I look at the candle whose gentle flame shoots into
the air. I keep my hand close to it and feel it warm my frozen palm. I close my
eyes and I can feel her presence. She's with me. I may not see her or hear her
voice again. But she's with me. Because we are indestructible. We may be human
beings, we may die any day from now, but we are not destroyed. We exist.
Ms. Ammini.M.John (or Mrs. Ammini Varghese) is perhaps the most influential woman
in my life. The retired Nursing Superintendent from Govt. Hospital, Aluva,
Kerala was not only a dedicated medical professional, a good wife, aunt, mother, but also a great grandmother.
My life's most beautiful memories are definitely of
those moments I spent with her, during our annual vacation and during my 10th
board exams.
Ammachi now that you have become omnipotent and one
with the Lord, I am quite sure you will be able to read my love letter for you.
Dear Ammachi,
I love you. I love you. I love you. I feel your
loving presence everywhere. I can listen to your comforting voice within me.
Thankyou.
I have been unnecessarily sentimental for a while,
thinking that homecoming would be less meaningful without your warm hug and
gentle kiss on my forehead, the moment I am next to you. I always loved the way
I had to stoop down like a baby giraffe to hug the round little grannie that
you were or kneel down to ensure accessibility when you were seated. I cherish
those thousand times you have caressed me with your tiny round hands and
blessed me with all your might.
We were together on this earth for more than
25 years. I am surprised you are not letting me miss you at all. I close my
eyes and oh yes...you are very much here Ammachi. That's great!! I want to say
thank you to you. I love you for a thousand reasons. Here are some of them.
1
Your military
lifestyle. Thank you for always being very strict with me during my board
exams. Making me wake up at 4.30 am in the morning and bath at 5 am .
Thereafter studies till 7. Breakfast complete by 7.30 . Then short nap. Studies
continue thereafter with regular uninterrupted supply of well salted, pepper sprinkled
bull’s-eye, fruits, nuts etc. prayer at night. Those days are perhaps the most memorable of the
lot.
Your Malayalam.I must tell you this. I love your Malayalam. It was so pure and perfect, barring the occassional "thiruvalla" touch you gave it. Ocean is 'kadal' for us, for you its 'samudram'. Our “poovu” is “pushpam” for you and our “bookku” is “pustakam”. Bible was always “Vedapustakam”. I have written down in a diary, all the titbits of Malayalam poetry you taught me but ya I never told you.
1 Your stories. Stories of the yesteryears when India was not independent and farming was
the mainstay of the economy. Stories of life without electricity or pucca
houses or the revolution that “matchsticks” brought to kitchen. The tales of harvesting
and olden means of transport and medical facilities. Status of women in the society
and casteism. Famine and torrential rains. World War II and its impact on the
Indian economy. The role of education in emancipation of women. Service stories
of hospital, patients, night duties and operation theatres. Office politics,
transfers and train journeys of working women. Guidelines on ‘How to deal with
maids’ and ‘Easy cooking for working women and ‘How to deal with an angry
husband’. Oh ya...forgot the bible stories. The story of Moses, and my stupid questions like 'Why don't you call him moustache?'. The stories of Sameul, Ruth, Joseph etc. etc.
Your attention to detail and prompt
response. Whether it was a dozen of ants spotted in the kitchen or the TV that
was on for a little extra time or my running nose, action was quick. The ants
would vanish with a whiff of ‘turpentine’ and the TV is sure to go off even if
it is my favourite ‘Chip and Dale’ running successfully and the homeo tablets
will be forced into my mouth before I can guess what it is. The nut or bolt of
an unused cooker also would be given as much attention as an empty container
which any of us would like to throw away. ‘You never know when things come
handy’. You were always right Ammachi.
Your nursing skills. My fond memories of the “8 pm OP” as Appachan mockingly called it, is still fresh in my memory. When my mom gave up, only you could patiently nurse my bruised feet for close to a month without making me cry. I used to love to sit still and watch you clean and dress my wounds everyday after dinner, and pop in iron tonic and something else (vitamin tablets?) into my mouth after due scolding and then you would kiss me goodnight.
The pepper and the coconuts. Oh my god…we
displayed great team effort always, plucking and processing pepper. Collecting them
on a big sheet of plastic, stamping on them to separate the pepper from the stalk,
cleaning the pile of the empty stalks, drying
them every day in the sun until it was complete black and hard and ready to be ‘sacked’.
Coconuts to be dried for oil had to additionally protected from crows and rats
and squirrels with a net cover and constant vigil. It was fun, Ammachi.
Good Friday and Easter. You lived to go to church.
Every Sunday was eagerly awaited. The saree to be worn was decided in advance.
The safety pins, slides and powder tin was located beforehand and the breakfast
items were decided the previous night. The Holy week; it was never complete
without you. I will miss how we used to decide on your sarees and find out the
related prayer books for Hosannah, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter one
week in advance. Our team of ladies did wonders in the kitchen on Maundy Thursday
evening for the year’s most awaited family get together. My ‘emotional support’
for the above cause and my coconut grating skills is something you will also miss.
I bet.
Your folded hands in prayer: perhaps the most
beautiful pose of yours. Ammachi with folded hands, kneeling down on the floor,
praying to the Lord. For her children, her grandchildren and everybody else in
her family. The songs we used to sing together. Specially the last one we sang
together when we met for the last time. Yeah, you sang very well though you
were tired.
Your table lamp and diary writing. The magic of
your table lamp at bedtime and your habit of making diary entries made you my
heroine in my childhood. I used to peep into those pages later on and jump with
joy seeing my name also mentioned in it. ‘Remya came. Shes having cough. Blah blah..’
Oops. Sorry. You know me. I am too curious.
THE HUG: That’s the best thing about you. You know
Ammachi, I never told you; whenever I feel lonely, I used to close my eyes and
feel that you are hugging me. I close my eyes now, I can still feel your faint
heartbeat, and the stout little arms around me and the warmth of your love. The
love that protects.
The goodbye. I always want to see you at the door, holding the walking stick, waving your tiny hand to me, calling out “Be careful at the railway crossing. Call once you reach back”. Now that you left us, I will have to imagine this scene whenever I leave.
There are a hundred other things to tell you. But
you better read my heart, now that you are with me. It’s a great feeling to be
with the woman from whom you came. You are my mother’s mother and I am your ‘horcrux’.
(Please read Harry Potter, now that you got lot of free time).I live for you. I
take you forward. That’s my promise. It was just super awesome to have you in
my life and you are my all time favourite.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you forever.
Yours always,
Your sweetie, Remya.
