We can miss things by a second and loss them forever. A whole lot of things; even a loving grandfather.

It was our Christmas vacation, and we, Vinod, Prabha and me, were thrilled to be at Edamon, a place where our grandparents used to live alone. We came here to spend the whole ten days’ vacation.

Edamon has a nostalgic grasp in our lives. We used to live there earlier. We finished our primary schooling in this majestic land… the slinky canal flowing beside our house took us the first lessons of swimming… We rode our first cycle through the dust-filled roads of this place… The caning I had received with screech from Joykutty sir in the 4th standard of Govt Lower Primary School has its piquant reminiscence even toGday. I along with my brother, used to buy beedis from Pathumma Beevi’s shop and smoke them all hiding in Guard sir’s murky rubber estate! By now, you must have got a clear hint that how poignantly we had been affected by this place. Well, let’s come back; I will tell you more about Edamon later in another story.

Upon our arrival, Christmas was officially announced in the house. A beam of smile had dawned and spread across the old parent’s faces; like a beam of light cheep into a closed room all of a sudden. A flamboyant Christmas tree was put up, adorned with hanged lightings, color papers and stars. Our grandpa was an expert in making Christmas stars. As our arrival was pre-decided, he had already made all the arrangements to make stars. He cut bamboo in to small bendy sticks, and tied them with tags. With the help of papers and glue, he finally carved out an attractive star, which had six big corners. We hanged it in front of the tree and lighted a candle inside it.

A Christmas carol was performed in front of the tree and there was no other audience other than our exhilarated grandparents. We were treated with kisses. It’s great to be blessed by your grandparents, isn’t it?

The night was amazing. All the five of us slept on a single bed specially made. Stories were told, upon which dreams weaved wings and one of the most beautiful and obsessing nights was being flowed away.

The next day was a Sunday. The morning was promising a long day to kick-start our vacation lookouts. Swimming, trekking, fishing and every groovy option was on the list, and to begin with, church going wasn’t an option but a must-to-do.

Breakfast was on the table and everyone except my brother and me was there. We weren’t in the premises. Later we were told that our grandmother called us as aloud as she could. But those calls weren’t reaching our eardrums.

We missed a breakfast with our grandfather.

It was with our grandpa that we used to go to church. This day, he felt uneasy and we started off alone.

We missed him walking with us.

Before we could reach the church, Panikkathi, our helper came from home and told us that our grandfather was not well and he wanted to urgently meet us.

We ran back. We didn't talk anything. We threw our legs roughly into the dried up rice fields and their narrow walkable bunds; three hearts beat at the same rumbling pace!

On the way, we heard someone saying, 'He is no more'. We didn’t hear it.

But the sight at home wasn’t familiar to us. We had never seen so many people standing near our small house before. Cornered here and there, they threw silence at each other. Their gloomy eyes stared at us mercifully and attended us with care as we slowly stepped into the house.

In front of us, our grand father was lying, blanketed, like a white cloud flowing in the air of prayers. His eyes were closed like a flower fell on the ground. His toes were tied and nose was blocked. Smell of agarbatti filled our senses and we felt that it was not him who was lying there.

Tears were not stopped. The love he gave us came out as tears and we had nothing to stop them. Was he just a grandfather to us? No way. He was our teacher; he taught us in the Sunday schools. He was our mate in the fields. He was our fruit-vendor; he gave us from mangoes to jackfruits to eggfruits. He was our friend; with whom we took baths in the nostalgic rivulet called chirattakonam. Nearby that rivulet, he had secretly fed a rat-snake christened by him as ‘kumar’. One day we found him feeding Kumar and that made us jealous of the snake. We were attached to him so intensely. Above all that he was a gentle man we could take pride of. V K George. That’ was not just a name for him. That was an address.

At that moment, we didn’t really realize what were about to miss. Tears had sunk our emotions and sobbings our thinking. We were sure of only one thing that our grandfather was not going to be with us any more. That no other home-made star would adorn our Christmas trees. That neither he would walk with us to the fields nor bring sweetest jackfruits freshly picked.

There was a smile on his face. It shined his face like the way the stars he made shined our faces. Looking at me it said, "never miss a chance to be with your parents, ever in your life!"

Young sister of mine later told me that she had seen the soul of our grandpa riding up in the air like a seraph, tinted by the scented smoke hailed from agarbattis burnt in front of his dead body. His spirit was white in colour.

By the way, there is one guy I wanted you to meet. He is my own brother. Brand Name, Vinod Matthew Wilson.

Describing his heroics is pretty difficult and I ‘m a bit sleepy now, so lemme tell you one of his several grand ‘blunderful’ spoofs.

He was around 5 years old when he gave birth to this cute bungle that we still haunt to get an inspired laugh whenever coming together.

It was the time of our forefathers’ feast. All the big-small, bigger-smaller, biggest-smallest members in the family were gathered there in our ancestral house. Forefathers’ feast is an important occasion for the family because, more than remembering the deceased fellows, it played a convincing role in bringing all the family members together for sometime.

Yes, this day we all prayed for the ancestors’ souls. As usual, my grandmother wept for sometime remembering her lost children, father and mother. After this, it was the time for the grand lunch.

Before any ‘living member’ tasting the food, dinner, properly served, would be offered to the departed souls specially in a remote room. It was the job of the eldest member of the family. My grandpa had done this reverentially and he came out after closing the door.

Sometime later, while we children were eating in another room, there heard a screech followed by crumbs of laughter. The source of laughter was well known to us, as our grandpa had been gifted with a great sense of humor and we guys used to hear him laughing at every other minute for something or the other. But now, at this moment what had made him laugh in a mirth?

We forgo the food and ran.

At the ancestors’ room we saw my little bro standing amused in front of the humor-stricken grandfather. With a slight coyness, Grandpa had pointed towards the room. Though smelled a rat, we kept our reverence in due extent as we were going to peep into the esteemed haven of forefathers.

There we saw, but to our wariness, a group of dogs eating the dinner ceremoniously. What a pity???

By this time our grandma came with a small cane and the uninvited guests ran away.

But still, the grandpa was going like a “brakeless bus.” Laughter, another laughter and another and another…’Gone mad’, Grandma hinted in a sulk.

Later in the day he confessed us the top secret that drove him eccentric.

That my brother, who was watching the dogs eating the foods, had then asked him, “Grandpa grandpa, your papa and mamma had tails or what???