Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Patti
My grandmother passed away yesterday. And as I wrestle with my emotions, my mind in surprising lucidity, summons forth an incident related to me later by my parents. I am about a year old, and we are returning after visiting my grandparents in Chennai. Unfortunately, I am under the misconception that they are accompanying us, and when realization to the contrary dawns on me, I start bawling at the top of my lungs for my grandmother. I refused to be consoled even by my mother, and cause some consternation to my parents who have to contend with the suspicious stares of the other passengers and ultimately disembark.
She was a remarkable woman, my “Patti”. Sure, she shared some of the stereotypical qualities associated with those of her ilk, like her panache for collecting discarded wallets and her unshakeable belief in the healing prowess of Bengay. But it is also safe to say that had she had been born two generations later, she would have a Wikipedia entry dedicated to her exploits.
When I was born, she composed a song for me. She set the whole “Thiruvaymozhi” to her own tune. Her rendering of “Shankarabaranam” was pitch perfect. When she was younger, she had stories published in various magazines. Her ‘vatha-kozhambu’ was legendary. She could debate fiercely about politics and expound glibly on mythology. Her passion for cricket and tennis was something to behold. She had a special place in her heart for Roger Federer and probably shed a rare tear when he lost to Nadal in ”that” Wimbledon final. She was not without her faults, but none clouded her character – one that inspired a deep sense of respect, warmth and love in everyone who knew her intimately.
As the sun sets on another day here in another part of the world, I feel her absence transcending the miles separating me from home. Yet, tomorrow is another day, one in which I will have to strive hard to be half the person she so effortlessly was.