You would think that the heart would grow accustomed to these blows, year after year, one beloved grandparent after another. It was my last grandparent, my mother's mother, who died today. Her own last years have known one loss after another, my grandfather, her sister; the slow deterioration of her body, the aches and pains, the hear, the lungs slowly failing. I hope it came as a mercy to her, her mind was sharp to the end, I hope she did not know too much pain. She is gone, I do not weep for her, only for myself, that I will never see her again.
Above all thing I regret my hesitance, the what-if's, the maybe's, the distance, the time, the coronavirus, the visa, that kept me from going there, and now its too late.
What are my first memories? She was in the kitchen in the house in Kamaraj ave, boiling milk maybe. Yelling at the cat - Polipolo when it knocked the milk over. She was hiding behind the mango tree at school, because I would not be left alone there. Walking me to Paatu Maami's house to learn music, Padmini Maami's house, Dhananjayan, to Raman sir's house, where she would sit and wait through every lesson. "Half-asleep, you with your eyes closed, and he also with his eyes closed." she would scold after class.
I would go with her to Kutcheri's at Padmanabhaswamy temple and Music Academy and Narada Gana Sabha - as long as her legs allowed. A few weeks ago, I sent some TM Krishna lectures to her, and she enjoyed them and reminded me to keep singing. "Paada paada raagam, mooda mooda rogam".
For me she is bound with all the years I spend at school. Coming home from school, walking from Sishya, or by rickshaw or van or by bus from Vidya Mandir and PS, shutting myself up in that small bedroom, she would make me paal-chai, flavored with tulsi leaves plucked from her plant.
Ammai's love language was food, and her cooking was legendary. Alu parathas for school for me every day. Paata and Mummy already picking pieces off it even before she had packed it for the night. Then my friends at school would have their go at it. Parathas, Molakapodi, and as she grew too old and too frail to cook, she would buy me a packet of muthusaram from Grand Sweets every year.
And the snacks for every festival - appam and cheedai and pakodam, and the best Gulab Jamuns, which she was making even two years ago, even though she was getting frailer by the day.
And she made dosai even for Nuggy! He was not allowed inside the house, so he would be tied up in the little place for dishwashing, and Ammai would make a dosai especially for him and he would gobble it up, the fatty!
Ammai married young - to me it seems ridiculously young, in that age, she was perhaps even old. She would talk about tutoring Paata for his exams, though she was ten years younger. They made quite a couple - Ammai barely at 5 feet, Paata seemed to tower over her, but her personality was more than a match for his height.
To me she taught Sanskrit, my 3rd language for 2 years and 2nd language for 3. "Paropakaram idam shareeram". She lived in the service of her family.
She was the ultimate martyr - not only would she push herself constantly to cook and feed and call people home, but she would always refuse the things that she enjoyed. But it was hilarious! We would take over chaat or a bottle of Sprite, and refusing all the while until finally, she would enjoy a sip or a bite. And I remember when Shrija and I got some ice cream for the family in Pennsylvania, and took them for lunch, we didn't offer it to her, because we didn't think she would eat it, but she wanted it, and enjoyed it! Ammai really did have a sweet tooth and our family's love for junk food we have inherited from her.
Ammai's house was where we all gathered in the evening. At least for an hour, even on weekends, in the days when she and Paata would go for the Bhagavad Geeta classes. To me it seems like such a short time ago, when they would walk all the way to Vidya Mandir, or Mummy would take them by car, when they were both there, and well enough to go.
She had so many stories - when I was young it was the stories of Dhruva and Prahalada, then stories of her family, how her mother came from Burma by boat with Ambujam Chitti, and Rashamani Maama and her, and lost her gold on the way, how her father walked through the forests full of leaches. All her stories were fascinating.
For someone who was born so many years ago, she was able to navigate the modern world so well. She adapted to WhatsApp and FaceTime. She had flown multiple times, all by herself from India to the US and back. I see people of a much younger generation struggle so much, and she was so impressive, that she never let the change of the modern world overwhelm her.
It's so strange to think of the house in Gandhi Nagar without her. She was such a fixture in Chennai, it makes my heart drop a little, every time that I think that she will no longer be there when I go. It comes in sudden moments, "Oh, she's no longer there," an idea I'm still not used to.
Even last year, when I saw her at the wedding, she seemed fine - vertigo she said, but it seemed like such a small problem, her mind was as clear as it ever was, if she was a little weak physically, well, that was only age. But maybe it was more than that and we never knew.
I'll miss her terribly. I tried to call her every week this year. I remember her telling me to sing, I told her about the food that I'd cooked, I prayed that the pandemic would leave her unscathed. But she died anyway, even though it wasn't COVID. But Covid made everything so much harder - the fear of infection every time she went to the hospital, the fear of catching Covid while traveling, the quarantine period... there were few people at her rites than at my grandfather's because of it - probably for the best, but not what she deserved.
I have been lucky to have her all these years, lucky that she was there at my wedding, that I was able to visit her at least once a year, and have her and Paata stay with me once; even 30 years ago it would have been difficult to see her so frequently, to talk to her so easily over the phone. But I will still miss her, Chennai seems a little emptier without her.
