A 70 Year Old Friendship Ends

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My mother left for another world on 26th April. We had her funeral on 27th April, 2021.

Delhi finally became our “mother land” for seven of her children and their families. 

In a world devastated by death Covid she breathed her last, untouched by Covid. Perhaps the way she wanted it.

She was on the lap of her favourite granddaughter and she sank into eternity.

My Right to Cry

When my father died I was not allowed to cry so though that is all what I wanted to do. Men and boys don’t cry they said.

But when my mother died I cried. I cried alone I cried as much as I could because  I was alone in my house in a curfew bound city. Men and boys should cry. They should be allowed to cry. 

Grace, my wife who would have understood my tears. But she was lying in a covid bed  in the hospital. 

Her Seasonal Surprises

My mother had a predictable way of handling my cries . Whether, I cried out of anger or pain the response was the same.

It was freshly cooked Ada (Adai)  straight from the fire hot, sweet and filling. A snack the world has forgotten to make.

As a  mother she often surprised us. In the rainy month of July she always came up with “Uluva Kanji” the fenugreek (methi)  gruel.

She followed it up with cashew nut laddoos. 

In the cashew nut season she was like squirrel storing up every nut for the rainy season. 

On Good Friday she served us the Inchi (ginger) Curry  and  the Ulli (onions) Curry two dishes which kept us longing for Good Friday them throughout the year. 

Good Friday is the day she took out her voice to sing “Amma Kinni Mani than” (Words are not enough to describe the sorrow of a grieving mother) 

Me, the Assistant Mother 

My mother was 17 and half years older than me. She brought me into the world on an Epiphany day.

I grew up to be her confident, her sounding board, her fellow conspirator and her secret weapon. 

Each child brings her own brand of ecstasy and her own brand of agony. My mother made me part of both the agony and the ecstasy my siblings brought to her world. 

She elevated me to the position of an Assistant Mother. We brought up my next four siblings Mary, James Ancy and Rose  together.  I was equally part of the agony and part of the ecstasy, the joys and perils of parenting. 

Lissy and Siby were born after I had left home. For them I just remained a “big brother.” 

It is a pity boys do not get such titles as Assistant Mother. Being the eldest sibling is a great privilege. 

I, the baby sitter 

But being an Assistant Mother made me a better baby sitter. My London University (Institute of Education ) days I made some money baby-sitting. I was the most sought after baby sitter, in the Kentish town area of North London. It is a pity nobody pays for baby sitting in India. 

My baby sitting experience prepared me  for  my long years with UNICEF. 

Now the pandemic prevents me from baby-sitting for my own grand children Tasha and Neil. A 1000 kilometres  and the pandemic separate us. 

When my son Benny was born, my mother came to Delhi. The superior mother handled Benny more indulgently. My son and I had similar childhood, thanks to Amma. 

My Mother the Story Teller 

My mother was also the unofficial family data bank. She remembered the events  the births and deaths in the larger family and the events and nuances surrounding each event. 

She also knew all the stories on the earth. The Old Testament stories, the New Testament stories, the puranas, the folklore, the local legends surrounding temples and churches, she knew them all. 

In the first Viva I faced in my life  as a five year old I narrated many of these  stories  to a Carmelite Sister and I became a Carmelite Discovery. I won a  first prize. I walked up the dais and returned seven inches taller. Nobody knew that I was just being an HMV, His Mother’s Voice 

The Intergenerational Amma 

After my father’s death and many brave and  home alone years she came back to us in Delhi.  

She developed a different equation with each of her nine grand children. Each one loved her and cared for her differently. 

Exceptional was her grand daughter Anjali who used psychology to keep my mother’s old age an every day celebration. There was novelty and laughter every day in her life. 

As for her five great grand-children she could not reach out to them because of distances. 

She invents a New relationship

So she invented a new relationship with the next door neighbour, the four year old Achu, who became her ardent admirer and staunch defender. 

We watched this intergenerational dynamics with dismay and amusement. Achu was conscious of her every move, every anxiety. He alerted us in time 

“She is no more”, you would say. She is a lot more. I know.