I miss my grandpa. I am sure everyone misses their grandpa. And for a variety of reasons. Some miss their jocund company, their constant love, their ability to console us when things look bad and scary. And the naughty kids who are now grownup might miss them for the constant shielding they gave against the parents, who were hell bent in making them study. I miss my grandpa for his huge stock of stories. During every school vacation I used to go to my mother’s hometown. And i always found grandpa waiting at the bus stop…arms wide open. I was his pet. Every night before sleep he used to tell me stories. Stories of numerous ghosts he had encountered in his life time. Stories of those ghosts who were still staying in the nearby mango trees, in the surrounding bamboo trees around the pond and also in the Banyan tree which was just at the entry point to the house. I was awe struck. Every morning I used to go near those trees and observe them closely. Grandpa told that in morning the ghosts simply vanished in the air. They start getting their shape with the sunset. And when the sun is gone for the day, they come back to their respective shelters. Children who did not listen to elders were taken away by these ghosts. Children who did their studies well were given various gifts. I was convinced. I was a very convincible kid. Out of sheer greed to get a gift I used to finish my vacation homework daily. And grandpa also told that those who read storybooks were ‘good kids’ according to the ghosts. And he got me all kinds of Bengali storybooks from his school library. I used to read them devotedly. Initially I didn’t like to read but soon the reading bug bite me. And before I could know I had turned into a voracious reader. Every night I used to sleep thinking tomorrow I will get the gift. Finally I got the gift. One winter morning I got up and found a toy pistol beside my pillow. I ran to my grandpa. I ran to my Grandma. I ran around the house jumping up and down! Oh the joy…the jubilation! Even the people who win the Oscar or the Noble are not as ecstatic as I was! After breakfast I ran through the entire village taking the pistol with me. I showed it to everyone. A gift from the ghost. Some laughed; some encouraged me to do my studies well so that I can get more gifts. I kept getting various gifts every year. This went on for few years. Soon I was old enough to catch the trick! It was my loving grandpa who was playing the good ghost. The ghost who encouraged me to study. The ghost who inspired me to spin yarns. The ghost who made me understand that the book is the man’s best friend. I was taught by my grandpa that anything that your mind can conceive, you can have. It's a reality.
Twenty eight years of my life has now passed. My grandpa is now seventy five. Still going strong, full of energy. I have moved out of my home state long back and now meet him once a year…that too for few hours. Life has got busy for me. But then a man needs to earn his living. Today more and more, when I single out the person out who inspired me most, I go back to my grandfather.
