I don't know who my grandparents are. But I see them every day. Its sort of weird, I'll explain it.
One day we're chatting about, I don't remember about what, when my mom comes up with "You know Dadi isn't really your grandma right?" I don't really know what the hell she's talking about so I just make a muffled little grunt. My blessedly people-skilled mother sees through me and continues. "Your Dadi couldn't have children for some reason. So when (my dad) was young, Auntie gave (my dad) to Dadi, and he went to live with her in Caunka"
Is the residence of my supposed grandparents, think big. Very big.
Well, by now I'm reeling a bit. For you see I had recently gone to London. Usual pleasure trip. We had gone to some totally, totally kick-ass arcade. I had embarrassed my little 12 year old self by trying out first an ultra-realistic racing sim, then an ultra-realistic motorcycle sim, and both times ended up in a wall getting very angry at my inability to even move the force-feedback controls while the employees looked on and smiled far too much than they should have been allowed to. Then I had gone over to my brother, and he had discovered a totally kick-ass FPS. Quite befitting such a kick-ass arcade, it was played with plastic shotguns about 12 inches long. On a 20 foot floor to ceiling display. With surround sound. We played it for hours. The previously mocking employees now cheered us on. Eventually we ran out of time, as my dad wanted to do more touring - as in going around standing in front of monuments for my Uncle to take pictures. We had spent some uncountable amount of money on that game, out of our allowances. We were new to England and had been treating £1 coins like quarters. We set the high score. They announced it on the P.A., I think their may have been a glamour photo. But eventually we left, off to see the Tower of London I think. Which actually was cool enough to make up for leaving the arcade.
And then Auntie died. I don't know what she died of, a complication regarding a heart condition. I don't know, I was 12, I didn't know her at all anyway. To me she was just an old lady that my parents said had accomplished many accomplishments. What these were I don't know. But books with her name line the shelves, a school with her name on it is down the street, and an agreement with Oxford exists specifying that all her descendants get guaranteed admission and two free quarters, including me. A week passed, first of the elders grieving and whatnot. My young cousins put to the task of caring for the little devils me and my 3 fellow hellspawn constituted.
Then Uncle died, of Pneumonia. He didn't feel quite like living anymore now that his wife was gone. His death was quite impossible and quite sad. This requires explanation. The dads side of my family is from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. If it isn't already 80° outside then the heater must be turned to 90° to compensate. I'm not joking. When I sleep at my dad's house I wake up parched. The family doctor says the constant heat is adversely affecting my brother's asthma. How my Uncle contracted Pneumonia the doctor can't say.
So there they are. Delaying the funeral to redo the ceremonies. Arranging with the graveyard to have both plots dug. The places had already been bought, right next to each other. Together forever, then beyond. And here's me, not caring. I can remember that there's some ceremony at the Mosque. I'm being a little bastard and eventually my cousin lets me go sit in the car. I ransack it looking for £1 coins. Which is what I wanted all along. Where was I while my new grandparents were being buried? I was stealing change for the arcade from the ashtray of my cousin's car.
This node blessed from far above