Amma @ 83

Today is Amma’s birthday. She completes 83 years. She is mother to 5, grandmother to 9, and great grandmother to 9 little ones so far, and still counting. She and another older aunt of mine (both daughters-in-law of the Tharakan household) are the two surviving members of an entire generation from both, paternal and maternal side.

I’m most certain that my keen interest in history was kindled by the stories my ma narrated to me; her moments of fond reminiscence. She was a much loved youngest child of parents who came from an agrarian background, but who were quick to respond to a recruitment call from the `British Sarkar’ in the early 1930’s  and enrolled as male and female jail wardens at the Viyoor Central Jail (established in 1914) not too far away from Kolazhi in Trissur district, Kerala. Ma’s father bought land a little away from the entrance arch of the jail and ma was born into the lovely mud and laterite house he built there.  Stories of her close association with the jail, the officers and staff, stories of inmates in there, all fascinated me. Ma studied at the Montessori school inside the jail premises, where ‘madamas’ took lessons for the little ones and taught crafts like embroidery and crochet to older girls and women. Even after ma joined the government school, she would catch up with the teachers and staff when running errands for her parents during their office shifts or delivering tiffin.

Ma wanted to be a school teacher. But as destiny would have it, she was carted off to a small village in Sabarkantha district in Gujarat of the 1950’s, with a rather reluctant 22 year old husband, who himself wasn’t quite ready to be the householder! Ma could barely manage a couple of words in Hindi with the locals, mostly men and women from the Bhil and Garasia community, who spoke a very different dialect of Gujarati. They were a big help. They fetched water from the river, got fresh vegetables, and stood her guard till father returned from work.  Ma was still learning to roll out soft rotis and make dal/sabzis that go with it, the kind my father liked.  While appa had long since acquired a taste and preference for such a diet, ma longed for her red rice, and coconut in every curry! She, most sorely, missed the well-water back home, for her thick, long hair. There wasn’t much to do at the small rented home. She would spend her time doing needle work and humming hindi songs of the late 50’s from the radio “Aayein hai door se, milne huzoor se, aise mein chup na raheiye” and “Sar par topi lal, hath mein resham ka rumaal….O tera kya kehna” and older hits like “Chup chup khade ho, jaroor koi baat hai”. Not that she figured what those filmi lines meant!

Four kids were born in quick succession. A short break, and then I was born. Like an afterthought! Ma had long since abandoned any hopes of becoming a teacher. She was and is a homemaker. She is the rock, the pivot, the grace of our large family. Never interfering, never imposing. I would like to believe I’m the most loved among her five children. And she still loves to share with me stories from her childhood in Viyoor, her years in the different small towns in Gujarat while my father worked with Gujarat State Transport, relocating to our house in  Viyoor with the older kids, and finally rejoining appa and settling down in Baroda when father set up his own business.

I always wanted to take my ma on a visit to the first town, far away from her native place, that she made her home. Perhaps search out the location of the house, which was close to the fort walls, not too far from the river bank, etc. But I never managed such a trip. Despite my frequent and detailed exploration of Gujarat during by research years. And now she is not at all confident about making long journeys. She barely manages to walk around in the home garden. Couple of years ago, when I was on a field trip in Gujarat, I drove through Sabarkantha, and realized that a new district has been carved out.  Appa’s ST bus depot, where he worked, is now crowded and modern, far removed from the b/w photographs of the remote work station it once was.  There’s no way of making out people from different communities from their attire or language. No Radio Ceylon or Binaca geet mala. The river has long since gone dry. The fort wall is crumbling.  Memories are slowly fading for ma too.

Every year is a blessing. A gift from god. Here’s wishing Ma a fulfilling new year. Happy birthday, Amma. 

A young 18 year old ma, with her mother and brother, posing at a studio. Grandma was a strong and strict Jail (female) Warden since early 1930's . Her son Mathew (Maatu) was the eldest, and daughter Mary (Rosa) the youngest, from among the few children she lost in between. The brother and sister had an age difference of 18 years. This photo was taken with the sole purpose of  'presenting' ma for prospective marriage alliances  

One for the album. Appa Amma's wedding photo. Appa, 22, Amma 21. She still has her wedding saree.