My Dadima: A Diva of A Role Model

I started writing this May 3, 2019 at 9:43 PM, right before bed the day after my grandmother passed away. I never finished. So, I decided to write the rest today, a year later. Tomorrow marks a year since the day my grandmother passed away. I wish I could remember every visit, every stupid joke, even every fight. But my memory is limited, and the moments I do remember, I will forever cherish and continue to share.

My grandmother on my father’s side, my Dadima, spoiled me rotten since the day I was born. My first two years of life were spent in her home, in a little room filled with porcelain dolls. Yes, the creepy kind you see in movies. They were all delicate, dressed in lace. Big eyes and soft eyelashes, perfectly curled hair. To my grandmother, I was one of them. I was her own little doll. Not only was I her first grandchild. She was the mother of two boys. So, I was the first little girl in the family. And she was smitten.

Any time I visited, she’d have a drawer lined with my favorite candies and snacks. A new set of dresses and toys and other gifts she’d purchased were always waiting for me. She’d make muffins and cut mangoes from her garden for me. She’d play music, and we’d play dress up. If I wanted something, all I had to do was ask. She’d make it mine.

I still remember when she gifted me my first Barbie, the first doll I could actually play with. It wasn’t the chef or the airplane attendant or the beach babe, it was a pink pencil- skirted businesswoman Barbie. I admired that doll so much. I wanted to be just like her, pink pumps and all. Dadima encouraged me to pursue my dreams - no matter what those dreams were so long as they were mine. So long as what I was doing was making me happy. She was my absolute biggest fan, and everyone knew it. She saw and helped me see so much beauty and talent and strength in myself. And she did this for so many girls. Any time I would visit, she would share stories with me of girls she had met at the store or at a party, and how special each was in her own way.

April 29, 2019 - the day I first visited the hospital - with barely a breath in her lungs, she bragged to her nurse - “This is my baby! She’s a dancer! She plays piano. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Not only was she motivating and encouraging. She was the most fashionable woman I knew. Style never took the backseat. No matter what the occasion, heels were a must. If we were going for a walk in the park? Silver sneakers with the bedazzled logo. No matter where we were going, a gold chain graced her neck. I used to watch her puff on perfume and line her lips in red before we would go out. And we would go out... a lot. Dadima was the queen bee of social butterflies! Because she LOVED people. And she loved fun. I never had to beg her, “Dadima can we please go out for ice cream? Will you take me to the lake? Can we go feed the birds?”

It was always yes. She took me everywhere, first on her lap then by her side. She showed me so much. And everywhere we went, we laughed. Endlessly. Her giggle was contagious. And always turned into hearty, tear-jerking laughter. She was a joker and a prankster. She saw the beauty and humor and light in everything, 

And I truly believe that is what helped her fight for life her last 10 years, after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. That and her love for Dadaji and for all of us who are still here today.

I miss her beautiful smile and laugh so much already. I miss her calling me Poohi and asking me about each of my friends, by name. I even miss her hounding me about finding a man for myself. And it hurts to know I’ll never get to see her eyes light up as I walk down the aisle.

I miss feeding the birds by the lake. I miss all the ice cream dates and shopping adventures. I miss watching Hindi movies in the living room and eating fresh fruit from the incredible garden she nurtured until the day she passed.

I have days where random memories or conversations will drift into my thoughts, and I wish so hard I could just shoot her a text or hop on Facetime. It reminds me to cherish those I care about and those care for me.