Immutability

Word Count: 500

let nani_house =

"The doors open, and it is basically all the same. The speaker as you enter is the same, a slow, dimpled white dome capping a dish shaped structure on a tripod. We blasted all the coolest songs back then. The sofas, chairs, and tables on the right are the same, the girl playing guitar in charcoal opposite the TV is the same. Some of the tables’ books are the same, and most of the pictures on the shelf are too, although a picture of my mother I don't remember seems to have entered the rotation.

The dining table has familiar clutter on the right side, filled with pens, trinkets, small mementos from business trips and other travels. There's a new branded power bank or charger, Nanu’s favorite blue ink pen, the same table cloth, and the familiar chairs with inset wicker designs and ornamentation.

A new golf trophy breaks up the beautiful bookcase and drawer to the left of the door. There are some old le Carré books I remember, and a copy of “Good to Great” as well. Up against the bookcase is a signed cricket bat from the 2013 Kings XI Punjab IPL team; I remember all of us watching games at Wankhede, and I have a fainter memory of box seats and watching my Nanu bring home that bat.

I would have been 9 or 10 at the time.

The bedroom I slept in, from when I first moved here at 8 years old, is the same. I played with my brother in this room, read Thomas the Tank Engine in this room, watched Chhota Bheem in this room, gazed at the Bandstand sunset in this room. The bed is firm in a familiar way, and I always look at the drawers under it. The closets have a lovely wood paneling design, and smell like the sea. The windows still can’t close for their life, letting in the humid Mumbai air, but it’s lovely nonetheless.

Birds float on updrafts as I write this, gliding across my line of sight into the monsooning outside world.

My nanu is the same. He’s spry for his age, incredibly witty, and is 100% where I get my sailor’s mouth from, although it’s way funnier now that I understand the expletives. His embrace is firm, and his laugh raucous - it’s a joy to pull it out of him. He has forgotten more than I’ve ever known, and even being around him is enough to remember that. I’d love to grow up to be like him.

My nani is the same. She’s joyous, doting, and her hugs are warm, like home. She makes the best food and has the best encouragement for any situation. I find her willpower and values inspiring. I want to be like her, too.

My grandparents are nearing their 80s, and one day they won’t be here, but for now, I get to revel in their presence; to learn from them, to grow with them, and to make them proud.

That won’t ever change."