“Her birth bought death to my mother”, Appappan said on Vena’s birth. After a granddaughter everyone was looking forward to having a grandson when amma became pregnant and when Vena my sister was born, there was disappointment. No one wanted another girl and they were angry. In a society where boys are coveted and girls were just an afterthought, Vena was certainly not welcome. Coupled with Muthi Ammamma’s death on her birth everyone considered her unlucky.
Amma had gone into labour early and there had been no time to rush her to the hospital and she had given birth to Vena at home at Perumbavoor attended by a midwife. When Appan heard of this, e was working in Madras at that time, he was upset and shouted at Njama (Amma’s mother), “You were trying to save money, if anything had happened to her, I would have killed you all.” Though Njama certainly had no such intention, the premature labour and the remoteness of the place made it difficult to get amma to the hospital on time. And immediately after the delivery, they had been rushed to the hospital. Vena was a sickly child but she survived.
Appan and Amma had had a love marriage they had eloped. In a conservative society like ours it had been a terrible thing bringing shame and ridicule to Amma’s aristocratic family. Appan’s family such lower on the social scale had accepted the marriage without any ado. Amma’s family’s rejection always rankled with appan and to him everything looked like an unforgivable slight. Maybe it was his guilty conscience at taking off with the sister of his best friend when they had treated him like family and let him stay with them. Appan had come to Amma’s house to design and construct a tombstone for her grandfather who had been a priest in the Jacobite Syrian Orthodox Church. He designed a beautiful tomb whish is still considered a masterpiece but also made off with the eldest daughter of the house.
Vena became the light of my life, the person I loved most in the world. Everyone thought there would be sibling rivalry towards her considering the fact I had had all the attention focused on me, being the only grandchild in both Appan’s and Amma’s house. Instead I was Vena’s guardian, willing to take on any one any size that thought or spoke ill of her.
She was baptized in the Catholic Church and ammamma was the godmother. No one attended the ceremony. Amma does not even remember it. She says Appan was in Madras and ammamma took her to the church one day and got her baptized but that seemed too far-fetched to be true. Amma probably did not care, angry with God for giving her another girl when she wanted a boy. Anyway no one remembers her baptism and for a long time everyone said she had been named Anna after Ammamma. Only Ammamma’s name is really Mariam and no one even knows who Vena is named after. According to custom the first-born is named after the paternal parents and second born if of the same sex is named after the maternal parents. In our case no one seems to know what had happened. I was baptized in Amma’s church and my godmother is Njama.
Luckily for us Appan was working in madras in the railways at the time and we moved there away from all the sickening competition going on between the paternal and maternal grandparents.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Mar Papa
Muthi Ammamma was a devout Catholic, making it to the church for the early morning mass come rain or shine. It was her life long dream to see Mar Papa (His Holiness The Pope) in person and her grandson loved playing pranks on her about this.
Once when she was in her nastiest moods, he arranged for his friends to come and tell him, “have you seen the paper today? Mar Papa is coming to our church today.”
It was be loud enough to make sure Muthi Ammamma heard it. She immediately changed into her finest clothes, rushed to the church. Soon it was dusk and she was still there, waiting. The priest seeing her asked her, “Why are you not going home?”
“Mar Papa is coming.”
“Where? Who told you?”
“It is there in the paper.”
Knowing Muthi ammamma and her grandson well, the priest convinced her to return home. She returned convinced that if she had stayed a little longer maybe Mar Papa would have made his appearance.
To anyone who cared to listen she said, “Do you know, Mar Papa has a golden complexion and has the softest skin on earth?”
As she aged, her mind played tricks on her, she became very paranoid, afraid that the world and especially ammamma her daughter in law was out to get her. The mornings were usually full of complaints of the previous night.
“Yesterday night, I was sent to bed hungry.”
“Really”
“Mariam had made Kozhallappams and other Pallaharam and she waited till I went to bed, then crept off and ate it all alone when I was sleeping.”
“I will check if there is any left over from yesterday’s night feast.” Appan would tell her.
“No, No There will be nothing left over, I heard her sweeping the floor and cleaning after she finished eating.”
“Really ammamma you should have called me and we would have put a stop to it all once and for all.”
“You see I can’t do that, because she has little magic elves working for her and they come and tie me up in the night to make sure I don’t get up or call out.”
“Where are the ropes they used to tie you?”
“They are magic ropes and no one can see them. Yesterday I lay down on the bed to sleep but they pushed me on to the floor, which is where I was in the morning.
Then they climb on top of me and punches me on the chest, see look at the marks.”
In her hallucinating mind she lived in a world populated by elves and magician and Kuttichatans. For her the pallaharams and the punches were real, the marks invisible to all but her. Appan and his friends loved talking to her and her hallucinated stories were great fun as they grew up. She had a special affection for me as her first great grand daughter. At nights when I stayed awake crying and everyone was trying to get me to settle down, she would insist, “Check under her arm, there are ants biting her.”
She was convinced that the ants had a vendetta against me and were planning to bite me to death.
Once when she was in her nastiest moods, he arranged for his friends to come and tell him, “have you seen the paper today? Mar Papa is coming to our church today.”
It was be loud enough to make sure Muthi Ammamma heard it. She immediately changed into her finest clothes, rushed to the church. Soon it was dusk and she was still there, waiting. The priest seeing her asked her, “Why are you not going home?”
“Mar Papa is coming.”
“Where? Who told you?”
“It is there in the paper.”
Knowing Muthi ammamma and her grandson well, the priest convinced her to return home. She returned convinced that if she had stayed a little longer maybe Mar Papa would have made his appearance.
To anyone who cared to listen she said, “Do you know, Mar Papa has a golden complexion and has the softest skin on earth?”
As she aged, her mind played tricks on her, she became very paranoid, afraid that the world and especially ammamma her daughter in law was out to get her. The mornings were usually full of complaints of the previous night.
“Yesterday night, I was sent to bed hungry.”
“Really”
“Mariam had made Kozhallappams and other Pallaharam and she waited till I went to bed, then crept off and ate it all alone when I was sleeping.”
“I will check if there is any left over from yesterday’s night feast.” Appan would tell her.
“No, No There will be nothing left over, I heard her sweeping the floor and cleaning after she finished eating.”
“Really ammamma you should have called me and we would have put a stop to it all once and for all.”
“You see I can’t do that, because she has little magic elves working for her and they come and tie me up in the night to make sure I don’t get up or call out.”
“Where are the ropes they used to tie you?”
“They are magic ropes and no one can see them. Yesterday I lay down on the bed to sleep but they pushed me on to the floor, which is where I was in the morning.
Then they climb on top of me and punches me on the chest, see look at the marks.”
In her hallucinating mind she lived in a world populated by elves and magician and Kuttichatans. For her the pallaharams and the punches were real, the marks invisible to all but her. Appan and his friends loved talking to her and her hallucinated stories were great fun as they grew up. She had a special affection for me as her first great grand daughter. At nights when I stayed awake crying and everyone was trying to get me to settle down, she would insist, “Check under her arm, there are ants biting her.”
She was convinced that the ants had a vendetta against me and were planning to bite me to death.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Muthi Ammamma
My earliest memories are at the age of two and a half, I don’t know if it is really a memory or images made up after listening to the old stories told to me again and again by appan. Anyway this memory I have is about standing at my great grand mother’s deathbed and offering her water, which she drinks. The story told to me about this more elaborate, but I have no recollection of all that at all.
My great grand mother (Appan’s father’s mother) whom we called Muthi ammamma was dying and her family was standing around her. As per our custom each family member was offering her water but being a very stubborn lady she refused to take water from any of them, convinced that it was poisoned. Then I asked her if she wanted me to give her water and she smiled, drank the water I offered and passed away peacefully.
Muthi Ammamma was a typical woman of her times. Her belief systems were strong and her character even stronger. The mother of three children – two sons and a daughter, she loved them unquestioningly but when my grandfather got married she turned into the proverbial ammai amma, the dreaded mother in law.
At dinner time men eat first and then the ladies, as is the custom. Taking advantage of this she would serve the men dinner and when they finish and leave, she tells her daughter in law, ”Oh my dear what will we do now, the pot is empty, the rice is over. We have to go to bed athazhapattinni (on an empty stomach).”
The daughter in law can do nothing about this other than say, “That is okay. Don’t worry.”
Then the masterpiece, “Don’t tell this to the men, they will get angry.”
Again a dutiful daughter in law agrees to keep the secret.
But then in the night, once everyone is asleep Muthi ammamma would sneak off to finish the rice she had hidden away secretly from the daughter in law.
The daughter in law, my ammamma hears the noise in the kitchen and ignores it.
This keeps happening again and again for the next few days till the husband my appappan realizes something is wrong. Much coaxing later ammamma tells him what has been going on, and he solves the problem using a simple trick. Everyday when he is served dinner, he asks for more rice than he could possibly eat and then just eats part it leaving one half of his food untouched. Then when he gets up, Muthi Ammamma would want to know why he did not finish his food.
“I am full. Let her finish it, don’t throw it away.”
Muthi ammamma is stuck, she hates wasting food and she absolutely hates eating left over food. The only solution was to let ammamma eat it.Appappan kept leaving food in his plate till his death, many many years after ammamma had died.
My great grand mother (Appan’s father’s mother) whom we called Muthi ammamma was dying and her family was standing around her. As per our custom each family member was offering her water but being a very stubborn lady she refused to take water from any of them, convinced that it was poisoned. Then I asked her if she wanted me to give her water and she smiled, drank the water I offered and passed away peacefully.
Muthi Ammamma was a typical woman of her times. Her belief systems were strong and her character even stronger. The mother of three children – two sons and a daughter, she loved them unquestioningly but when my grandfather got married she turned into the proverbial ammai amma, the dreaded mother in law.
At dinner time men eat first and then the ladies, as is the custom. Taking advantage of this she would serve the men dinner and when they finish and leave, she tells her daughter in law, ”Oh my dear what will we do now, the pot is empty, the rice is over. We have to go to bed athazhapattinni (on an empty stomach).”
The daughter in law can do nothing about this other than say, “That is okay. Don’t worry.”
Then the masterpiece, “Don’t tell this to the men, they will get angry.”
Again a dutiful daughter in law agrees to keep the secret.
But then in the night, once everyone is asleep Muthi ammamma would sneak off to finish the rice she had hidden away secretly from the daughter in law.
The daughter in law, my ammamma hears the noise in the kitchen and ignores it.
This keeps happening again and again for the next few days till the husband my appappan realizes something is wrong. Much coaxing later ammamma tells him what has been going on, and he solves the problem using a simple trick. Everyday when he is served dinner, he asks for more rice than he could possibly eat and then just eats part it leaving one half of his food untouched. Then when he gets up, Muthi Ammamma would want to know why he did not finish his food.
“I am full. Let her finish it, don’t throw it away.”
Muthi ammamma is stuck, she hates wasting food and she absolutely hates eating left over food. The only solution was to let ammamma eat it.Appappan kept leaving food in his plate till his death, many many years after ammamma had died.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Dreams
I dreamt about appan yesterday night. He was dead and lying on the cot on the white clothe before being moved into the coffin and all of us sitting around, crying, sobbing, upset. Then he started moving his eyelids and then his legs as if they were aching from lying still for so long. We all sat their surprised and our cousin AB moved closer to him and kissed him. Then all of us started smiling and laughing with relief. My son T moved close to him and started kissing him. Appan got up and soon everyone was talking excited at what had happened. We asked him what had happened and he said, “He told me that I had a lot of unfinished prayers to say, pilgrimages to make and thanks to give Him. He told me to wait till then. Besides there is a lot I have to do here. We need to make a new road to make the house more accessible to cars.”
J my hubby said that was okay we would do whatever has to be done. Then amma, C and I walked toward the gate and we saw people coming for the funeral and we were smiling happily when they asked where appan was and we said, “He is waiting inside.”
J my hubby said that was okay we would do whatever has to be done. Then amma, C and I walked toward the gate and we saw people coming for the funeral and we were smiling happily when they asked where appan was and we said, “He is waiting inside.”
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Dream Home
As an architect, he was very talented. The houses he designed afforded a level of privacy very rare in homes usually built for display of wealth. I never knew about this aspect of his design, but people who have lived in his houses often speak about it and I decided to check it out, especially after our house was built. In his houses the bedrooms and toilets are havens of privacy. In a very skilled way he ensures that one cannot see into the bedroom or toilet even if the door is open and you are sitting in front of the room. In contrast in our new house designed by a very famous architect, anyone sitting in the drawing room or in my brother-in-law’s house can see everything taking place in the bedroom, dressing room and toilet. So we have had to have curtains installed everywhere for the very bare minimum privacy required. All this would not have come about if my hubby had asked appan to design the house. But he was egoistic and has now paid the price by ending up with a house that is basically uninhabitable. If he had bothered to check out houses designed by appan then he would have realized how talented appan really was.
He never was able to make his own house. If we had made him draw the plan for a dream house then maybe at some time, if we ever have the money, we could have build the house. But these are just desires that cannot come true. I remember when we had just bought the current house 20 years back it had 15 rooms, all tiny inter connecting with windows opening in one another. Appan redesigned the entire house and made it a very modern one. I remember him saying,” Usually when I have to design for someone else, I sit waiting for ideas to come but now when I am doing it for our own house, I have so many ideas that I am finding it hard to incorporate all of them into the plan.”
He never was able to make his own house. If we had made him draw the plan for a dream house then maybe at some time, if we ever have the money, we could have build the house. But these are just desires that cannot come true. I remember when we had just bought the current house 20 years back it had 15 rooms, all tiny inter connecting with windows opening in one another. Appan redesigned the entire house and made it a very modern one. I remember him saying,” Usually when I have to design for someone else, I sit waiting for ideas to come but now when I am doing it for our own house, I have so many ideas that I am finding it hard to incorporate all of them into the plan.”
Monday, October 09, 2006
Novels and Notes
Appan always wanted to write. He had made a lot of notes for the novel he was going to write. As I rummaged through his stuff, there was this notebook where he had put down notes and passages of his novel. He could have done it too if he had not been so disorganized in everything. He had a way with words. Every little thing would turn into a fascinating story. His stories of his childhood were really the best. His observations about the various people who lived around him as he grew up. He talked about Chacklathy Ouseph, Placka Johnny, Chumaru and lots of others. The stories were funny. If he had bothered to write them down it would have been as great as Tom Sawyer’s adventures. There was an eccentric man who was obsessed with making an atom bomb inside a mustard seed. He talked about nothing else and appan was sure that if the conditions were right, he might even have succeeded. He used to tell them when we were small and all those stories have been forgotten.
It has just been 60 days but he is turning into a memory slowly. Everything was so sudden, the disease, the death and funeral, the tears, the pain and the guilt. Did we do enough? Could we have done more? Were we good children? Did we make him proud? There were times when I hated him and wanted him dead then there were times when I loved him and felt lost without him. But whenever there was a doubt I called him and asked for his opinion and he always managed to clear my doubts.
It has just been 60 days but he is turning into a memory slowly. Everything was so sudden, the disease, the death and funeral, the tears, the pain and the guilt. Did we do enough? Could we have done more? Were we good children? Did we make him proud? There were times when I hated him and wanted him dead then there were times when I loved him and felt lost without him. But whenever there was a doubt I called him and asked for his opinion and he always managed to clear my doubts.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Condolensce Visits
People come to visit me and are surprised to see me laugh and talk. I understand that. But for me, Appan’s death is very personal; mine not to be shared with others. Every moment is spend thinking about him, he fills my memories but I am unable to share that with others, with people who did not know him or who knew after his businesses failed. Those who knew before know how wonderful he was, generous, patient and loving. To amma he was the greatest pillar of support, expecting nothing in return for his generosity towards her family.
I was his favorite daughter. Once he saw an accident in Ernakulam, an auto had hit a schoolgirl. She was scared but not hurt and crying. People crowded around but did not help. Then Appan saw the girl cry and her lips curled the way mine did as a baby. That prompted him into action, getting her to hospital, informing her parents. V used to say Appan would move heaven and earth to make sure I did not cry.
I was his favorite daughter. Once he saw an accident in Ernakulam, an auto had hit a schoolgirl. She was scared but not hurt and crying. People crowded around but did not help. Then Appan saw the girl cry and her lips curled the way mine did as a baby. That prompted him into action, getting her to hospital, informing her parents. V used to say Appan would move heaven and earth to make sure I did not cry.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Letting go
I was searching for a recipe on the Internet when J came home in a hurry to tell me that Appan’s condition had worsened. This was on Aug 8th, after that tickets were brought and then everything happened so fast. When I reached his side, he did not look ill, he had lost weight and looked weak but he was talking with everyone who visited. But he was serious, maybe not smiling much even when we joked. Death was at that point the furthest thing from our minds. We didn’t think he would go, we didn’t think he would ever go.
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