Home-made Series

II. The Monochrome Closet

I find it amusing. Is ‘amusing’ the word really? We often brand the incomprehensible ‘amusing’. But that is mine to decipher. 
Meet my Grandpa. A kind but grumpy old man, irritated at the slightest of changes- a retired officer used to having his way. A hundred hands always waiting upon him round the clock. The big shot of the town. 

He strides in his usual haughty strides as he walks into the room today. Out swings his closet door. His monochrome closet, as I call it. White and black. A rare brown here and an occasional grey there. He stands in front of the gaping closet, scratching his chin. “Aren’t they all the same?”, I think. Dare I not say it out loud. He carefully picks a pair out, looks at it for a moment, straightens and walks out into the kitchen.  

I hear my granny over the chatter of cardamom and basil leaves within her prize pot. 

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

Absolute silence follows. Even the spices hold their breath.

“Cream does not go with gray. Change the pants for god’s sake!”

“Err...”

Back comes grandpa hurriedly. Surprisingly, there is not a trace of annoyance on his lined face. But this time granny follows a silver spoon gleaming in her hand. She rummages the closet with the freehand expertly. Outcomes a pair of ash-colored pants. She hands it to grandpa with an authoritative “Hmph!”. Grandpa receives it with devotion (or is it apprehension), relief writ on his face. And smiles sweetly at her. 

A few moments later, gentle-faced grandpa receives a phone call. Boom! The gentle facade dissolves and out he goes booming into the cell, thrashing some poor soul, left and right.

Queer isn’t it? My 76-year old unyielding grandpa, a devout 6-year-old child to my granny. Ever sweet and humble, always poised to please. And my granny that can pick the best colors off of his monochrome closet. Only she can do it. And only for him.