The Gran I never had

My Gran who I never had.

By Sujata Narang

Wearing tight jogger leggings, headphones stuffed in her ears Shreya runs down the street as she gallops huge lumps of air.

The voice in her head says "Come on you can do this, last 5 minutes to go and you will be done with your 30-minute couch to 5k run for the day."

 Hearing these words she continues to summon her mental strength, battling the pain creeping down her spine and she runs past the Church of England and the crematorium. 

Strangely enough though, the road leading to the station has managed to keep alive the spirit of the past century despite being busy at all times. This side of the town gorgeously blankets the tales of the countryside and town life both.

The Church edging on the high street of Benfleet sometimes silently whispers the history of the Battle of Benfleet. 

However, Shreya got no time to listen or be distracted as she runs past it. Staying focused to her run she chooses to miss anything the church or the half-crown pub had to say.

"Only a few last minutes and I will be done."

Moments later she hears the much-awaited voice in her head say.  

"Hooray! You have completed your 30 minutes booster run, give a nice pat on the back and feel proud of yourself. Thank you so much for joining me today for your run. It's now time for the cool down walk. This is Jo Villey signing off. Check the app for hints and tips to succeed in running."

The last couple of minutes apparently seemed to have lasted a lifetime.

"Boom, I have done it, slow down breathe easy. Done and dusted for today." 

As Shreya walks to cool down she plans to sit and relax at the bench outside the South Benfleet library.

Soaking in the warmth of the winter sun; drinking in the joy of being alive.  She sits there stretching her muscles, wiggling her arms and twisting her neck as she starts to relax. 

"Last evening was fun!" she thinks to herself.

Shreya begins to recollect the chats she had at her nitter natter chit chat knitting group night. 

Every fortnight she meets her pack. A bunch of chatty crafty women. Swinging and swirling their knitting needles, like warriors, smashing and tucking their wool in enchanting patterns.

She thinks of Jenni, the woman probably in her late 70's, who, Shreya always enjoys sitting besides and having a little chat with.

Thoughts initiate the web of emotions and feelings, bringing the words she felt for Jenni.

I believe she is my Gran who I never had.

I have met her unarranged although 

there is nothing random, everything is planned and yes we were destined to meet.

Wow, what a great feeling, I have met my Gran who I never had.

She held my hand tight,

kissed on my cheek, slight.

Her touch is soft and gentle as if I m a new child.

I could feel her warmth and kindness when she placed her palm on mine.

I have an infinite connection with her. 

For every time we meet I know She is my Gran I never had.

Life is short and time is naughty 

galloping fast and racing undoubtedly plays it's game

Flies away when you want it to stay

when in pain slighter like a snail.

I wish to see her every time, I hope she stays fine.

For she is the Gran I never had.

Dear overseas Gran know what, 

My Gran would have been just like you 

shrunken frame, wrinkled face and only a few nested grey.

And a genuine smile with the right glimpse of joyfulness

And exactly the same sparkling shyness.

But you are my Gran who I never had.

I think I don't belong to this pack, yet I don't consider it true.

Strangely enough, my far-flung Gran and I can connect and relate.

I am sure even mum would be a stranger to understand why should we be mates?

But when I peel away our perceptible differences 

I always find the warm golden heart of 

My departed Gran, who I never had.

The Fitbit begins to vibrate, it shook her mind off, teleporting her back to the discomfort of her aching muscles. 

"Oh dear, it's time I must make a move get back and get more things done for today."

She quickly wraps her mind and mood and gets along into yet another busy day.

© Copyright Sujata Narang