My Goan grandmother, Sylvia D’Gama, lived through several of the worst years the world has ever seen. But her home on Sandal Street was always filled with sunshine and music. She worked as a secretary in the National Cash Register and later as a school music teacher (even though she was partially deaf!). Our favorite childhood activity, after all the banging on kitchen utensils and using the rocking chair as a racehorse was over, was sitting on the floor around her and listening to “Gran's stories.”
Granny made every battle and hardship seem like the greatest adventure. She was our heroine and her exploits were legendary.
She once wrote me a long letter telling me she wanted me to keep writing because she loved the way I wrote. And the greatest inspiration I have is her life, told in so many amazing stories. So this poem is my attempt at capturing over 90 years of a life fully lived and the stories that were woven out of it.
Gran, you and your stories will live on in our memories forever.
And to everyone who’s lost a grandmother, keep the stories alive!
Sylvia D’Gama with her granddaughter
~ The Storyteller ~
Warm walnut skin and hair still surprisingly black,
She sits in her old rocking chair,
Soaking in the sunshine pouring through the veranda door.
A strain of familiar music comes to her mind.
She walks over to the great grand piano and begins to play.
Some notes stumble, some verses are slightly off key,
But she plays and sings with gusto.
Later that day, she mends a hole in her son’s pants.
He still needs her when he’s sixty-four.
She plays a round of Scrabble with herself.
She’s the best opponent she’s ever had.
In the evening, her grandchildren visit.
They gather around, eager to hear her speak.
A story with many chapters, told a million times over,
Until the words are engraved in their memories,
Ready to be passed on to her great-grandchildren and their children.
The story of the little girl brought up in second-hand shorts and shirts,
Whose life was turned upside down by war,
Who struggled through and survived,
Learning lessons more important than which hand holds the fork,
Gathering experiences that turned into stories to be told for generations to come.
For she was always the Storyteller.
“Where’s Sylvie?” they’d ask.
The reply: “Oh just look for the largest group of people, she’ll be in the middle.”
And so, she began her longest, most successful career,
Weaving together the threads of her life into a tapestry of words.
No adventure hero had exploits greater than hers,
No fair maiden could compare to the charm of our dark lady,
Her human life inspired our humanity.
The little girl grew and became a young woman,
Her courtship, one for the ages.
Opposites attracted, she took him off the market.
But he never asked her to marry him!
Knowing that he couldn’t escape her father’s wrath if he didn’t,
He considered it a foregone conclusion.
And so, they were married,
Had five children and a dog and lived many years in the House in the Sun.
They wrote little notes to each other every day.
Every day till the day he didn’t wake up for his “cup of coffee and a kiss.”
But she soldiered on, telling her stories,
Receiving and adopting more and more grandchildren,
Till she became a universal Granny.
And still she sits in that old rocking chair,
Surrounded by children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren,
Sharing ninety years’ worth of memories.
Some stumble, some are slightly off key
But she tells her story with gusto.
