My Grandmother, My Home

Today I looked through folders of old pictures of you on my computer,

Trying to find that picture of you weaving with mother a few years ago,

When all was rosy red, when in your memory, I was your granddaughter.

I wonder if this was how you would comb through your fading cloudy memory,

Going from one failing door to another, trying to find my name and my face

In one of those old thatched rooms, one cut bamboo crossing over another.

I thought you were just being forgetful when you would ask me for my name.

The truth was a cup of bitter; dementia eating away the memory of me, of us.

You lived through the traumatic groupings that once hunted the Naga Hills

Just so we could have our now, and a sad history of brave grandparents.

Your mind kept going back to those days when you had to leave your home

And live in the forest for days, holed up in groups, with bullet-cold nothings, 

And the hope of the souls around you, huddled together in the rain and the sun.

Your mind kept going back to the two wooden boxes you kept at a crossing

During one of those groupings when men in uniforms came to our hills.

You kept asking me to go and look for them, and the clothes that were in them.

Azü, if I could, I could have done all I could to get back what you lost.

I could have walked hills for you, and with you, if it could bring it all back.

I watched you going through all your things, looking for the two shawls

You said you lost; we were looking for things we both knew were gone.
“What’s your name?” “Whose daughter are you?” “Where do you live?” . . .

Were all questions that I got used to answering everyday; once, twice, thrice.

I do not want freedom, if it means you finding your two wooden boxes,

If it means you remembering my name on your last days, I’d give it up.

I remember you sitting in front of the television, watching fishes underwater,

You had a cushion by your leg because you thought the water would come through.

I play another Nat Geo video, for no other reason but to feel just a little closer to you.

I keep my pillow next to the screen, by my leg; I bring it close to me and I hold it,

Next to my heart, imagining it was you, imagining you were sitting next to me.

You loved the colour red and anything I owned in red became yours one day.

You were always dressed in red, or something close to it, always ready to love.

I can’t bring myself to buy anything red now, without anyone to hand it down to.

One day I was your younger sister you took care of when you were just as old as me,

Another day, I am just another girl, in the house of the woman who takes care of you.

Even when I was just another random person, you were always willing to pray for me,

Your hands ever reaching out to me; if hands had memories, you had memorized me.
You were the only person who loved me enough to pray for me, even when I was

Just another human being sitting next to you, your mind ages away from the present.

I was just some other girl, but you told me I looked beautiful when I had my hair up,

You laughed at my long fingers and how short I was, but you laughed at it with love.

I did not like it when you kept walking on the wet floor that I had just mopped,

You left your dusty footprints on the wet concert floor, and I’d keep going in circles.

I now know you left your footprints, so every blessing could find its way to me,

So you could find your way to me, even when your memory would fail you.

If I could go back, I’d leave a permanent red line that took you wherever I was.

I’d go back and paint every door that could lead you to me in bright red, all for you.

Even when in your mind the army was taking over the village, you’d still start to walk

To the place where all forgetfulness was marked into you, my brave Grandmother.

My vacations are never the same without you. Sometimes I do not even want them.

I can’t go downstairs first thing when I get home, because you are no longer there.

You would always sing this line, “Why are you leaving your friend behind?”

You were gone Azü, even before I got to say goodbye. Why have you left me behind?

I still look for you, in someone with a red sweater, in someone that prays for me,

But no one loves me as wholly as you loved me. I still look for the two wooden boxes

Every time I see a crossing that looks like the one you told me, I still look for you.

You have left me behind and I can never truly go home, because you were home.