Hear me out, I may have a theory that grandmas around the world are running some sort of secret underground mafia business. The more I observe my nanamma (paternal grandma in Telugu), the more I feel like I am accidentally witnessing a very well-organised criminal operation. Like, everything just feels slightly too suspicious.
For example, take the way grandmas give you money. They never simply hand it to you. There is always a strict protocol they follow. First, they quietly pull you to the corner and then slowly pull out a small bundle of notes from somewhere you didn’t even realise could potentially hold cash. They then look around the room, as if Russian spies are onto us. They fold the notes into the most perfect, crisp rectangle, sometimes one fold, sometimes two. They hold the note tightly in their inner palm, and they extend their arm towards you with their elbows bent at a very specific angle. You have to take it quickly. No questions to ask, and definitely no eye contact to make. Sometimes they even lower their voice and say, “Keep this”. At this point, I feel less like a granddaughter and more like someone making some illegal transactions.
And the funniest part is that she usually hands out 500 rupees. Maybe 1000, if it’s a good business day. Why are we acting like we’re exchanging drugs in some dark corner of an alleyway? Like grandma, you are giving me money to buy snacks.
Then comes the more important question: where is all this money (specifically cash) coming from?
Because I’ve noticed this universally, all grandmas have an absolutely terrifying amount of cash. Like you could be looking for an old bedsheet, lift the mattress, and suddenly discover a thick wad of cash just lying there. There is enough cash under this mattress to feed a family of 3. And it’s just there as if it’s the best place to secure personal finances.
There are places called banks. There are lockers. There are savings accounts. There is even UPI today. There are so many ways to secure and store money safely. Yet grandmothers have chosen the most advanced financial system of all: hiding cash in random places around the house and being confident that it’s better than any 10-layer vault. (Hiding it in masala and spice containers is a fan favourite)
And you can never ask about it, it’s an unsaid rule. The second you ask, “Why do you have so much cash?” their entire expression changes. Suddenly, you are the suspicious one. They look at you, pause and say “Nothing” in the most innocent way. Nothing? I just saw a bundle of money underneath your pillow, and you say nothing?
Then there are the phone calls. Grandmas receive phone calls that sound like negotiations with another branch of an organisation. The phone rings, and they immediately walk to the other room. Like my grandmother, who has been complaining that she has knee pain for the past 15 years, SHE walks so briskly, and is swift about it, goes to the other room and lowers her voice. You can manage to hear little bits from outside. It usually goes:
“Hmm.”
“Yes.”
“No, no, don’t tell her.”
“I’ll see.”
“Okay, I’ll call you later.”
And then they hang up. That’s it, there’s no explanation and no follow-up. If I ask, “Oh, who was it?” she says an old friend. An old friend? like she barely exchanged actual meaningful words, like that’s not how “talking to old friends” conversation ideally goes. And I’m just left confused about who this “old friend” is, and why this “old friend” apparently knows so much about everyone?
I feel grandmothers are part of a bigger association or a committee. Because all grandmothers seem to have nationwide information networks. They know everyone’s children, everyone’s relatives, everyone’s problems and somehow everyone’s businesses. You can casually mention a person you haven’t seen in a while, and my grandma will immediately say, “Oh yes, she went to Dubai, no?” How do you know that? She was MY childhood friend in the neighbourhood, and how does she know about it and not me?
Honestly, I am a bit scared to uncover what grandmas around the world actually do when there are no eyes on them. There seems to be an entire side of their lives that we, as grandchildren, are simply not meant to know. So, for my own safety and peace of mind, I have decided not to investigate any further. And assume that grandmas everywhere are part of the same highly secretive organisation, that they all know exactly what the others are doing, and that there is probably a very good reason we have never been invited to one of their meetings.