Member-only story
Voices
Reminiscence
My late grandmother’s voice calls me by name as if she is in the next room. She left the living world over twenty years ago. Are voices immortal in the universe? I called her “Dadi”. Dadi’s voice comes in a melodious pitch with endless love. She called me “Tulli,” short forTulip. When she called, there was total love mixed in the call. Answering her, in a singsong voice, I would reply, “Coo..” pretending to be a bird, and when serious, reply, “ Jee” respectfully.
Dadi raised me from the age of seven months to eleven years of age. Growing up changed how she called me or how I responded. Love, unless the feelings change, has magic in it, one that is beyond words to describe. Living in a hilly village in Bangladesh, we were surrounded by hills and marshland on the north, south, and west. In the east, the marshland met the horizon with spectacular sunrises, and the sun’s rays glistened on the river snaking through it. Dadi was an early riser, and usually, I woke up with her. My senses picked up her absence beside me. She didn’t have to call me; the voiceless call was to get up, go to the eastern side of our hill, and witness the sunrise. Dadi’s wispy salt-and-pepper curly hair would frame her face. She had that look of wonder in her dark eyes, a hint of a smile, and she sat still while the sun climbed high on the vast canopy overhead. She had her arms around me. She would say,
