A bright July. With steaming hot idly, chutney and gunpowder-paste Lalitha and I waited for my two sisters and their spouses for a week-long tour to Coimbatore, Guruvayoor, and other places. We got a call from my sister that they had just boarded the Innova from Bannerghatta Road and would be in SFV in twenty minutes. Hardly had I disconnected the phone when it rang again. “Must be wanting us to bring something more.” No, it was from my b-i-l this time, from Malleswaram, “Amma (my m-i-l) doesn’t respond when I went to her room with coffee,” her most cherished item of the morning. We rang up my sister, excused ourselves from the tour, and headed to Malleswaram instead. Meanwhile doctors confirmed our worst suspicions.
This was last year. Now after a year, it is time to bid final farewell to the departed soul. The ceremonies lasted three days. It is a family of six daughters (originally seven) and one son. So one can imagine a gathering with all of them, their children and grandchildren present - a mini-auditorium packed scenario. Such family-reunions also serve as a platform to recount interesting past. Amma, Ammammai, as she is hailed by children and grandchildren, she couldn’t boast of high education, but was bestowed with a matchless wisdom. A middle class family for all intents and purposes, she ran the show single-handed as Moorthy Anna (father in law) busied himself in Office during the day, and religious activities in the evening.
Amma was 90-plus, and her memory had begun to fade. Conversely, she would recite with incredible correctness some of the age-old Sanskrit slokas, and some Tamil renderings on Lord Muruga. Lalitha was hell-bent on tracing the Tamil renderings from her collection all this while. No luck, until last week she managed to meet her friend Uma’s mother(14th floor) who too recited them. She has kindly promised to get the book from Nagarkoil or, failing that, to write them down for Lalitha.
Amma is a good conversationalist. It is just that she would like to take charge of it, if not wholly. Since she spent the best part of her life in Kolkata, her Hindi bore a
heavy dose of Bengali accent, quite often leading to embarrassing situations. “Mera beti ki baadi bahut achhi hai”. Her Punjabi friends in Delhi were intrigued at what exactly was she trying to convey. Baadi in Bengali is home. “Mein Kolkata me 50 saal roi (rahi) thi”, she said on another occasion, sending her friends to peels of laughter. The young college-going girl downstairs would often drop in, just to have a chat with her. She had a younger brother. Her grandfather, a widower, too lived with them. One day Amma asked her, “Tumhara Dada ka umar kya hai?” She was wonderstruck. Why should Aunty, a widow, ask my grandpa’s age? Later she was told that Dada in Bengali means younger brother.
Amma is an outstanding cook, if only one can put up with her action-replay speed. But the final product is just fabulous, and worth waiting for, you would realize. I like her rasam and Maa Laadu, (besan ka laddoo) the best. For her, sons-in-law are always a cut above the rest. Only when she decides to give them a bit of her mind she treats them at par with her children. But no one minded it.
When it comes to marketing her children, she is at her elemental best. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that her only son is an MD in a multinational firm, has met the likes of Tendulkar, Sir Clive Llyod, for endorsement negotiations. Her eldest daughter is an accomplished singer for dance-drama performances. All the rest of her children work in banks. And the sons in law? Well, one joined the Board of Directors in a firm after retirement from a senior position in a bank. The other retired as Chief Manager from a bank, declined a series of senior-position offers from the corporate world. A lover of Nature, he preferred to spend his time in gardening. No wonder his garden is still rated a model in his layout. Yet another is an accomplished flute player and has given several performances, not to speak of his outstanding yoga acumen which keeps him fit like a fiddle in his mid-eighties. Well, the list goes on for her. What was unique about her was that she believed in an equitable distribution of praise.
I won’t wonder if she is equally busy so at the heavenly abode too - amidst those whom she missed badly until a year ago. For one, she should be updating Moorthy Anna since his departure years earlier. “Do you know that all your children are now in Bangalore?” Amma tells him. “Be that so. But say our children,” he corrects her, getting back at his old habit.
“Just one clarification. Is it that your good deeds have brought you here or, the fact that during one’s lifetime if one sees one’s own son’s, son’s son it would qualify one to the heavenly abode? Moorthy Anna queries, deliberately to tease her. “What do you mean?” ”Of course, my own deeds, m a n. To keep records straight, I have been devoting more time in my communion with God than you were with your religious activities,” she clarified, beginning to get back to her basics. And, for your information our son’s elder son is still in his teens, and so there is no question of son’s-son’s-son route, clear?” she affirmed. “Thanks for the info. But, you hailed me man, deviating from the Enna (I say) style. How come?” Moorthy Anna quips.
“I trust you will permit that upgrade henceforth. That makes me feel a little more close to you. Now that we are in a totally different world and start life all over again, I think I am entitled to that. You agree?” she asked. Okay dear, have it your way - as always,” he granted. “Is khushi mein, give me a hug,” he mustered courage to ask her. “Wait a minute,” she said as she got up to close the door. And then they lived in eternal peace thereafter.
V V Sundaram
06 July 2017
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