Bab & Ken — ‘The Beginning’

Bab was really old.

A lot of his skin hung loose from his forehead. It seemed like waves would crest and rise and follow their own rhythms on his brow.

He had lived through times no one had ever seen. He was so old that everyone else had left him. Over the years, he had loved so many and so many had loved him back.

But, now here he was, haunching up from his armed settee, and tumbling his way into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, just for himself.

Bab loved teas. They were his favourite. And, he was very stubborn about making his teas all by himself.

There was perhaps a secret ingredient to all this tea making business. Nobody knew.

Was it the exact number of sugar crystals, was it a measured number of boils, or was it the locally sourced leaves he’d put? But, whatever it was, with every cup, Bab presented himself with a heavenly brown concoction of the gods.

Some said Bab had god gifted talent, but Bab knew better. He’d make teas in the mornings, then at noon, then a few hours later and then a few minutes afterwards. It was just the sheer practice of it.

If there was anything, Bab loved more than teas, ‘twas perhaps Ken, his grand daughter.

They had lived together for what seemed like lifetimes.

Ken, unlike Bab, was very very young. She most of all, didn’t quite understand Bab’s fascination with teas. She didn’t particularly like them either. She figured that this was something of a playtime for Bab. Just like how she had sometimes liked to be alone with her dolls.

Ken loved Bab, very much. After all, they had been best friends for so long. Bab would tell her all the secrets of life, of time that existed before her long long ago.

Ken loved the waves on Bab’s forehead. She’d often go, plant a kiss on the cresses. Like a boat waving around a stormy sea. She loved watching them go all crooked. But, mostly the joy was in watching the old man’s eyes twinkle, every time she pecked his forehead. He’d beam at her with so much light in his eyes, it’d be hard to tell that he was that old.

He had mischievous eyes, very starkly contrasted with any other of bodily signs.

Ken had a few friends, other than Bab. And the ones she did have, couldn’t quite understand why she had wanted to hang out with frail old person. They didn’t quite enjoy Bab’s stories that she excitedly memorised and narrated back.

It was a hot sunny afternoon. School was off. It was the holiday season. Bab and Ken sat on the bed, cards sprawled out in front.

“How does it feel to be old, Bab?” Ken asked, “Does it hurt? Does it make you sad?”

“No, not at all Ken” said Bab, a little taken aback at the inquiry. After a second’s pause, Bab added “Now that I’ve lived all of it — I can piece together all the stories, and they all have beginnings and ends, conclusions and lessons.”

“All of them?” asked Ken curiously.

“Well not all of them. I have some incomplete ones too. Sometimes I feel those are more beautiful than the complete ones. Old bab likes a wee bit of a mystery, you see?”

“Mmmm”, chuckled Ken.

Bab always sealed his words of wisdom with utter nonsense. This was what she adored about him. All these years had still kept him resolutely, lovingly stupid.

Stupid enough for him to keep hanging with a 5 year old.

It was kind of reassuring.