As clichéd as it might sound, every morning she
woke up with the first ray of the sun. My first glimpse of her
as a kid would be, seeing her water the plants. She enjoyed her work at home
and guarded it like a soldier. I still remember seeing her do the same thing at
the same time every day. Discipline, cleanliness and punctuality were the only
words that lingered around in those walls where she lived in. Authoritative in
stature but had aged beautifully and single handedly raised five children all on her
own. Of course, her husband had left her with wealth which would give them a
lavish lifestyle, if not anything.
She was a young widow, but strangely
so I saw in her a woman-ness that I cannot describe. She had this sense of
accomplishment, of having ruled like a queen. Spent lavishly, be it her love
for silk woven kachipuram sarees or a full-fledged south-indian meal, cooked
only by her. Her kitchen was a very special space; clean, symmetrical and in
order. Her speciality? Only she gets to cook in her kitchen. As a kid, I
remember sitting with my cousins cross legged on the ground while she served us
for breakfast, lunch and dinner as we ate in silence. I saw how complete she
felt each time she fed us. There was a sense of endearing that only an artist
felt when his work was appreciated or simply understood for that matter.
Moving out of the kitchen, the
bedrooms, and the main hall were well done with décor. It reflected of someone
who has a good taste, with pastel shade bedsheets and sofa that matched the
white laced curtains. The color of the paint of the house, the bathroom tiles and
the well-maintained garden, beautifully done. There were times when we helped her
do the chores, she would teach us how to make the bed, by tucking the bedsheet
tightly underneath so it wouldn’t form any rumples. Usually, children don’t
like order, they don’t like to be told what to do. But I don’t know why I was
so amazed by her. Being authoritative, she had this pride that sometimes
distanced her from the rest. I never saw her friends and we could never
interact with her normally. She had this strict persona that almost never let
anyone in. And that I wonder.
With such a strong exterior, she had
a sense of responsibility towards her own ones and sometimes even outsiders.
One of the stories that I recall, is how she saved my father’s business from
bankruptcy. My father talks about it with gratitude and humility as to how he
couldn’t have made it if not for that kind gesture. She also had her conflicts as she lived such a difficult life. In fact, she was all about them. She was straight forward, rude at times, reticent and at the same time demanding for attention. And we all gave in, as if that was the only way we could pay her emotional debts. The last time I saw her, she was in bed, unable to move, breathing with the help of an oxygen cylinder. She didn't survive cancer and left this world last year. I couldn't let go of her easily, I don't think I ever can.
(In the pic: Left is my mom with her in the middle and me on the right)
This was that part of my
childhood when I was making mind notes. As a young girl I met different kind of
women and men and they all amazed me and I wanted to be bits of all of them. She was one
of them. My mom’s eldest sister, Rita.
