The Fall of an Empress // Gender Bender

These last few days have been ... tumultuous.

On Thursday the 15th of August, my grandmother passed away. 

It wasn't a surprise. She'd been on her last days for a while now. And truthfully, I hadn't been worried about her, but my father. My father... is really attached to his mother. I mean, really, more than any of his siblings. And I was afraid of how he'd take it.

On that night, I had just turned off my laptop, when I heard the most frightening sound ever. Of my 18 years, I had not heard my father cry once. But on that night, he wailed, and I don't think I'll ever forget it. Fathers are supposed to be the 'rocks', yeah? The foundations? Well, mine were shuddering and crumbling. When I cried, I cried for him, I think, more than anything.

My grandmother had 87 years. She had 7 kids - 13, actually, but five of them were caught between miscarriage and still birth. Her 7 kids, they made 24 kids - and there's a chance there may be more. She lived to see some of her grandkids make up to 19 great-grandchildren. She lived to see her legacy spread across the world; we have been/are in England, in Dubai, in Japan, in the US, in Australia, in Bangladesh, in France. 

At first I thought we didn't really have a connection, my grandmother and I. There was a language barrier. I mean, understood Tamil, but the words were awkward on my mouth, and every time I tried to put in effort to speak, my cousins would started their hyped up teasing: "Oh, oh, guys, come on - look, Laila's going to start speaking. This is going to be great."

So obviously, I'd instantly shut down. But I had tried to speak to my grandmother, the only other problem was, she could never hear me. I donno. Some say I have a quiet voice, but I don't think it's that quiet - in fact, my friends would tell you the contrary. But my grandmother, no matter how loud I talked, she couldn't hear.

So I thought, you know, we're not close. Everything I know about her, my cousins told me, and I envied them for the connection they had, but I was also glad to be hearing the stories she told them. Because she was a spunky woman.

I've always known her as teeny tiny and all wrinkly. I used to think her blue eyes were a thing of old age - you know, sometimes eyes go all... rheumy? I think that's the word. But anyway, her eyes weren't rheumy, they were naturally blue, and sharp. A startling feature for the average Lankan. 

But it was her height that was funny, because she was so tiny, and yet so commanding. My cousin told me this one story, back in the very very very old days, when my grandmother was a young mother, pregnant, and alone in an incomplete-house on a hill. My grandfather had gone out. A bunch of 'rowdies' came along, and they started banging on the front door, trying to freak her out and get her to open the door. What's more, there was a back door that wasn't actually fitted and lock-able, and they could've easily gotten in.

But my grandmother, she didn't panic. She didn't try to fix up the back, thereby alerting them to its weakness. She just yelled at them, through the door, while they taunted and teased. And while they stood at the front door, banging away, she poured chilli powder through the grate at the top of the door. They ran away in tears, apparently, and rightly so.

That story never ceased to make me laugh, but I was never surprised. This is a woman, who, in her weak 80s, never allowed any of my gentlemanly boy cousins, who hovered about, to help her down the stairs. This is a woman who hated slow drivers, who had a serious need for speed.

And I did have a connection with her. Just because she was my blood, just because she was the mother of my father. Just because even though we'd never been able to converse normally, she always had this special nickname for me, just me, and as small and trivial as it may seem, it was still there.

I heard that leading up to the days of her death, people flocked from all over the country to her house - her house. It didn't have a street number, it was literally named after her: Aneesa Villa. Practically her palace. These were the people who'd she helped, advised, encouraged, and befriended.

And they came to our house, too. In the last two days, visitors have been dropping by non-stop, people I didn't even know. I don't think it's just because of my dad - I think it's just her.

So I don't really pity her, nor do I mourn her too much. I know she's in the best hands, God's hands. I pray for my dad to have strength, but my grandmother - masha'allah, she had a good run, and insha'allah, she's heading to a better place.

There was another shocker, though. This one not tragic, but more... o.o I donno. Bizarre?

Yesterday, around midnight, when the last visitors were leaving, Kiko was finally freed from the room we'd had him locked in (for his own protection, mind you). After eating and drinking, he started making this really weird sound. I've heard it before - it's that other worldly sound that I hear cats making sometimes, outside, like, a mix between a baby and a meow. I wasn't worried, because, having heard other cats do it, I figured it was something natural. But I needed to quell it, or my parents would get mad.

So, as we all do, I Googled it.

The sound was to do with them being in 'heat'. Oh, cool, I thought. Cat just needs to get laid. Well, I ain't stopping him.

Then I was reading through other details of being in 'heat', and I noticed there were these 'symptoms' that in fact, Kiko had had in a supposed illness that we presumed, a few weeks ago. I was like... whoa o.o Poor dude. 

Then I realised that in fact, when speaking of cats in heat, they always referred to the cats as... she.

...

So, ladies and gentlemen, Kiko is now, in fact... Kiki. I keep thinking of all the times we teased 'him' about being such a pansy, such a girl. I think about all the times we assumed 'he' was having an identity crisis, when 'he' constantly preened 'himself', allowed 'himself' to be dressed in pink. I think of all the conversations I had with 'him', after 'he'd' come back from some proving-my-manhood escapade, and I'd assure 'him' that lots of girls dig a sensitive guy.

...

Also, in the morning, when I looked outside, I saw her snoozing with some other neighbourhood heartbreaker. My first thought was: DAMN, she works first.

Then when Prince Charming hung around all freaking day, just sitting and sleeping around where precious Kiki was sleeping, I, um, got a very bad/awkward/kindofexcited feeling. 

I think the cat is pregnant o.O

Do I know what to do? No. Did I Google it? Yes. Did it have an answer? Duh.

The big one was always 'have her desexed'. I can't do that. The very notion makes me sick. I mean, I know it's normal around here and everything, but to me it feels all wrong, like, who are we take that natural part of an animal away from them, just because we can't handle it?

So it's going to be stressful, and it's going to be insane, but I think I'm just going to let nature take its course. I hope it works out...

Peace in,
Laila