Irrelevant?

Our doubts are traitors,
and make us lose the good we oft might win,
by fearing to attempt.

Hemlata started at the Shakespeare quote hanging on the wall. Her grand-daughter had embroidered it for her, framed it and put it there.

It was beautiful. Beautiful to look at, the neat embroidery with its embellishments of birds and flowers and beautiful to think about. And beautiful to realise -- her youngest grand-daughter understood exactly what she was going through and wanted to help.

But doing anything was so difficult now, after the death of her dear husband Ratansey. True, he had been ailing, and, for him, it was release -- but for those left behind ... Hemlata sighed, got off her easy chair, turned the light off and went to her bedroom.

She couldn't sleep.

That was nothing new, but today, it wasn't memories of Ratansey that kept her awake. It was doubts. Specifically, doubts about doubts. Sparked off by her youngest grand-daughter's embroidered, framed gift.

She had given up singing many times. When she married. While her kids were growing up. When ... when ... she thought she wasn't relevant any more and didn't want to inflict herself on an audience.

"You are relevant, Grandma," Anshul had insisted. Anshul was her youngest grand-daughter, and though she'd never admit it, the favourite progeny of them all.

"I'm two generations younger and I love listening to you."

"That's because you are my darling," Hemlata had replied, fondly, but Anshul had insisted.

"Start practising again. You used to spend hours caring for Grandpa, now spend those hours singing. Imagine him listening to you."

She couldn't be annoyed with the child, but really, Anshul had gone too far today. She had actually submitted Hemlata's name for the show INDIA's GOT TALENT. "There's no age bar!" she had said, exultantly. "A seventy-two year old can apply!"

"But the seventy-two year old doesn't want to apply!" Hemlata had replied, shocked.

"The seventy-two year old's darling grand-daughter has already applied on her behalf. So she has no choice."

Then, the nagging had begun.

For every doubt, Anshul had a pat response. Hemlata said she was irrelevant. Anshul said she was two generations younger and loved listening to her. Hemlata said she was out of practise. Anshul said there were still some weeks till the audition, she could get started and get in to the swing of it. Hemlata said she would be nervous facing judges and an audience. Anshul said so was everyone. Hemlata said the audition was too far away. Anshul said that's what cars were for, to get you there.

"Why do I have these doubts?" Hemlata wondered. "It's just a competition." She tossed and turned, talking to herself.

And in the morning, she had made up her mind.

She would do it.

She called Anshul, before breakfast even. She had expected a squeal of delight, instead, she heard a calm reply, "I knew you would. So I've hired you a voice coach. He'll be there at your house at 11.30 this morning."

THAT CHILD! That exasperating child! That absolutely infuriating, totally adorable, completely determined child! "She has my genes!" Hemlata smiled to herself.

They worked, the voice coach and the Grandma.

They worked on pitch and tone and song choice and remembering the lyrics.

The photograph of Ratansey smiled down at them as they practised.

Then it was the big night.

The whole family was at the audition. Anshul and her parents, her Mom's siblings, their spouses and kids ... to cheer Grandma on.

"Cheer her on, or make her more nervous?" she asked, teasingly.

When her turn came, they waited outside the audition room, anxious.

It seemed to take forever.

Anshul had bitten off all the fingernails on one hand, and was starting on the other, when ...

The door opened.

She smiled at them.

"It wasn't unanimous, but I got three out of four yeses. I'm through to the next round."