02/05/2024
On this memorial day of my grandpa, these memories flood back to me with poignant clarity.
As a child, I was fortunate to have my grandparents by my side, guiding me with their love. My Grandpa, Kottayam Pushpanath, his tales, spun from his own imagination, ignited wonder and curiosity in my young mind.
Despite my voracious appetite for books, one particular collection had always eluded me - my Grandpa's own works. You see, I harbored a secret fear of reading my Grandpa's stories alone at that time. Yet, there was an undeniable longing to delve into those pages, to uncover the mysteries hidden within.
So I eagerly awaited the arrival of summer vacation, for the joy of having my cousins visit. When they gathered at our home, I finally explored into my Grandpa's literary world. Together, we would select one of his books and escape to the fields, where the sun's warmth enveloped us and the rustling of the crops provided a soothing soundtrack.
Our reading sessions often stretched into the afternoon. Only the gentle scolding from my grandmother, reminding us to eat, could break our spell. Yet, even as we reluctantly paused for lunch, our minds raced ahead, eager to return to the worlds Grandpa had woven.
Reflecting on those summer days, I realize they were more than mere leisurely escapes - they were the foundation of my passion for literature.
My Grandpa's books, with their enthralling plots and characters, kindled a flame within me, inspiring a lifelong love for storytelling that still burns brightly today.
Grandpa's wisdom ignited my passion like a flame in the dark. ❤
