any fast food restaurants, till they opened up a Dominos and that became a delicacy for me. Anyway, the journey would conclude with me running down the steps to the flat and hugging my grandmother tightly. 

She used to always have a bowl of raspberries on the table. This one time a monkey even managed to run away with an entire bunch of raspberries from the main dining table. How it managed to open the main door, walk to the table and pick only the fruits and leave everything else will always be a mystery to everyone involved. The Solan flat was undoubtedly one of my most favorite places. It had a huge window in the main drawing room that looked over the entire city. If you pressed your nose right next to it and stared long enough you could see cars move on a far off road. At night, the entirety of the surrounding hills would be dotted with flickering lights. I would always imagine someone on the opposite hill looking at our house as one of those lights– it was a comforting thought. The house had three rooms, the one facing the balcony was taken by my grandmother. It was large and had a lot of light. I loved sleeping there. 

Another room right down the hall was my grandfathers. The room was dark and there was a small store next to it. You could find a printer there and a lot of A-4 sheets, all of which would be duly wasted by me on artistic endeavors that never amounted to anything.

After my grandfather's death, we were packing up the entire flat and found so many of my drawings carefully tucked in a file in the store room.