About 3 weeks ago, I was at my mom's home and we had a visitor. Ambulu Mami. She had come to say good bye. I have known her since 1976. The years had changed her appearance very little but she had come to announce the biggest change of her life. She was going to join an old age home / senior citizen's home along with her husband.
Ambulu Mami. We lived in D42 in Reserve Bank Colony, a vast sprawling campus that was then the residence of about 175 employees of the Bank. Ambulu Mami lived in B12, the adjacent block to mine. She was fair, short and rotund (she still is), her thin hair pulled back in a tight pigtail. A big kumkum bindi on her forehead, a nine stone mookuthi (nose ring) adorning her nose like any typical Brahmin wife, matching diamond earrings, plump lips that gave her a permanent pout and always wearing bright sarees whose 6 yards barely made the rounds around her more than ample waist.
Some memories of her include:-
Her high pitched nasal voice with which she belted out classical Carnatic songs. I guess she went through the typical Brahmin childhood experience (or trauma for some) of having to learn Carnatic Music or Bharatanatyam dance. She sang alright. Chinnanchiru pen pole written by Bharathiyar is one that I remember a lot. In the evenings, she taught the neighbourhood kids "Aigiri nandini" the songs about Durga. During Navarathri, the nine day festival in September-October, kids flocked to her home for her different sundal (a dry lentil snack) preparations. On one of those 9 days, she made Aval puttu (a sweet dish made with broken rice flakes). My siblings and I loved it so much that it became a tradition for her to send a boxful every year. She never forgot to give a rupee to each kid who visited her home. Considering I had to fight hard to get even 30 paise from my dad for butter biscuits, it was a huge sum and a treat indeed.
She was an even bigger friend of my grandmother. The 30 years of age difference didn't mean much. They were best of friends. They went to the Ashtalakshmi Temple on Besant Nagar beach together. After the morning chores were done, my grandmother, Ambulu Mami and a few other grannies got together at the car shed below Mami's flat and played Thayam (Ludo). They played variations of Ludo and gossiped. When I grew older and into my teens, I started hating the gang knowing vicious gossip emanated from that corner. My grandmother who ruled over my mother with an iron fist typical of mother-in-laws seemed to have a soft melting spot for Mami who was probably younger than my mother. Strange!
I resented that even more. I had a special name for her. Her real name was Alamelu but she was fondly called Ammulu. I made it Ambulu, then Ambuli and then ruthlessly made it Ambu Puli (arrow, tiger) Mami. Somehow, giving her the moniker of a fearsome tiger and a weapon of murder seemed justified. She always treated me the same but my distance with her grew over a period of time. In the late 80's, she moved into her own flat in Besant Nagar and I saw less and less of her. I never forgot to ask about her once a year - for her aval puttu. Selfish ingrate that I was.
So, I saw her again 3 weeks ago. She came to say that she was moving to a senior citizen's home. She didn't have any children (there was plenty of gossip about why). She sold her flat along with all the things in it, kept a few precious possessions to carry with her. She described her home cheerfully. She would get a separate living quarters to be with her husband, she didn't have to cook and she could have her nook for her gods and goddesses. She was ready to ride into her sunset years in the home. My grandmother who is 93 and very hard of hearing kept peppering her with questions even after she had long answered them. Finally, paati said, "Ammulu, why do you have to go to an old age home, why can't you just stay at your own home?" Mami replied very wryly, "Mami, ungalakku ithellam puriyathu - you will never understand this."
My grandmother didn't understand and probably never will. With 3 children and 5 grand children and a full life (even if the definition can be pretty nebulous), she is still unhappy. She complains about many things. My mother finally giving up on towing her ultra-conservative line, not comfortable staying with her younger son for various reasons (mostly unjustified), not getting along with her only daughter, moping about grand children not talking to her enough (there is a remote for increasing the TV volume but is there any for increasing your own to blast a deaf 93-year old's ears?), about a 4 year great grand daughter not playing with her - her problems are manifold.
Surely, she will never understand the loneliness of a childless couple having to re-start their lives in a strange home. She may never understand the fear of losing a spouse and being left all to yourself to face the vagaries of old age. She may never understand the longings and unfulfilled desires of a woman who loved kids but never had one of her own. Paati may never understand that the things that she takes for granted or grumbles about are what makes her life fuller, the deprivation of which Ambulu Mami has the rest of her to life to figure out.
Ambulu Mami. We lived in D42 in Reserve Bank Colony, a vast sprawling campus that was then the residence of about 175 employees of the Bank. Ambulu Mami lived in B12, the adjacent block to mine. She was fair, short and rotund (she still is), her thin hair pulled back in a tight pigtail. A big kumkum bindi on her forehead, a nine stone mookuthi (nose ring) adorning her nose like any typical Brahmin wife, matching diamond earrings, plump lips that gave her a permanent pout and always wearing bright sarees whose 6 yards barely made the rounds around her more than ample waist.
Some memories of her include:-
Her high pitched nasal voice with which she belted out classical Carnatic songs. I guess she went through the typical Brahmin childhood experience (or trauma for some) of having to learn Carnatic Music or Bharatanatyam dance. She sang alright. Chinnanchiru pen pole written by Bharathiyar is one that I remember a lot. In the evenings, she taught the neighbourhood kids "Aigiri nandini" the songs about Durga. During Navarathri, the nine day festival in September-October, kids flocked to her home for her different sundal (a dry lentil snack) preparations. On one of those 9 days, she made Aval puttu (a sweet dish made with broken rice flakes). My siblings and I loved it so much that it became a tradition for her to send a boxful every year. She never forgot to give a rupee to each kid who visited her home. Considering I had to fight hard to get even 30 paise from my dad for butter biscuits, it was a huge sum and a treat indeed.
She was an even bigger friend of my grandmother. The 30 years of age difference didn't mean much. They were best of friends. They went to the Ashtalakshmi Temple on Besant Nagar beach together. After the morning chores were done, my grandmother, Ambulu Mami and a few other grannies got together at the car shed below Mami's flat and played Thayam (Ludo). They played variations of Ludo and gossiped. When I grew older and into my teens, I started hating the gang knowing vicious gossip emanated from that corner. My grandmother who ruled over my mother with an iron fist typical of mother-in-laws seemed to have a soft melting spot for Mami who was probably younger than my mother. Strange!
I resented that even more. I had a special name for her. Her real name was Alamelu but she was fondly called Ammulu. I made it Ambulu, then Ambuli and then ruthlessly made it Ambu Puli (arrow, tiger) Mami. Somehow, giving her the moniker of a fearsome tiger and a weapon of murder seemed justified. She always treated me the same but my distance with her grew over a period of time. In the late 80's, she moved into her own flat in Besant Nagar and I saw less and less of her. I never forgot to ask about her once a year - for her aval puttu. Selfish ingrate that I was.
So, I saw her again 3 weeks ago. She came to say that she was moving to a senior citizen's home. She didn't have any children (there was plenty of gossip about why). She sold her flat along with all the things in it, kept a few precious possessions to carry with her. She described her home cheerfully. She would get a separate living quarters to be with her husband, she didn't have to cook and she could have her nook for her gods and goddesses. She was ready to ride into her sunset years in the home. My grandmother who is 93 and very hard of hearing kept peppering her with questions even after she had long answered them. Finally, paati said, "Ammulu, why do you have to go to an old age home, why can't you just stay at your own home?" Mami replied very wryly, "Mami, ungalakku ithellam puriyathu - you will never understand this."
My grandmother didn't understand and probably never will. With 3 children and 5 grand children and a full life (even if the definition can be pretty nebulous), she is still unhappy. She complains about many things. My mother finally giving up on towing her ultra-conservative line, not comfortable staying with her younger son for various reasons (mostly unjustified), not getting along with her only daughter, moping about grand children not talking to her enough (there is a remote for increasing the TV volume but is there any for increasing your own to blast a deaf 93-year old's ears?), about a 4 year great grand daughter not playing with her - her problems are manifold.
Surely, she will never understand the loneliness of a childless couple having to re-start their lives in a strange home. She may never understand the fear of losing a spouse and being left all to yourself to face the vagaries of old age. She may never understand the longings and unfulfilled desires of a woman who loved kids but never had one of her own. Paati may never understand that the things that she takes for granted or grumbles about are what makes her life fuller, the deprivation of which Ambulu Mami has the rest of her to life to figure out.
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