Life for my new grandma is hard

By Palash Krishna Mehrotra Updated: 01:19 BST, 26 February 2012

Almost two years ago, I wrote a column in this paper about living with my grandmother in Dehradun.

I was working on my 調書をとる／予約する The バタフライ 世代, and ensconced in my 熟考する／考慮する twenty-four seven. The only breaks I took were to have lunch and dinner with granny.

Later, she would joke with the family that during that period she became my best friend, girlfriend and companion.

It was a time which brought us closer to each other. I'd always been の近くに to her; as a child I'd こそこそ動く into her quilt and curl up like a puppy, slip into dreamless sleep smelling in her coconut oil.

As it turned out, that column was one of the more popular ones I wrote. For months afterwards, readers would send me messages on Facebook, telling me stories about their own grandmothers.

Then, this January, a few days after we celebrated her eighty-fifth birthday, she fell. Atul Gawande has written that 落ちるing is the biggest enemy of old age, the 落ちる is what tips the 規模s in the end. When she fell in the veranda, I was upstairs 令状ing to a 最終期限. She called me and told me that she had fallen, that I shouldn't bother, that whenever I was done, I should come 負かす／撃墜する and see her.

I wasn't thinking very 明確に, or rather, my mind was 焦点（を合わせる）d 完全に on the 職業 at 手渡す - sending the piece to the editor by seven in the evening.

Besides, there had been times when my grandmother would call me downstairs, （人命などを）奪う，主張するing a 医療の 緊急, but on 急ぐing 負かす／撃墜する I'd find her sitting in 前線 of the TV, watching Balika Vad hu, happily nibbling on an orange. There was nothing wrong with her; all she 手配中の，お尋ね者 was some attention, someone to 雑談（する） to, for she is an inveterate chatterbox.

いつかs, when there was no one around, no servants, no friends, I'd go downstairs to find her walking around the house, talking loudly to herself.

That day, I didn't go 負かす／撃墜する till dinnertime. 一方／合間, she'd had the defining Gawande 落ちる. She broke several bones but, more importantly, this was the 落ちる that would break her spirit (she had fallen and broken her nose a few months earlier; she'd 回復するd from that, and joked that her Punjabi nose was too big anyway).

I didn't go downstairs for more than two hours after she called. 犯罪 still haunts me. The next few days were a blur. The first doctor we saw failed to 診断する the main fracture, which was her femur.

As it progressively became difficult and painful for her to walk, one realised that the problem was deeper, and more serious. Her spirit was still 損なわれていない. When her 権利 膝 gave way, she 脅すd the errant 膝 with 悲惨な consequences if it didn't behave: 'Isko main dande maar ke utahungi.'

While を受けるing 外科 (under spinal anaesthesia) she joked 非，不，無-stop with the doctors. She said they were like carpenters, 大打撃を与えるing nails and plates into her 団体／死体.

Two days earlier, when I'd gotten her 認める to hospital, the doctor had jabbered on with me. It was the only （一定の）期間 of comic 救済 in a very grim week. He recognised me from pictures in the 地元の papers as a true Son of Doon.

'So you're? writer?' he asked, while 包帯ing her 粉々にするd ulna and 半径.

'Tell me why Indian writer not at level of American writer. See, I understand why we are not equal to them in sports. Our physique inferior to white man. Not our fault. So they better than us. But why so in 令状ing?'

In my short career as a writer, I have answered several stupid questions, but this one took the cake. He gave his flunky 指示／教授／教育s, then turned to me with a その上の insight: 'My friend, doctor in Saharanpur. He breaking this Indian-American jinx. He written 調書をとる／予約する about laparoscopy. Big 攻撃する，衝突する in America. Selling more than laparoscopy 調書をとる／予約するs by American writer. You should 会合，会う him いつか. He can tell you how to make it big in USA.'

As it turned out, Granny never fully 回復するd from her 外科. I realised how bad things were when I was 急ぐing her around in an 救急車, getting 実験（する）s done. The driver drove like a maniac on the 新たな展開ing 狭くする streets of Dehradun. As the 救急車 flew over potholes, she began to throw up, there was 厚い yellow 溶岩 噴出するing from her mouth and, as I kept wiping it with the only rag 利用できる in the 救急車, it （機の）カム home to me that she was in a serious 条件.

One also realised how terrible the 組織／基盤／下部構造 in our cities and towns is to を取り引きする 医療の 緊急s.

There is little 関係 with her now. She has the 半端物 short-lived moment of lucidity but remains mute さもなければ. The once ひどく 独立した・無所属 woman is now 完全に 扶養家族 on rough 半分-trained attendants and family members.

I've seen my grandparents on my mother's 味方する slip away 同様に. I'm not unfamiliar with the 侮辱／冷遇s of old age, the slow painful withering away of the human 団体／死体 and spirit. Except that in their 事例／患者, the dying was a 漸進的な 過程. One had time to get used to it.

In my Dadi's 事例／患者, it was sudden. One minute she was okay, doing her usual stuff-…に出席するing a satsang or a kitty party, going to the bank, making a nuisance of herself with the servants. The 落ちる changed everything, reminding me of Joan Didion's lines about when her husband dies of a heart attack, while she's in the kitchen 直す／買収する，八百長をするing dinner, about life changing in an instant.

With both 始める，決めるs of grandparents, I have seen the 影響 it has on the 残り／休憩（する） of the family. Old people need 一連の会議、交渉／完成する-the-clock attention. Leaving them with a fulltime nurse is 簡単に not enough. Sacrifices have to be made. One's life is pretty much on 持つ／拘留する. There is little time to do anything else. There are arguments about how to 株 責任／義務.

I also realised how 壊れやすい things are. Once she was 負かす／撃墜する, the cook started to bitch about her. This I thought was in exceptionally bad taste. And because everyone was in hospital, and the house was left unsupervised with the servants, things began to disappear. It started with the apples and 気が狂って, spreading soon to the cutlery and crockery and linen. Old loyal retainers had turned thieves in an instant.

Human nature is brittle and self-serving. The veneer of civility 消えるd 夜通し; what one was left with was the familiar Indian feeling of 存在 surrounded by cutthroat desperation.

Thoughts cross one's mind. Is 安楽死 やむを得ず a bad thing? いつかs the thoughts are counterintuitive: shouldn't one live 急速な／放蕩な and 燃やす out rather than 長引かせる one's life, only to die in agony?

I 港／避難所't seen granny in over a month now. The last thing she told me when she was lucid was to stay out of trouble and always be home by eleven.

She tried to give me a Punjabi 非難する but failed because her 手渡す w as broken. She'd forgotten that. Nowadays, she lies propped up in bed, 星／主役にするing blankly at the TV. She can hobble a bit helped by two people and a walker. Her memory plays tricks on her. いつかs she thinks she's a little girl, and asks where her mummy and daddy are. One doesn't know what the 権利 answer to that question is.

The writer's new 調書をとる／予約する The バタフライ 世代 has just been 解放（する）d

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