A Piece of Cloth

“It is not every day that you turn seventy,” her father retorted.

- Sarvamitra

His tone - harsh. Unflinching. “It is not every day that I get you a silk dhoti. Can't yo...”

Her father stopped mid-sentence when his almost seventy-year-old father walked out of the room briskly.

Ilakiya couldn’t close her gaping mouth. This spat between her father and grandpa was unheard of. A sight she had never seen before. She was shocked to witness her father getting rebuked, and to see her fun-loving, mild-mannered grandpa walk out of a conversation just like her teenage cousin.

“Finish your homework fast. Stop staring.” Her father transferred his agitation to Ilakiya and walked out of the room. Ilakiya paid no heed to her father's words. She wanted to talk to her grandpa. What happened to him? Why did he snap at her father? His loving son? As soon as Ilakiya confirmed her father had locked himself in his room, she tiptoed to her grandpa. He was sitting on the porch swing, swaying gently, stringing jasmine flowers, just as his late wife used to. Old man stringing flowers? Yes, that was her grandpa.

“Grandpa, why did you scold him? Why did you not take the dhoti? He got it just for you. He was heartbroken. You could have politely refused, no?” Ilakiya piled her questions and statements like a sandwich as she joined him on the swing.

“You think I didn’t refuse softly? Your father just wouldn’t listen. Stubborn. He has been pestering me with it for the past two weeks.”

This was new information. Ilakiya didn’t know the silk dhoti issue was an ongoing one.

"Then, why can't you take it just once? It will make father happy." Ilakiya tried to figure out a solution.

"But I would be an unhappy man," her grandpa mumbled.

Ilakiya's sharp ears caught it. "Why so? It is, after all, a piece of cloth."