My grandmother always told me that I should become a storyteller. She said I would never get bored. There would always be Another Story to tell.
“Every day will be completely different, can you imagine?”
Grandma was not wrong. Every day is different, but it is also a whirlwind of the same different thing every day.
“Nothing changes in my world, but everything around me is constantly changing,” I told her.
“Your generation lacks patience. Just wait. Just wait.”
I’ve been waiting for seven years now, and grandma decided she wanted to leave, and so she did.
She disappeared with the wind and never looked back.
Was that what she’d asked me to wait for? She was like that, you know? Always cracking jokes under the pretence of telling us to find some deep meaning in life.
She was my bundle of joy.
Grandma left me with a strange gap in my life. And I started to fill that gap with stories.
Stories about what the President said on that day and what the Senator thinks of this and why we shouldn’t implement a new housing tax.
There is always Another Story for me to lose myself in, and grandma was right, everyday is different.
But sometimes different can start feeling like an illusion. And you begin to wonder which part of the story really matters.
What am I doing here? Why did he say this? Why are all these people around me? What are they thinking about? And does it really even matter in the grander scale of things?
I wish she was around to answer these questions for me.
“Please let me disappear,” I’d said to her some three years before she left.
And she’d reply by singing her favorite song, which at the time was, Dhol Yaara Dhol.
Don’t ask, grandma was weird and I never fully understood where she’d learned these songs from. She had her own playlist of music.
But there she was, singing and taking me with her voice.
I’ve been wanting to disappear again. So as grandma would, I let the music take me.
My mind travels with the music. My thoughts appear right before the chorus.
I can’t smoke anymore, not when I’m living here. Please don’t let me cut myself again. See, it’s hard to stop when I start. And I can’t remember why I started. I can’t find the inspiration to work on Another Story.
And as always, my thoughts land on grandma.
What song would I have sung to grandma if she’d told me she was planning on disappearing. Would my voice have convinced her to stay? Is she finally living the life she was destined to? Is she out there creating Another Story for herself? Had she updated her playlist?
The song comes to a sudden halt. Fucking wifi. I connect to my phone to 3G and hit play again.
My thoughts have disappeared. The music has taken me. I am going. I am going. I am gone.