I Dreamed of India

This poem, and somewhat short story is in tribute to my grandfather, who I write in his name. He wanted to be a writer, but never got the chance. He didn't have the freedom we did in late 90/2000's, where we had free websites allowing us to publish our creative minds. He lived in a western world where he didn't speak English very well. This is a complete story. It is based on his life.

I Dreamed of India

I dreamt of India last night. To where I was born.
The beautiful old buildings where my and my friends once ran around as children.
I dreamed of India every night. Where my parents were born.
When I was a child, my brother, my sister, and I ran around the large green fields.
I dreamed where my parents stood on the front porch, calling out for me to come home for dinner.
I dreamt of India. Of the food markets, of biryani and gulab juman.
Of soft chicken pieces in warm curry sauce, smothered over white rice and golden brown potatoes.

Of where I skinned my knee, and my mother took care of me.

I dreamt of India. Where I was born in 1926, of the Kannan Hospital in Thanjavur.
My brother throwing a ball to the neighbours kids down the road.
My sister gossipping with her childhood friends.
Of the women dancing in saris. Their silk outfits swaying in the wind.
Of the men in kurtas dancing to classic Bollywood songs.
My mother's lullaby she would sing in Tamil, to get me to fall asleep.

I dreamt of India. Where the graves of my parents now remained. My memory of them has faded, for it's too painful to recall.
Where I wanted to be a writer, and write about my life. I tried to sit and write on a notepad, but it was hard for me.
They passed on when I was thirteen, and begun my journey to Malaysia, with my sister and brother in tow.

I dreamt of India last night. A memory now long gone.
We moved to Malaysia, where we begun a new life, but everything fell apart.
One day, I had to work, leaving my sister with some friends to look after her, my brother was in school.
When I returned, they said she ran away, my heart broke. I was only eighteen, and she was so young.

My brother and I eventually departed ways, when he married a woman, and I met my wife.
My memory's fading, I do not even recall where my brother is. Where Gopal Krishna is.
One day, I found my sister. Happily married and living in Malaysia.
My sister had been lied too, and so had I. She was told I left her behind on purpose, and when I came back, the family that had her, said she ran away.
She spent years thinking I abandoned her, and because of that family, I lost my sister. She could never forgive or believe me.
I am happy she is okay though.
Still, I dream of India. Of the hills where I hung out in an old tree with my brother.
Of when things were getting tougher, my heart aches knowing I never had a full life with my parents.
I miss my mother's homemade samosa and chai. Father's famous butter chicken.
As time worn on, my memory has become hazy, and it has become too painful to speak of my past.

My wife bore my kids. Four of them. Three boys and one girl. None of them ever knew my parents, and I never spoke of them.
When my second eldest son moved to Australia with my youngest son, the family packed up to follow them to a place called Queensland, in the mid 1980's.
My wife, her mother Amurtham, my remaining son and daughter, along with their own partner headed down to Australia.
It was a strange land, I didn't speak English very well, and no one really understood me.

I still dreamt of India, where we spoke Tamil, the aroma of curries filling the air.
My eldest son and daughter had a child with their partners. Two different boys. My beautiful grandchildren.
My eldest son, my second son, and my youngest son all had children in the same year. How wondrous.
My eldest had a healthy boy in March.
My youngest had another boy, with an Australian woman. He was a beautiful mixed race baby.
And my second son had twins. A boy and a girl. Both mixed race, the mother is Australian.
We moved into his partner's garage, because we had no other place. And now, I fear for my grandson. He isn't doing so well.
But he's a fighter. He pulled through and still lives.
My days were numbered, and as I slept longer, I dreamt more of India.

I passed on in 1989. Slept soundly and I dreamt more of India.
The grandson I thought wouldn't survive proved me wrong. Now an adult, writing my stories for me. Where I wanted to be a writer, but the dream never became reality.
Australia wasn't easy for a Indian man who couldn't speak English well enough, in 1980's no less. I never published.
But my grandson learnt of my desire to be a writer. And he decided he would write in my name. He would allow me to live through his words.
I see them, from heaven. All of my children, all of my grandchildren living happy lives. And some, they had their own children.
My wife still walks the earth, her own memory is slipping, but I hope she lives until she is one hundred, even if it means I have to wait longer for her.
I wished I knew where my brother went, what happened to my sister. I wished my parents could have met the children my wife bore.
I dreamt of India again. Even in heaven. It wasn't the most perfect place in the world, but it was a country I wished I could have seen again.

My grandson, he wishes to learn more of his legacy, but our history is a complicated one. My parents have disappeared in the sands of time. Tamil Culture meant the men took their father's first name.
And it is hard to find them. To find my sister, and my brother, to find their own families.
I do know my brother had ten children in Malaysia, and they are out there as well, living their own lives.
My life was hard and complicated, my small family didn't get to stay together. But from heaven, seeing the way my family is still together, while not perfect, they are still letting my legacy, my memories live through them.
In 2021, they made it pretty far. And who knows how far they will go.

I dreamt of India last night. A moment where my parents lived for a long time, that my brother and sister never left. Where I lived to be an man in his 90's. To see my children, grandchildren, and great children.
To grow old with my wife. And my children got to see their own grandparents.
That my siblings families intertwined and formed close bonds with my own.
I dreamed of India. And I slept soundly.

                                                   ~The End~