Ammamma

“Ammamma”, a name, a beauty, a lady and an epic. That is what we used to call our grandmother. We USED to, because she passed away a few months ago. She was a legend, someone who never considered herself less than any in anyway. She had an amazing charm in her, I am sure; she would be the ‘babe of the village’ in her teens. She was unusual in her family, because all her brothers were dark in colour where as my Ammamma was fair and beautiful. All of us, we cousins would always tease her the same and I am sure my grandfather was completely bolded over her beauty. It was not just that, she was a bit too much of everything. She never considered herself less to anyone in anyway. Though she was not from a wealthy family, she never let anyone knew about her family status.

She was an epic among all her family members. She was loud, demanding and very authoritative. She had five sons and one daughter, who was the apple of the pie of family. My grandmother had her seal everywhere with a lot of talcum powder on her face and a big round bindi (of vermilion) with a fake hair bun (usually shaped like a bread roll) and a lot of flowers on it. She was an example of exemplified Indian beauty. She was indeed beautiful to many of them, men loved her and women envied her beauty. She had too much of hospitability in her and especially to her grandchildren, she was someone to who we were waiting to meet. Functions, festivals and every other celebration at home; she was the main co-ordinator. Not to forget, she was the ideal mother-in-law to all her daughters-in-law with all the regular ‘clichéd’ things between them (both good and bad with more bad than good)

Her death marked the end of all the celebrations of my return to India. She died with disease that was strange to our family. She was in hospital for 20 days and she faced the life with courage. It’s unfortunate that the advanced medicine could not make her do what she wanted to, Live... live longer and enjoy life. It is then, that struck to me, how trivial the science is. It is like, that there is someone who is very thirsty with a pot of water in front of him and he can’t get there to drink it.

Many a times she has been an example to me, though she dint teach me literally. She couldn’t because she was uneducated. She could not write nor read, yet she lived a life the way she wanted to, keeping everything and everyone in control. Considering that, she was a genius in the art of life. I have learnt from her and always have appreciated her ways of doing things. She even taught me something or made me realize when she died; she enabled me to realize how feeble I was, both physically and emotionally. She was there lying on the hospital bed lifelessly in a small room and all the visitors were showing their condolences, some fake and some real. I was near her head which had the gauze tied around it and there were no visitors for around 10 mins. I was alone with her and I touched her forehead. It sent shocks to me; she was cold and not moving. It was for the first time, I realized what death is, I had not seen death so closely till now. I was infect scared for a fraction of second with so many what ifs in my head, What if she would move my hand away? What if she will start talking to me? What if she sits on the bed and pulls her gauze away? Nothing like that happened though.

Her death helped to understand myself better I guess (I am being selfish here) she made me realize that emotions run high, I wasn’t emotional to see her death, I was about to break down when I saw my sister’s hand shivering as she touched her and waived a final good bye and when my aunt wished her the final adieu. I don’t know why, there are a few people who I can’t see crying. I went upstairs to the kitchen and held my handkerchief hard against my eyes. I was actually crying, don’t know the reason, but I was. I learnt something more about myself. I guess that is life...self discovery.

Finally, hats off Ammamma....may your soul rest in peace.