Chapter 4 Solutions — Vitamin-M

Grandpa had spent most of his life in a small brick house in a quiet town and was accustomed to a peaceful, self-reliant existence.

He hated the noise and bustle of city life. He had cherished his town home — 'Such a wonderful place…! With that big mango tree in the garden! It is so quiet that at dusk you can even hear a leaf fall!' — and was forced to move to the 'poky little flat' in the 'horrible, crowded city' only after he slipped and fell in his garden and lay outside all night with no one to help him.

Additionally, city life stripped him of his independence. Vidya (his daughter) forbade him to go out alone, which he found deeply humiliating given that he had looked after himself — cooking, shopping, and keeping house — for decades after his wife's death.

Despite the story's opening suggestion of poor memory, two episodes clearly disprove this:

1. Chess mastery: Grandpa recalls thousands of chess games in precise detail — 'That's the opening move Karpov made when he played against the computer,' or 'You're making the same mistake that Bobby Fischer made in his historic match against Spassky.' This is extraordinary long-term memory for a man supposedly forgetting everything.

2. Birthday gifts: Grandpa gives a gift-wrapped present to every 'child in the house' on his own birthday, a tradition he has maintained over the years. When Vidya exclaims that Ravi's birthday was three months ago, Grandpa calmly corrects her: 'No. But you know I always give a gift to every child in the house on my birthday.' He also gives gifts to both Ravi's parents. His memory for relationships and traditions is impeccable.

Additionally, his final detective-book gift to Ravi — with its knowing reference to 'trailing a suspect' — proves he was alert and aware of Ravi's movements throughout the day.

The refrain 'I cannot remember my mother' is the emotional heartbeat of the poem. Repeated at the opening of each stanza, it creates a sustained mood of gentle sorrow and longing.

Its primary emotional impact is paradoxical: each time the poet says he cannot remember, the stanza that follows proves that some part of the memory does survive — through a tune, a flower's scent, or the stillness of the sky. This tension between forgetting and remembering makes the refrain deeply moving.

For readers who have lost or been separated from their mothers, the line resonates as a universal human experience. The simplicity of 'I cannot remember' is more affecting than elaborate lament — it is the quiet ache of a child who lost his mother too early to hold onto a conscious image of her.

The repetition also creates a musical quality, like a song returning to its chorus — fitting, since the poem is about a tune that hovers from the mother's cradle songs.