My Aunt
She was my most favourite aunt. My father’s younger sister, she was. Later she became my teacher also in my high school classes, in IXth and Xth. I had already written about her in my earlier chapters. As far back as I can remember, she used to tell me many stories in my childhood. I remember the days when I followed her wherever she went, to hear her stories. I still remember a few stories in which foxes and monkeys come as characters. As I grew up, her stories also got lengthened. She started telling me the stories of the Mahabharata and the Ramayana that took days and days to finish them. Those were the occasions when I followed her wherever she went, just to listen to her storytelling. She would be doing household work—sometimes grinding, at other times cooking, washing the pots, or inspecting and watering her plants and trees in the backyard. When I became old enough to read by myself, she brought me books to read. I read a lot. During my teenage, she brought me many biographies to read. Years later, when I looked back, I felt that reading biographies would motivate us to ascend great heights. I advised parents to follow the practice with regard to their children. She wrote speeches in Malayalam for me and I byhearted them and spoke. She took me to various competitions, in some I won and in yet others, I lost. She was sad whenever I lost the prize. In the Inter-District Youth Festival at Shornoor, I was in low spirits and I did not do well. I still remember her disappointed look after my speech. Usually, it was an extempore speech. The topic would be given five minutes before our turn. She prepared me with several speeches. The very first speech she prepared me for was on the topic “Njan bhaviyil arayi theeran agrahikkunnu?”(What do I want to become in the future?)I made this speech on three occasions. Kochamma had written in that speech about the ambition to become a doctor. I said I would work selflessly like Florence Nightingale. During Tagore’s Birth Centenary Celebrations, there were various competitions. I participated in Speech and Drawing. I had greatly admired Tagore even at that young age. I was in Std.VI at that time. I used to draw Tagore’s portraits, along with other drawings. I did not get any prize for my drawing but got the second prize for the elocution competition. The topic was the same: “What do I want to become in the future?”I got a Certificate and Tagore’s collection of poems titled Fruit Gathering. It is still a treasure in my collection of books.
The anti-climax of my speech on the topic of ambition came when years later, I asked Kochamma why she wrote for me that speech on becoming a doctor. “Did you really want me to become a doctor?” Her answer was sudden. “We will get a lot of points on that vocation.” I was dumbfounded!
I started writing little by little from my Std.VI onwards. But I never showed my writing to anybody, not even to Kochamma. I was too shy to do that. Only when a few of them appeared in papers or weeklies, my family knew about it. Now I feel that I ought to have shown them to her. She would have corrected them. Even the first novel I wrote, when DC Books made it into a book giving me an award, I had not given her my manuscript to read. After reading my book, she pointed out certain mistakes in my writing.
She wrote speeches and essays not only for me but for many of her students, her parish priests and others. She always encouraged her students in various activities. I had enjoyed the privilege as Kochamma’s niece among my teachers. They called her Annamma Cherian Teacher or Pandit.
I had always wanted to publish her poems in a book. I told her many a time to collect her poems. But after her death, when I searched her books and papers, I got only one or two of her poems. The regret still looms heavily in my heart. Kochamma was a woman of prayer. She prayed before she set out from home for any purpose. When she had the stroke first time in 2000, she had to spend the whole night in the backyard of the house under a plantain tree. Appappen was no more then. The milkman or somebody who came there in the morning found her sitting there. Later in the hospital when she recovered she said, she could not stand up and she sat there chanting Psalm 139. Then she had a vision. She saw a hand coming to lift her. She thought it was Appappen’s hand. She was not at all afraid. She sat there chanting the psalm and the prayers.
She had some quick remedial natural products with her like ginger and pepper. She loved her relatives and friends deeply and visited them. She would ask me to visit some of the dear ones. When I was in college, I used to look forward to her coming from school in the evening. Because of my busy schedule, I could not often visit her at Pallom after her retirement. Those were definitely joyous moments when I visited her. I used to take eatables for her. Once I took Appam and stew along with other eats. The next time when I visited her, she told me that it was so tasty that she had blessed me as Isaac blessed Jacob in the Bible.
The last time I visited her was on the Easter Day of 2006. I had taken Appam and curry, cake, etc. I had to go to our church service after that. I stepped out from the kitchen to leave. Then I stopped and looked at her. She looked sad. I requested her to bless me. It was an instant thought that came to my mind. She said, “papiyaya njan engane anugrahikkum?’ (“As I am a sinner, how can I bless you!”) I responded; “Kochamma, you were also my teacher. Please bless me!” Standing on the doorstep, she put her hands on my head and blessed me. Her eyes were wet. She looked sad. It was the last occasion I saw her alive. Hardly within a week or so, she fell unconscious and breathed her last on April 26th, 2006. She was much dearer to me. Waves of memories roll up and down. Untold sorrows remain….
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