I lost my last grandparent, Chella paati, last Friday (1936- 2nd Dec 2022), and it is difficult for me to say whether there is a painful vacuum in my heart, or if my heart is full of her. As my memories of her flood me, I have come to realize that my life would be a full one, if only I can live it with half the flair with which she lived hers.
She was an extraordinary woman, even by today's standards. And, even more so when she could be associated with a generation that was born almost a hundred years ago, in the pre-independence era of India. She and Jayaram thatha were a couple that one could only dream to emulate. Typical of that era, she was married at the age of 13. Soon after, she lost her father, and thatha brought-in her mother, younger brother and younger sister. Their family slowly grew, and at one point they were providing for their two mothers, her younger siblings, thatha's blind sister, and another of his sister's sons, in addition to seven children of their own! She held that family together with exceptional integrity, and conducted herself in such a way that every one who ever knew her held her in the highest esteem.
Barring the last few years, I cannot recall her ever being an idle woman. I fondly remember her walking briskly around the house attending to various chores, and not tolerating laziness from anyone in her eyesight. If I saw her sitting in the afternoons, it was still with a large book in which she religiously wrote her daily quota of sriramajayam. She was so rigid in her own ways of living, and had strong views on traditional practices, that one may find it difficult to imagine her to be equally progressive in her own way. Right from rationalizing and accepting "love-marriages" to her grandchildren's thoughts on life, she was full of surprises. I remember when one vacation, I was surprised to find a stray dog feely roaming inside and outside my grandmother's home (long after thatha's passing). My first thought was that paati must be extremely disturbed by this, considering her rigid "madi" beliefs, and then my cousin filled me in on the back-story. The dog was found outside their home writhing in pain with a broken leg. While my cousins and uncle took it to a vet, and brought it home, it was apparently paati who sat by it all night patting it and speaking to it soothingly. I realized her humanity was beyond everything else she stood by.
I remember so many animated conversations with her on a variety of topics ranging from cricket to politics, from movies to spirituality. I learnt from her, both about Kapil Dev and Kanchi Maha Periava. I remember how she, who seldom comes to her daughter's home, came to send me off to the US in 2008, with a 500 Rs note in my hand. I treasured it, knowing and believing as everyone else in our large family, that as long as we had money given by her, we would not be poor. To-date, I hold on to the money she gives me separately.
I remember how, when Narasimhan mama once asked me to go with my cousins to their grandparents home in Pudukkottai and I refused, paati suggested that we make it a fun outing, and she joined us and the travels took us all the way to Sussendram and Kanyakumari. When I finished my bachelors and I was getting ready to leave for the USA, I casually lamented to her that my parents do not take me anywhere, and how I wish I could see the great Brihadeeswara temple, atleast for the engineering marvel it is. She instantly made arrangements, and we were on our way the same afternoon. She, my cousin Balaji and me. She not only took me to Tanjore, but she also made a few phone calls to connect with people who could give me an insider's view of the temple. Much beyond my wildest expectations, I actually got to climb into the corridors in the gopuram, looking at the inside architecture, paintings and construction (Of course she did too). She was over 70 years old then! On our way back, I remember her stopping in the Kumbeshwarar temple, and pointing out the decorations on ambal, and the chariot architecture in Sarangapani temple.
She has faced unimaginable sorrows, and travails, but she never stopped living. I remember how tough her life was in the early 90s, with both thatha and Gowri chithi fighting their losing battles with cancer, how she still rallied after their departures, and how we still looked up to her as the pillar of the family, and she never let us believe otherwise. She had a gang of friends with whom she pilgrimaged around the country- Kashi to Kanyakumari, Dwaraka, Somnath to Ayodhya, Mathura and Puri. Her spirit was indefatigable.
She never offered unsolicited advice (a habit of most elderly people), but when asked, her replies were always unambiguous and showed great clarity of thought. She could be stubborn and adamant, but she was also an epitome of kindness and affection. Every first day of vacation in Parrys corner was marked by my favorite kandanthipilli rasam, kathirika kootu and thirati paal. Her thirattipaal can never be matched by anyone in my lifetime. She continued making it for me until a few years back, when she could no longer stir the milk so continuously. Unfortunately, to my great remorse, I never got to taste the last time she made it for me. Apparently, she misunderstood that I was arriving in Chennai, instead of in Hyderabad when I travelled from the USA. She made my welcome dishes and was waiting for me at her gate. When I never showed, she learnt that I was landing in Hyderabad, and not Chennai. When I did go to visit her, however, she apologized that she did not have the strength to make it one more time.
Paati always had a calm and smiling face. Her japa mala and sriramajayam book are etched in my mind. I can not recall unkind words she has said of anyone to me, which showed great mental strength. Till the end, when we could all see how her health had deteriorated, she still never complained. I visited her, after her fall last month and when she needed stitches on her head, she never complained. The morning of her death, mama and manni called the ambulance sensing that she was unwell. When asked how she was feeling, she said she was perfectly alright. Her breathing slowed, and she passed away, uncomplaining. She has left a vacuum that can never be filled. I will never be blessed enough to be associated with another such extraordinary woman in my lifetime.
I will always miss you paati, but I hope you do not return for another janma. You have faced everything God threw at you without complaining, down to Mama's death, with your head held high. You suffered unimaginable pains, but you showed all of us the meaning of life. My head will remain bowed to you.
