CORONA GRANNY

Savitri Pema

 

‘Mum could you sing to her? She’ll settle down if she thinks someone’s with her’             
My son’s voice sounded frazzled.

 

‘I’ve really got to finish this email and send it off for tomorrow’s Zoom meeting. Nicole’s had to go out to get more nappies, as we haven’t managed to get a delivery slot till Saturday.’

 

Of course I agreed, grateful to be needed, however remotely. This ‘unprecedented time’ of social distancing and national lockdowns had meant that I hadn’t even seen my first grandchild yet, never mind hold her in my arms and be a part of her upbringing. 

 

My rational mind reminded me that it was for my own safety. I was in the ‘vulnerable ‘ category, and my son had been adamant that I shouldn’t be put at risk of contracting the virus. But feelings of resentment alternated with bouts of self pity and creeping loneliness that threatened to turn into depression, at times.

 

Especially in the evenings. Oh I kept myself busy during the day, knitting bootees and cardigans to keep every Corona baby in the country clothed. I enjoyed reading, and had evenjoined a Zoom class writing poetry. And if there was a competition for the best kept garden in the neighbourhood, I would be a close contender for first prize.

 

I settled down happily in front of my iPad, cooing and whispering nonsense words, and singing snatches of half remembered songs in Gujarati. Although I knew plenty of English nursery rhymes from taking my two boys to playgroups when they were little, I found that the  baby talk and songs came more naturally in my mother tongue. Some deeply embedded umbilical cord always seemed to pull me back to the nurturing that I had had with my grandmother, before we moved to the UK.

 

Anjali eventually settled down, flinging her arms and legs wide,kicking off her blanket, with her head rolled away from me, towards the wall. Which threw me into a panic, because now I couldn’t see her face. Was she warm enough? Was she still breathing?

 

I wanted to reach into the screen, feeling frustrated at this hands off grannying. Should I call my son to come and cover her up? To check if she was still alive? What if she was a Cot Death Syndrome victim, or whatever they called it now, on my watch?  Fumbling for my phone, I felt the bile start to rise in my throat, and my head start to spin.

 

‘Clang’ it dropped through my shaking fingers against the table, making a loud noise.  I looked up at  the screen to see the baby jump. ‘Oh thank goodness you’re all right,’ I whispered, caressing the screen where her head now lay, face upturned.

 

‘Are you all right Mum?’ Jayesh’s head appeared around the door. ‘I heard a bang on the baby monitor. Ah, you’ve got her asleep. Thanks a lot Mum.’

 

I smiled, trying to appear calm, wrung out inside ‘Ye…s, it was just my phone.’ I wanted to say something, but didn’t, as I didn’t want him to worry, and not ask me to babysit again.

 

‘Hey, I remembered some of those Gujarati songs, especially the one about the boy Krishna. Didn’t you say that was the one your grandmother used to sing to you?’

 

‘Yes. Didn’t think you remembered.’ I smiled, pleased beyond words.

 

‘And is that her ring on your finger, back from the jewellers? Did they replace the worn enamel?’

 

‘No, it’s just the same. The jeweller told me that the jade and ochre colours are not available here, so he would have to send it away and I’d have to accept any substitutes. And he said because it’s such a specialist skill, he couldn’t guarantee the work. So didn’t want to risk it.’

 

‘Very wise.I know how much that ring means to you. Do you want to go, now that you’ve done the trick? Nicole should be home before long and I’ve nearly finished my report.’

 

‘No, I’d like to sit and watch her for a while if that’s ok.’

 

‘Ok.Just log off when you’re ready. And mum, this situation will change. The infection rate is going down, now that they’re rolling out the first shot of the COVID vaccine. You’re next on the priority list aren’t you? Soon it’ll be safe enoughfor you to travel.  You can come stay as long as you like, and  we’ll leave you to look after her. To be honest we could really do with a break.  Goodnight Mum.  Love you.’

 

I watched Anjali for a while, snuffling and sighing in her sleep. Sometimes her eyelids flickered, and she would whimper, as if she was a dog dreaming of chasing a rabbit, or was it a trail of warm milk?  As I twisted my grandmother’s ring on my middle finger, I wondered if she had watched me as I slept, as well.

 

The ring is a lovely shape, with enamel inlaidin swirling shapes. Even the sides, what the jeweller called the shoulders, have little ridges in the same colours. It had weathered time, distance and a memory of disappointment of her only granddaughter. I was told that she wore it until she died, bed-ridden and robbed of speech by a stroke. She’d written to me before her illness that she was going to give it to me when I retuned to India to see her: except I didn’t go back.

 

Until it was too late.

 

As Irun my finger over the scratched enamel, Ifeel the memory of her sorrow for not being at her bedside, as she’d  been at mine for countless hours, when I awoke from nightmares, or shivering with a fever.

 

How could I explain to her that at eighteen I was so busy having a good time, I kept putting off the trip? That going to someone’s party was more important than booking a flight straight away?

 

Is the regret and pain I feel ever to leave me?

 

Or was the ring her gift of forgiveness: an imperfect but unbroken bond? For, as  I look at my own granddaughter, I know that I love her so much, I would understand, and forgive her.

And even though I cannot be with her physically, I feel so grateful that the advancements in technology mean that I can see and hear her, to feel connected….. Until….