HIS HANDS WERE WARM

I held my grandfather's hands, like he had held mine during my childhood despite my discomfort. My mother would bug my father about it once in a while, in a very soft manner. Father would squint his eyes and think deep. Mother would get bored and walk away.

My grandfather's hands were cold. He wasn't applying pressure so the warmth of my hands didn't reach him. I understood the validity of how my father behaved.

"Nazim, I picked your name." My grandfather said, not nostalgically, "Your parents hated it. But I made them understand. They ended up loving it. Even though they feel out of their skin saying it out aloud." He smiled, "I never gave another opinion regarding my grandchildren's name after you. All of your father's siblings resent him for this." He laughed, "The world is so very weird. People are weird".

I did not say anything. There were no expectations on me. I could up and leave now and grandfather wouldn't feel a thing. I could ask him about why he bugged me when I was a child, and what would his reaction be? He would handle it. I have no idea how he would handle it, but he would handle it. He would make me feel calm and satisfied. Even without asking him, I feel calm and satisfied.

"My presence has an effect on people." Grandfather said solemnly, "My descendants have not been blessed with my—hmm…" He sighed without finishing, "I lied to myself that you are like me. I am still convinced somehow that you are." He laughed again without his previous shortlived warmth, "I am good at lying to myself."

I laughed too. My laughter lacked the warmth of my hands. I doubted the warmth of my hands. Grandfather looked at me and said nothing for a while.

When he spoke again, I could almost sense acknowledgement. Whatever grandfather conveyed was all intentional. The ambiguity too.

"I am not going to die soon, sadly. I pray to the Almighty that he forgives me through and through and I die swiftly without pain, but I feel like losing my sanity is going to be non-negotiable." He suddenly sounded desperate and straight-forward, "Please pray to Allah for me. I want to be forgiven, I want to leave before I lose my senses."

For a second, his hands felt warm and his eyes looked engaged.

For a second.

"I had a lover once." He said, "I should not be telling you this but I regret her not being here. But back then, there were many things society thought was wrong. I regret not making that right."

I felt an uneasiness in my stomach.  I did not have a reason to. Grandfather was always like this. Always in his own time. Always in his own ground. Never considerate.

"It's okay. We all make mistakes," I said, genuinely trying to be humane.

He laughed like I had said something incredibly stupid and funny. Grandfather was indeed grandfather.

It dug a little deeper than it should have.

"I get that you didn't make mistakes," I said sarcastically. "You never do."

"Well yes, I haven't really made any mistakes in the last 40 years. I haven't done anything interesting either," he admitted in his matter-of-fact delivery. "Doesn't make everything better for it."   

My grandfather was 70 and he was basically saying that he had found Nirvana when he was 30. He still came out as an unpleasant person, with or without death. No winners here.

Except my grandfather.

"Then what is it that happened, that makes you feel the way you feel?" I could not help but ask, I wanted to know.

My grandfather smiled beautifully, his face bright and his eyes charming, "This world, and its people, have always been imperfect. I hated that when I was a kid. I loved it when I was young. And when I was 30, I met someone who could perfectly bring out the spark in my eyes." His voice fell, "Nothing else I got in this world gave me that spark. And I have so many things," he smiled. Was there a drop of tear in the corner of his eyes? His face was the usual.

"I lament this mistake that wasn't a mistake," He spoke again. "Now I know I could have handled her. We would be together, and she would play her game, and I would play mine, and I would win, and she would…" He paused for a while, and smiled, "I would have handled her."

"What did you do, grandfather?" I felt alarmed, "What did you do?" 

He didn't hear me, "I could have had her here with me. Now, now, what do I have? Everything. It's all here. Everything is here. Nothing is missing." He sighed, "Not a single thing is missing."

I tightened my grip on his hand and asked, "What happened, dada?"

Grandfather looked at me, gently pressed my hands, and said, "Doesn't matter now."

His hands felt warm.

Fardin Hasin is a EEE graduate from Islamic University of Technology (IUT).