My Ammachy
Ammachy, How many years have passed since I sent
letters to you! It has been long ten years since you reached the heavenly abode where the letters don’t reach. It was much before then that I wrote letters to you! While I was working in Catholicate College, Pathanamthitta. Ammachy, I remember, you used to write letters to me in your beautiful handwriting. You wrote all news in such letters. My sorrow lingers that I don’t have a single letter of yours with me to cherish. We start valuing things when it’s too late. Where have I misplaced them?
We had to study Jawaharlal Nehru’s “A Father’s Letters to his daughter “at school. I was crazy about sending letters to my friends during the vacation. Ammachy, you may remember it.
I had never told you that I loved you. Expressing love in words and through gestures was not a streak in our family. I still remember the day when you asked me to scratch you on the back as you had some itching there. I think I did it unwillingly. “You have no love towards me…” You commented then. I realised, as I had no nails, you might not have felt comfortable when I scratched your back. A person gets satisfaction only if a loving person scratches him/her on the back—so is the belief. Anyway, it made me sad then, and the memory is still painful to me….
Ammachy, you were a clever woman. ‘Smart,’ if I use a common language. You were the one who upheld our family. While we waded through many crises,whatever be they, when Appachen sat discouraged, it was you Ammachy who showed your presence of mind and skill in solving the problems. Now when I think of it, I feel sorry for you. Soft and buttery words…no ..never… they were always alien to you. You used to scold us tight. You beat us also when we misbehaved. Ammachy, do you remember, very often when you were about to beat me, I used to run to my friend Rajamma’s house in the neighbourhood, and would return after a long time, when Ammachy would have forgotten all the matter having all your rage subsided, and I would be safe.
How did I get a Junior Lecturer’s job in Catholicate College, Pathanamthitta? Wasn’t it because of Ammachy’s enthusiasm and timely action? Yes. As I hadn’t sent sufficient money for the application form, I got from the college the interview card with the intimation to submit the duly filled application form. “No need of going there. They are not going to give you the job. There is community rivalry and as we belong to the opposite faction,( We were Jacobites and the college belonged to the Orthodox Community.) you will not get it.” So saying Appachen and Thambichayan, my second elder brother went away for their business—Appachen to the paddy fields in Veloor and Thambichayan somewhere else. Don’t you remember, Ammachy? How will you forget it? When Appachen and Thambichayan left, I got on to the cot and lay there gloomily. Ammachy came to me and said, “ninakkangane vishamam anegil namuk orumichu poyi form medikam” (If you are so sad, we will go together and buy the form.) Together we set out for Pathanamthitta.
First time going to that place. It was a holiday for the college. We collected some information from the Principal. We came to know that one of my classmates Reju had applied for the position and he had the interview the next day. He bought an application for me, and I had my interview on the second day. I gave the filled-up form only on the day of the interview. Like a miracle, I was appointed as a Junior Lecturer in the Department of English. Didn’t ittake place because of Ammachy’s timely intervention and action?
Can you ever forget your life in Munnar? When you lived there as Appachen’s young bride and later as our mother… As you were born and brought up in the eastern agricultural region(Pampady)of Kottayam, you were a woman of perseverance and hard work. Didn’t you get your skill in agriculture from your father, my Vallyappachen? What all cultivation you did in the plot adjacent to Appachen’s quarters? Tomato, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Carrot, Double Beans, Chicory, Potato, and what not. No wonder the coolies used to say after Appachen’s retirement that “after the ‘Writer Amma’ left, the tomatoes had become smaller!” We used to eat lots of raw carrots. And mulberries too! My…what big trees we had of mulberries and how big the red and purple fruits were!(Maybe, they appeared bigger in our children’s eyes!) But for one thing, we were cross with Ammachy. you had made the cluster of sugarcane cut by the time we came for one vacation. We loved chewing the stem of the sugar cane. Of course, you had a reason. It was done because the wild elephant had done havoc in the plot. The elephant’s main attraction in the field was the sugar cane. That was Ammachy’s explanation. It seemed, the elephant frequented the places where there was sugarcane.
Ammachy, you were clever at making delicacies like ‘diamond cuts’, achappam etc. You made a sweetmeat called ‘vettu cake’(cut cake). As the taste of the delicacy was at the tip of my palette, in later years, I searched untiringly for it and finally got it from a local tea shop. I still remember it. But it never tasted as what you made long back did. Once I asked you for the recipe. But you had forgotten it by that time.
If somebody in the family was going to be married or to be delivering a baby, Ammachy, you were readily available with your instant help and service. You insisted on attending marriages and funeral services because those were the occasions when you got rare opportunities to meet all your relatives together. Such was your love for your relations. You knew everybody in the family, even those on the most distant line. You compelled us to do the same, but we were too lazy and reluctant to follow your advice. We become conscious of these values only when we reach nearer to your age. I’m sad about it when I think of it.
You took initiative and did major work during the marriage of your three daughters. Whenever we badly needed money, Ammachy, you brought the money from the thin air. Appachen had retired from the Kannan Devan Tea Estates with no savings at all. All the six of the children got married after his retirement. How hard did you struggle on those occasions!
Immediately after my marriage I resigned from my job in Catholicate College on Babu, my husband’s compulsion without telling anybody. If I had told you about it, you would not have allowed me to do so. After one and a half months, God showed another miracle in my life by giving me a junior lecturer’s position in B.K.College, Amalagiri. As we used to spend all the money we got, Ammachy said to me once, “ Why don’t you save some money every month?If you can give me at least Rs.100/- every month, I can deposit it for your Post Office Savings.” From the next month onwards I entrusted Rs.500/- with Ammachy and it was the first Post Office Savings for me. I said to Ammachy, do you remember, “You could have told me this earlier.” Even now I have Post Office Savings and I still remember you for initiating me into it. As for Ammachy, you always had some savings with you even during the times of utmost hardship.
Ammachy, you showed no discrimination in your treatment of your daughters and daughters-in-law. You never ill-treated them. You never gave us, your own children, anything special without giving them. You never hid anything from them as it was a practice among most mothers-in-law of those days.
We had never seen you remaining idle. You would either make a bed and pillows with cotton, or make butter by churning curd. I have seen your efforts in getting the paddy boiled in its process of getting rice grain. Then it will be spread on a long and broad mat to dry. Sometimes we would be assigned a duty to shoo away the crows from eating the grain. All these memories get entwined with you, Ammachy!
What a fascinating narrator you were! If you had written the whole thing you said, you would have become a writer. Such was your narrative skill! I must have got this streak from you.
If you had gone somewhere and were late in coming back, and if you stayed back there, what an emptiness we felt at home. We never told you about it. We could have told you, but we never did.
In the last years, you used to make me count the currency notes of your savings in your purse. I remember, you always had some money in store even in the midst of scarcity. Earlier, at times of our necessity, you used to give me money also. Every day you took your ‘chatta’ and ‘mundu’ from your chest-up-drawers, unfolded, folded again and placed them back.
I had often felt sad that I couldn’t bring you to our house here at Kalathipady, as I had my in-laws in our home. You had occasionally stayed with my two elder sisters. But later, I could bring you here and you stayed here for a few months each two or three times. I consider them as the most blessed occasions in my life. I used to lie together with you on the same cot. In those days when I woke up in the middle of the night, once, I felt the tip of the bedsheet being placed like a feather over me. You were covering me with it. I was deeply touched by your gesture of love and concern. I still cherish that feathery touch on me.
I couldn’t become like my Ammachy. I couldn’t even love you enough. I couldn’t hug you and tell you “I love you Ammachy.” I could have cared for you more.
You never called us by terms of endearment. But we knew that you had unconditional love for us. You had the habit of telling everything openly. Many misunderstood you because of this.
I can now understand much better the Mother who did things with the efficiency, competence and prudence usually associated with men.
I heard you speaking highly about us to others. In your descriptions, you often sounded humourous, though you never meant it to be so. You never laughed loudly. But we used to burst into laughter on such occasions.
Sometimes we went to watch the movies. Ammachy also would come. But as soon as we came back Appachen would demand food. We never realized that it was difficult for you to get it ready immediately. Gradually you stopped coming for films. We didn’t bother either. We took it for granted that you did not like movies. We were not prepared to sacrifice our enjoyment.
Later when the TV came, you started watching the movies and serials. You enjoyed them. But when scenes of ‘flashback’ came, you got confused. When you made some mistaken comments connected with it, we would laugh at your expense.
Though I participated in sports and games I did not know the game of cricket. Even now I don’t have any idea about that game. But Ammachy, you used to watch it, and you were thrilled and excited. You used to take sides of the teams also.
At a certain period in your late years, you constantly said you wanted to go ‘home’. You might’ve been reminded of your childhood and parents. You must have been living in the past. Once when I came to Puthenangady on my return from college, you came with me to our house. The moment you set foot into our home, you started worrying,
“O, vendayirunnu. mandatharamayippoyi” (Oh…it wasa foolish thing… I ought not have come.” You stood looking out of the window seemingly waiting for somebody (must be for my sister-in-law Nimmy) to come and take you home. The next day itself you went back to Puthenangady.
One evening when I came there, Nimmy had gone to her sister’s house in Adoor. She had not told you that she was going that far, as you might be tensed. She had told you that she would come soon. You were deeply worried and anxious about Nimmy’s absence. You wouldn’t touch any of the delicacies I brought. Finally, when Nimmy came, the relief you felt was visibly touching. You behaved like a child. You kissed her hand. There were tears in your eyes. You were afraid that Nimmy would go away leaving her alone. “Enne vittittu pokalle…” (“Don’t leave me alone here,” )you used to tell her now and then. She feared that Nimmy would go to Babu(my brother) who was abroad, leaving her alone. When you were here for the last time, you had brought an airbag with you. You used to cover it with your towel and say it was your kid. You wouldn’t allow anybody to take it away. We had heard that your firstborn was a daughter and the infant was either stillborn or it died soon. Did you remember her at that time?
Memories are still floating… On all our crucial occasions you were present. You helped me. You took care of my children. Like you, I’m also a grandmother now. My children called you Ammachy, not Granny. I too am not being called ‘Granny.’ I didn’t want to make you look that old. My children call me ‘Mummy.’ I could never become a ‘Mummy’ or Ammachy like you.
I could have loved you still more. I could have remained … with you for more time. On one May 26th, you breathed your last. It was in 2011. Did you hear what I whispered in your ears then? Like the fall of a leaf…of a feather…you passed away…softly and quietly…Even now the memory that painfully haunts me is that of the night when the tip of the bedsheet which you placed over my head softly…and quietly… like a feather. May I stop? We live in the hope that we can see one another in heaven where there is neither any parting nor any tears! With lots of love, Ammachy’s youngest daughter. (2021)
Can you ever forget your life in Munnar? When you lived there as Appachen’s young bride and later as our mother… As you were born and brought up in the eastern agricultural region(Pampady)of Kottayam, you were a woman of perseverance and hard work. Didn’t you get your skill in agriculture from your father, my Vallyappachen? What all cultivation you did in the plot adjacent to Appachen’s quarters? Tomato, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Carrot, Double Beans, Chicory, Potato, and what not. No wonder the coolies used to say after Appachen’s retirement that “after the ‘Writer Amma’ left, the tomatoes had become smaller!” We used to eat lots of raw carrots. And mulberries too! My…what big trees we had of mulberries and how big the red and purple fruits were!(Maybe, they appeared bigger in our children’s eyes!) But for one thing, we were cross with Ammachy. you had made the cluster of sugarcane cut by the time we came for one vacation. We loved chewing the stem of the sugar cane. Of course, you had a reason. It was done because the wild elephant had done havoc in the plot. The elephant’s main attraction in the field was the sugar cane. That was Ammachy’s explanation. It seemed, the elephant frequented the places where there was sugarcane.
Ammachy, you were clever at making delicacies like ‘diamond cuts’, achappam etc. You made a sweetmeat called ‘vettu cake’(cut cake). As the taste of the delicacy was at the tip of my palette, in later years, I searched untiringly for it and finally got it from a local tea shop. I still remember it. But it never tasted as what you made long back did. Once I asked you for the recipe. But you had forgotten it by that time.
If somebody in the family was going to be married or to be delivering a baby, Ammachy, you were readily available with your instant help and service. You insisted on attending marriages and funeral services because those were the occasions when you got rare opportunities to meet all your relatives together. Such was your love for your relations. You knew everybody in the family, even those on the most distant line. You compelled us to do the same, but we were too lazy and reluctant to follow your advice. We become conscious of these values only when we reach nearer to your age. I’m sad about it when I think of it.
You took initiative and did major work during the marriage of your three daughters. Whenever we badly needed money, Ammachy, you brought the money from the thin air. Appachen had retired from the Kannan Devan Tea Estates with no savings at all. All the six of the children got married after his retirement. How hard did you struggle on those occasions!
Immediately after my marriage I resigned from my job in Catholicate College on Babu, my husband’s compulsion without telling anybody. If I had told you about it, you would not have allowed me to do so. After one and a half months, God showed another miracle in my life by giving me a junior lecturer’s position in B.K.College, Amalagiri. As we used to spend all the money we got, Ammachy said to me once, “ Why don’t you save some money every month?If you can give me at least Rs.100/- every month, I can deposit it for your Post Office Savings.” From the next month onwards I entrusted Rs.500/- with Ammachy and it was the first Post Office Savings for me. I said to Ammachy, do you remember, “You could have told me this earlier.” Even now I have Post Office Savings and I still remember you for initiating me into it. As for Ammachy, you always had some savings with you even during the times of utmost hardship.
Ammachy, you showed no discrimination in your treatment of your daughters and daughters-in-law. You never ill-treated them. You never gave us, your own children, anything special without giving them. You never hid anything from them as it was a practice among most mothers-in-law of those days.
We had never seen you remaining idle. You would either make a bed and pillows with cotton, or make butter by churning curd. I have seen your efforts in getting the paddy boiled in its process of getting rice grain. Then it will be spread on a long and broad mat to dry. Sometimes we would be assigned a duty to shoo away the crows from eating the grain. All these memories get entwined with you, Ammachy!
What a fascinating narrator you were! If you had written the whole thing you said, you would have become a writer. Such was your narrative skill! I must have got this streak from you.
If you had gone somewhere and were late in coming back, and if you stayed back there, what an emptiness we felt at home. We never told you about it. We could have told you, but we never did.
In the last years, you used to make me count the currency notes of your savings in your purse. I remember, you always had some money in store even in the midst of scarcity. Earlier, at times of our necessity, you used to give me money also. Every day you took your ‘chatta’ and ‘mundu’ from your chest-up-drawers, unfolded, folded again and placed them back.
I had often felt sad that I couldn’t bring you to our house here at Kalathipady, as I had my in-laws in our home. You had occasionally stayed with my two elder sisters. But later, I could bring you here and you stayed here for a few months each two or three times. I consider them as the most blessed occasions in my life. I used to lie together with you on the same cot. In those days when I woke up in the middle of the night, once, I felt the tip of the bedsheet being placed like a feather over me. You were covering me with it. I was deeply touched by your gesture of love and concern. I still cherish that feathery touch on me.
I couldn’t become like my Ammachy. I couldn’t even love you enough. I couldn’t hug you and tell you “I love you Ammachy.” I could have cared for you more.
You never called us by terms of endearment. But we knew that you had unconditional love for us. You had the habit of telling everything openly. Many misunderstood you because of this.
I can now understand much better the Mother who did things with the efficiency, competence and prudence usually associated with men.
I heard you speaking highly about us to others. In your descriptions, you often sounded humourous, though you never meant it to be so. You never laughed loudly. But we used to burst into laughter on such occasions.
Sometimes we went to watch the movies. Ammachy also would come. But as soon as we came back Appachen would demand food. We never realized that it was difficult for you to get it ready immediately. Gradually you stopped coming for films. We didn’t bother either. We took it for granted that you did not like movies. We were not prepared to sacrifice our enjoyment.
Later when the TV came, you started watching the movies and serials. You enjoyed them. But when scenes of ‘flashback’ came, you got confused. When you made some mistaken comments connected with it, we would laugh at your expense.
Though I participated in sports and games I did not know the game of cricket. Even now I don’t have any idea about that game. But Ammachy, you used to watch it, and you were thrilled and excited. You used to take sides of the teams also.
At a certain period in your late years, you constantly said you wanted to go ‘home’. You might’ve been reminded of your childhood and parents. You must have been living in the past. Once when I came to Puthenangady on my return from college, you came with me to our house. The moment you set foot into our home, you started worrying,
“O, vendayirunnu. mandatharamayippoyi” (Oh…it wasa foolish thing… I ought not have come.” You stood looking out of the window seemingly waiting for somebody (must be for my sister-in-law Nimmy) to come and take you home. The next day itself you went back to Puthenangady.
One evening when I came there, Nimmy had gone to her sister’s house in Adoor. She had not told you that she was going that far, as you might be tensed. She had told you that she would come soon. You were deeply worried and anxious about Nimmy’s absence. You wouldn’t touch any of the delicacies I brought. Finally, when Nimmy came, the relief you felt was visibly touching. You behaved like a child. You kissed her hand. There were tears in your eyes. You were afraid that Nimmy would go away leaving her alone. “Enne vittittu pokalle…” (“Don’t leave me alone here,” )you used to tell her now and then. She feared that Nimmy would go to Babu(my brother) who was abroad, leaving her alone. When you were here for the last time, you had brought an airbag with you. You used to cover it with your towel and say it was your kid. You wouldn’t allow anybody to take it away. We had heard that your firstborn was a daughter and the infant was either stillborn or it died soon. Did you remember her at that time?
Memories are still floating… On all our crucial occasions you were present. You helped me. You took care of my children. Like you, I’m also a grandmother now. My children called you Ammachy, not Granny. I too am not being called ‘Granny.’ I didn’t want to make you look that old. My children call me ‘Mummy.’ I could never become a ‘Mummy’ or Ammachy like you.
I could have loved you still more. I could have remained … with you for more time. On one May 26th, you breathed your last. It was in 2011. Did you hear what I whispered in your ears then? Like the fall of a leaf…of a feather…you passed away…softly and quietly…Even now the memory that painfully haunts me is that of the night when the tip of the bedsheet which you placed over my head softly…and quietly… like a feather. May I stop? We live in the hope that we can see one another in heaven where there is neither any parting nor any tears! With lots of love, Ammachy’s youngest daughter. (2021)
My Mother
Home was not home
When my mother was away
Rooms were hollow
When my mother was silent
We listened intently
Such was her narrative skill
Hardworking as she was
She worked wonders on her farm
Growing cabbage, tomato, and chicory,
Beans, Peas, and Cauliflower
She did wonders in her kitchen
Making all sorts of delicacies
In crises, she stood as a stalwart
Overcoming all familial hurdles
Softness disguised in harshness
Sweetness hidden in anger
Able, an embodiment of perseverance
The hand that steered our home
The hand that stretched the hem
Of the blanket to me in my sleep
The care in the far end of the night
The love that made me a child again
It was my Ammachy!
Did I love her enough…?
As a petal withers or a feather falls
Softly, mutely off did she fall…. (2019).
