Manni.
That is how a baby born in 1990 was taught (by her naughty little cousins) to call her maternal Grandmother. The baby has now grown up and she still can't think of calling Her Paati or anything else. She is just that. My Manni. A very special Person in my life.
It was a poem that I wanted to write on Her. But I am not good enough to write a poem on a Poem.
Born in an orthodox Brahmin family, She was steeped in tradition; She followed every custom and performed every ritual religiously. She lost her father when She was five. Yet, She managed to finish Primary schooling even in those days. Married to my Thatha who was then in the Air Force, She multi-tasked easily, keeping every one of her brothers and sisters-in-law happy and rearing five children with the meager salary from thatha who would be posted in some far away regiment. She was possibly unaware of the word 'finance' but she managed the finances of the family very well. All her kids were well-fed and very well-educated. I remember Her telling me, a week ago, that She used to feel proud when she saw Her five children study harmoniously under a single light bulb.
She was the Best Wife. The Best Mother. The Best Mother-in-law. The Most Best Grandmother. Always ready with a welcoming smile, She was the embodiment of Hospitality and Goodwill.
"Nee aathukulla vandhaley galagalappa irukum. Enaku athu romba pidikum."- Her evergreen words to me. She loved my constant chatter and I always sat beside Her, listening and nodding, for her stories were always amusing. We did have our differences. I never believed in rituals, constantly questioned their relevance and showed reluctance in obeying them. She used to dislike my wearing pants and shirts, for She was taught to believe that those were inappropriate for girls. But, over the time, She got used to them and She herself bought jeans for me once. A Navarathri gift. That was a festival She always celebrated with passion. And I, without knowing much of the reasons behind the fest, just followed everything to please Her. Our Love and Bond matters more to me than the reasons behind rituals do.
Her Cooking- The Best on Earth. My mom's great culinary skills are just a reflection of the original Genius in Manni.
The past two weeks have been a gift to me. An opportunity to serve Manni. I shouldn't probably ask for more. But, all I need is just one minute- in the morning of last Saturday. One minute where I could have spoken to her; told her where I am leaving for and heard those wonderful words I always craved- "Maharaajiya Poittu Va"
P.S.- I am no longer an Agnostic. I am no longer confused about the existence of God. For I now know my God's identity. I have seen God-with all the virtues required of a God. I have grown in Her hands. I have slept in Her lap. I feel Her Heavenly Love. Here and Wherever I go.
It was a poem that I wanted to write on Her. But I am not good enough to write a poem on a Poem.
Born in an orthodox Brahmin family, She was steeped in tradition; She followed every custom and performed every ritual religiously. She lost her father when She was five. Yet, She managed to finish Primary schooling even in those days. Married to my Thatha who was then in the Air Force, She multi-tasked easily, keeping every one of her brothers and sisters-in-law happy and rearing five children with the meager salary from thatha who would be posted in some far away regiment. She was possibly unaware of the word 'finance' but she managed the finances of the family very well. All her kids were well-fed and very well-educated. I remember Her telling me, a week ago, that She used to feel proud when she saw Her five children study harmoniously under a single light bulb.
She was the Best Wife. The Best Mother. The Best Mother-in-law. The Most Best Grandmother. Always ready with a welcoming smile, She was the embodiment of Hospitality and Goodwill.
"Nee aathukulla vandhaley galagalappa irukum. Enaku athu romba pidikum."- Her evergreen words to me. She loved my constant chatter and I always sat beside Her, listening and nodding, for her stories were always amusing. We did have our differences. I never believed in rituals, constantly questioned their relevance and showed reluctance in obeying them. She used to dislike my wearing pants and shirts, for She was taught to believe that those were inappropriate for girls. But, over the time, She got used to them and She herself bought jeans for me once. A Navarathri gift. That was a festival She always celebrated with passion. And I, without knowing much of the reasons behind the fest, just followed everything to please Her. Our Love and Bond matters more to me than the reasons behind rituals do.
Her Cooking- The Best on Earth. My mom's great culinary skills are just a reflection of the original Genius in Manni.
The past two weeks have been a gift to me. An opportunity to serve Manni. I shouldn't probably ask for more. But, all I need is just one minute- in the morning of last Saturday. One minute where I could have spoken to her; told her where I am leaving for and heard those wonderful words I always craved- "Maharaajiya Poittu Va"
P.S.- I am no longer an Agnostic. I am no longer confused about the existence of God. For I now know my God's identity. I have seen God-with all the virtues required of a God. I have grown in Her hands. I have slept in Her lap. I feel Her Heavenly Love. Here and Wherever I go.
2 comments:
Completely touched!
Ur Manni lives on.People do not die.
Perfect tribute! (your words were poetic!) As I said, she definitely lives on..
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