Happy Birthday, Diddu ♥️

Today's one of those days where I wake up and my heart does this weird little flip. Not the good kind. The kind that reminds you someone's missing from the world.

It's my grandmother's birthday. Diddu. My warrior. My absolute favourite human who ever existed.

And look, I could write this whole dramatic post about grief and loss and all that heavy stuff. But honestly? That's not what she'd want. She'd probably roll her eyes, sip her wine, and tell me to stop being so serious. So instead, I'm going to tell you about the most incredible woman I've ever known.

Picture this: a woman battling a gazillion problems, and I mean BATTLING it, who still managed to be the most joyful person in any room. While everyone around her was falling apart, she was cracking jokes, planning family dinners, and making sure everyone else was okay first, always putting others first. Always making sure no school gap goes boring!

That was Diddu. A force of nature wrapped in love and stubbornness.

She wasn't just my grandmother. She was my best friend, my safe space, my go-to person for literally everything. Had a fight with someone? Didda. Boy trouble? Didda. Just wanted to complain about absolutely nothing? Didda. Gossip? Didda, obviously.

We had this bond that I can't even explain properly. It wasn't just the typical grandmother-granddaughter thing. It was deeper. Like we understood each other on some cosmic level. She got my humour, my moods, my weirdness. And I got hers right back. I believe I knew her before I was born. I don’t know. Call me crazy. It’s that she was the one woman that somehow had and still has my undivided attention and adoration!

The house felt different when she was around. Not just because of what she did for me, but because of what she made the space become. Home. Real, proper home. The kind where you could walk in and immediately feel your shoulders relax.

We'd spend evenings watching serials together, both of us getting way too invested in the drama and making fun of the ridiculous plot twists. She'd take the most random Snapchat pictures with me, even though she probably understood none of it, and honestly, she rocked those filters better than I did. And then there were the moments when Dadu and I would team up to irritate her - nothing mean, just silly stuff that would make her roll her eyes and laugh at the same time. She'd pretend to be annoyed, but you could tell she loved being the centre of our attention, even if it meant dealing with our nonsense.

I still walk into her room sometimes. Don't ask me why, because I honestly don't know. Maybe part of me still expects to find her there, you know? Playing her cards with a cup of chai, or I'll be walking through the house and for a split second, I'll think I'll see her on that swing, eating corn on the cob or some falguni ka chiwda with dadu. Or in the evenings, sitting with my mom, ghazals playing softly, both of them with their wine glasses, just existing peacefully together.

God, I miss that. I miss HER.

And here's the thing about grief that nobody really prepares you for - it changes. In the beginning, it's this massive, overwhelming thing that takes up all the space in your chest. But then, slowly, you learn to carry it differently. You move on from the grief, not from the person. There's a difference.

I cry from time to time. Sit on the bed looking at her picture. Sometimes, even laugh. Then there are days that “the day” plays in my head. That horror. The nightmare. The void. But then I go back to thinking about my childhood. Not that I remember most of it, but whatever I do always has a glimpse of her in it. Our seasons in the sun. 

Some days, I panic, thinking, what if I forget her voice? What if I forget what she felt like? What if I forget her laugh? What if I'm moving on too fast? What if, what if, what if. But then I remember what Dadu always tells me - she lives on. In me, in my memories, in the way I laugh at my own jokes just like she used to. Or in the way I slip a one-liner or two from time to time.

Dadu's been incredible, by the way. He makes sure I never feel her absence too deeply, always reminding me of her stories, her quirks, her love. There hasn’t been even one day that he doesn’t try to fill the void and somehow excels at it. He tears up, too, from time to time, and then I become the “dadu” between us.

And these days, he keeps joking about finding me a new didda, and the best part, a firangi woman, and honestly, I keep telling him it's never happening. There was only one Madonna, and that position is permanently filled. 

You know what's funny? I actually listen to ghazals now. Not often, but sometimes. Maybe when I'm alone. When I need to feel her presence around me. I don’t understand a word of what they sing, okay, maybe a little, but I pay no attention to that. It is weirdly comforting knowing that she’d be proud I’ve moved away from “kar gai chul” 😂

Every time I play Jagjit, I think of her and Mom sitting together, completely content.

So today, on your birthday, Didda, I'm trying not to be too dramatic about missing you. Though let's be real, you always said I was your dramatic Mitthu anyway. But mostly, I just want to remember how you made everything better just by being you. How you fought like absolute hell and still made everyone around you feel loved and safe. How you could turn the most ordinary Tuesday into something as exciting as a vacation and still wake me up the next day, only to send me to school 😝

I hope wherever you are, you're enjoying your wine and your ghazals. Maybe some parathas with aamras too, because I know how much you loved those. Take your time, relax, and enjoy everything. I'll be here, thinking of you, missing you, but also carrying you with me everywhere I go.

Happy birthday, my warrior. I love you endlessly.

And seriously, can you please tell Dadu to stop with the new didda jokes? We both know there's never going to be another you.

As ever,

Ambika. Ahhh. Not Ambika today…

As Ever,

Mitthu ♥️