Granny used to be our favorite story-teller. I and my sister never went to bed without listening to one of her stories. They were usually based on simple village folks, fishermen, farmers, a naughty kid or a greedy woodcutter. She repeated the same stories over and over again; we listened, silent and attentive, until we dozed off. Those were our summer holidays.
Often, she would hum a song, a typical village song, melodious and soothing. I always tried singing it but never got the lyrics right. It was a wedding song, relating the feelings of a young, charming bride, about to start a new life away from her home. At that age, the idea of getting married feels exotic I suppose. A pretty bride decked in gold and silk, taking slow steps to the aisle where her prince charming would be waiting for her, granny singing the wedding song from somewhere; I had this dream quite a number of times.
As we grew up, our visits to granny became less frequent. The bedtime stories were replaced by computer games and late night studies. Somehow, the song still remained and years later, at my own wedding, I found myself suddenly humming the same old tune, out of nowhere. Of course, granny had passed away long back, but the tune, the melody, the emotion behind it all, did nothing change? Or was I living my dream, like the young bride in gold and silk, taking slow steps to the aisle where her prince charming would be waiting…the wedding song playing somewhere.