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i met my grandmother when i was three years old...she was tumbling down some escalators in another country. i think i was wearing shoes with dogs on them...might have been bears or nothing at all...it's a good thing she didn't break her neck...
the next time i met my grandmother was when i was living in her house for the summer and she was trying to shove mangoes down my throat.
generally, mangoes are alright...i like mangoes...but if they are soft and miserable looking...and you're supposed to suck on them...i abstain.
my grandmother doesn't get that. mangoes in her mind aren't supposed to be aesthetically pleasing...they're mangoes...suck them, eat them, shit them out...just take the freakin' mango for a ride irrespective of your racial prejudices...
i like super model mangoes...large...yellow...undamaged...and preferably first-hand...then i carefully (not really) peel the skin off and have sex with them...orally...
my grandmother and i were never great friends...but i've had a good time in her house...there was always seven-up, di-gas and a tiny green light in her room that never went out...except in winters when the ac wasn't working. at night we would watch her take a lot of funny coloured pills...that was always fascinating...what could she possibly need so many pills for? i never had a headache until after O'levels...cockroaches roamed free in her room...and that was a good excuse for other things that i'll take with me to the otherside...haha
i had many fights with my grandmother over the years about all the little things that she could never get and i could never explain. but it was ok. she invited me home...and that was a good excuse for other things...hahahaha
and then one day my mother told me that my grandmother was sick...so i (very reluctantly) went to see her...i don't like to meet old ill people...feels too sad and uselss...old healthy people are fine. i took a good look at her and realized that she would probably die in a couple of weeks. naturally...she did.
my mother had a great liking for my grandmother...probably because my grandmother was my mother's mother. hahaha. i never got that...my grandmother was...stubborn...and always got her way. i don't get along with stubborn people. although she didn't complain much about anything...not about being an orphan, nor about being cheated out of a fortune...or about being a widow...definitely not about having less than little to go on...nor about getting blood cancer and dying a horrendously painful death.
my mother is kind of nuts...she can explain anything unusual as being an act of black magic by unseen enemies who practice such arts.
for instance, my uncanny ability to hear voices when there are none...black magic...
birds not eating seed in particular spots on the roof but having a feast on other spots...black magic...
tiny holes in clothes...black magic...
blood pressure...black magic...
failed exams...black magic...
fever...flu...plague...sweden...cars...football...stock market...trees at night and alcohol. all black magic.
i once convinced her that i could make the house resonate. it was funny.
i saw my grandmother being lowered into a grave...there was a bottle of rose-water somewhere in the picture and i threw in some dirt to say goodbye...
considering how frequently she invades nightmares, dreams and general paranoia...she's still pretty stubborn...anything can be made scary with the right dead grandmother.