NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 12: From Amma’s mouth…

I wrote this piece 3 years ago, and put it up on my Facebook page called Write Every Day. It’s written as if Amma is talking, in her voice….many people had liked it then, so I’m sharing it on my blog now. Okay – that’s not the only reason…I’m going to be tied up for the rest of the day, and won’t have time to write anything for the blog….so this short paragraph is today’s writing exercise. Happy reading!

I’m 74 years, now a grandmother, but my daughter’s been asking me to share my experiences as a mother, so here goes….

1. Every day, I woke my kids at least 45 minutes before the time they had to leave for school. They had a strict routine – wake up, brush, bathe, say a small prayer in the puja area, eat breakfast, get ready, and leave. No eating without bathing, no going to school without eating something.

2.  No one was allowed to waste food or to be fussy and refuse to eat something. If one didn’t like something, they could eat a little less of it, but not skip it entirely.

3. I made sure that all of us ate dinner together, the kids and their father sitting around in a circle, with me sitting in the centre, serving all of them. One would start talking about something and someone else would join in, making observations or cracking a joke while the others listened and smiled.

4. Once my kids grew up to be around 7 years of age, I divided some of the simpler household chores such as sweeping, mopping, collecting the dried clothes and cleaning the windows and doors amongst all of them. They took turns at rotating the job among themselves and if one was not able to do it, the others had to chip in and do that part, too.

5. During all festivals, the kids would share in the work that had to be done such as setting up the Gokulashthami mantap, or the dolls for Saraswathi Pooja and making the Kandil for Deepavali. 

6. During the holidays, we all went to our native place and stayed with different relatives for a few weeks. My children played with their cousins and sometimes they fought, but I never interfered or made it into an issue with the elders because children must learn to adjust as well as sort out such issues on their own.

7. Although I had a lot of housework, I made time to learn to read, write and speak the local language which was alien to me. I would read books, learn new bhajans and stotras and teach them to my kids, too. I also learned a little tailoring and would stitch all my kids’ clothes myself.

There are many other experiences, but I think this is enough. Anyway, what’s so special about me, almost all other parents must have done those things too….

One day later –

I glanced at the points my daughter wrote down to use as a reference while giving a talk on parenting ….. she’s got some fancy points in it such as…

1. Set rules, enforce them consistently. Emphasize on punctuality.

2. Don’t pamper your kids

3. Spend quality time together as a family. Listen to each other; make communication a priority

4. Teach kids about responsibility, hard work and inculcate team spirit in them

5. Give them cultural rootedness

6. Teach kids to share and adapt to change; help them to develop resilience

7. Be a role model

What a smart girl my daughter is…I never knew we must do all these things to raise children.

 

Married at the tender age of 15 years, Amma was transplanted from Karnataka to the Konkan region and Goa. Without any fancy parenting tips or psychology guidelines, she raised her six girls to become fine women. 

Both Amma’s words, and the list that follows have 7 points….so…all you need to do is connect the dots…

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 11: Our house Sardar Patel!

When Appa was working at the mines in Pali, he decided to take up the First Class Mines Managers exam. He was to travel to Dhanbad (then in Bihar, now in Jharkhand) to the Indian School of Mines for this exam.

The day of his journey, at around 8 am, Amma was working in the kitchen. Appa had finished breakfast, and was getting ready to leave. Suddenly, the pan in which Amma was heating water toppled over, and the boiling water fell on her left arm.

Now here’s a quick quiz to check if you’ve really been reading my blogs all these days.

What must have Amma have done when the hot water scalded her arm?

a. Screamed out loud and called for help

b. Bathed the arm in water, and then calmly reported the incident to Appa

Of course, the answer is b.

Amma just walked to where Appa was and despite what must have been severe pain, quietly explained what had happened. Seeing the entire region between the elbow and the wrist on her left arm beginning to blow up into a blister, Appa decided to cancel his trip to Dhanbad. (Those days, cancelling didn’t involve anything beyond not showing up at the station for the train – reserved seats were a luxury, one that we definitely couldn’t afford.)

Appa said he wouldn’t go leaving her in such a condition. He could always sit for the next exam. But Amma insisted that he should go and that she would manage alone. At her urging, Appa reluctantly agreed to leave, after arranging for the nurse from the mines’ dispensary to come home to dress Amma’s arm.

The nurse Jaimini would come every day – for the first few days, the wound was left open because the blister was opening up here and there. Only some ointment was applied. Later on, when the blister had completely drained out, she would dress the wound. This went on for almost 20 days and only after that, the wound began to heal.

During all this time, Amma continued her normal routine work. The eldest girls Maithili and Vijaya helped with the housework. 

Appa returned after about 10 days (the one-way journey to Dhanbad by train was about 2.5 days; also, trains were not very frequent and therefore, there was a huge crowd always, and when you traveled unreserved, you may have had to break the journey into smaller ones along the route on whichever train you managed to get into).

Throughout this episode, Amma never complained about the pain or the discomfort. She just got on with things. When the nurse Jaimini hesitated while dressing the wound, because it may be painful, Amma would encourage her, saying, “It’s ok…I can bear it…you do your work.” 

As my sister Bhargavi quipped when we were remembering this event, Amma was indeed the Iron Woman of our family! 

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 10: How to shout for help

Like any other family, we too had our fair share of tiny accidents around the house. Today I’m writing about two such cases.

The first incident happened at Redi. Appa had brought one of our cousins (let me call her M) home, wanting to educate her along with his daughters. However, there was some problem with getting the TC from the Karnataka school; also, she didn’t know Marathi, and so, she couldn’t be admitted to the school in Redi. Amma used to revise some basic math and Kannada with M at home so that she wouldn’t forget whatever she had learned until she went back to her old school.

One early morning, maybe around 6.30 am, my eldest sister Maithili (who was then 8 or 9 years old) went to the bathroom to have bath. That place was lighted by an open lamp kept near the hande in which water was getting heated. M was already there and wanted to bathe first. Maithili had to leave for school at 7 am, so she told M to wait till she had finished.

M didn’t agree and the girls (like little girls anywhere) did a little pushing and shoving around. In the melee, Maithili got pushed with her back to the lamp and at once, the langa and blouse she was wearing caught fire! Sensing the heat, she started screaming, “Ammmmaaaa….I’m burning!!!” Hearing her cries, Appa reached there first and with his bare hands, beat the fire out of her burning back. In the process, his hands got burnt too. They got a doctor to come home and administer some treatment.

The next 3 months were painful for Maithili, and she had to constantly lie on her tummy. No going to school either, and not able to do anything else at home. Along with the ointments and other medicines given by the doctor, she was also treated with juice from the aloe vera plant as recommended by the local people.

The second incident happened in the house at Pali. The girls were outside, in the veranda, playing “drawing-water-from-the-well-game,” leaning over a wall that was about 8 feet above the ground. 

The youngest, Bhargavi, fell over the wall, and Vatsala, ran down the stairs to reach her while simultaneously crying out again and again, “Ammmaaaa….Bhargavi fell down!!” Seeing the blood flowing from the cut on Bhargavi’s forehead, at the center, where the hairline begins, Vatsala kept her dress pressed against that point. Amma rushed there, summed up the situation, told Vatsala to keep up the pressure, and quickly brought turmeric to apply to the wound. 

In case you haven’t noticed already, I want you to go back and read what the girls screamed in both instances. They didn’t just shout out for Amma – even in the panic of those situations, they described what mishap had occurred in their cries for help! Now, this was the result of Amma’s training. She had explained clearly, time and again, that if they simply screamed, “Ammmaaa…” she wouldn’t know whether they were simply quarreling amongst themselves, or if there was something really wrong and she had to rush to see what had happened!

That was totally Amma – practical advice, herself not panicking in any situation, and making sure she got her daughters to imbibe these skills too….

By the way, that first-aid administering little Vatsala who wasn’t alarmed by the sight of blood, went on to become a doctor – and, going by reports from people she has treated, a pretty good one at that!

 

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 9: Thinking Ahead

In yesterday’s post, I narrated the incident about Amma’s ability to anticipate probable situations, and take uncomfortable decisions. 

My sister Vatsala narrates another situation where Amma showed similar wisdom. 

Around 1971, Appa was working in the mines at a place called Redi (a small village in the Konkan area) which was almost primitive in terms of lifestyle. One Iyengar person Y. N. Gopalakrishna used to come to Redi for mines inspection. He was impressed with Appa’s abilities. When this person was later posted to Goa, he sent word through somebody to Appa, saying that he had discussed with one Mr. Natarajan who was Superintendent of mines, who had agreed to arrange a job for Appa in Goa with a big mining company called Salgaocar. The pay would be lesser than it was in Redi.

Appa now had to decide between no education for his girls in Redi with higher salary and better facilities and education for his girls in Goa, with lesser salary. I asked Appa if he told Amma that salary would be less.

Yes, he had told her.

And her response?

“So what? Let’s go! It’s a bigger company; definitely, it will be good for our future!”

And so, as usual, putting their faith in God, our parents decided to shift base to Goa. See Amma’s wisdom even at that time!
The rest, as they say, is history….

Appa took up work with the V. M. Salgaocar Group of companies. His first posting was at Pali, and the new house was spacious, brightly lit, and for the first time in their lives, there was a toilet inside the house! (I say ‘their’ lives because I hadn’t put in an appearance yet.)

The company that sustained our family in Goa!

My sister Maithili shares some memories of that move from Redi to Pali.

We kids were in our native village at Ramanathpura for the holidays. Appa and Amma fixed up the new house in Pali with basic things for the kitchen and beds for sleeping. Our uncle Keshava brought us from Ramanathpura to Pali and the new place was a pleasant surprise for us. Then Appa and Amma went back to Redi to pack and shift other belongings, leaving me, the eldest, in charge of taking care of the younger 3 girls. The youngest, Bharagavi, was only two and half years old, and kept roaming throughout the house searching for Amma. I cooked rice, rasam and beans vegetable on the mud stove the first day. Amma had kept chapaatis ready but they got over, so I made upma. Bhargavi didn’t want to eat upma, she only wanted chapaatis – somehow I made her eat rice with chutney podi and curds.

Guess how old the girls were? 

Maithili was a mere 10 years! Vijaya was 9, Vatsala was 7 and Bhargavi was two-and-half! Which speaks volumes about certain things.

First, Maithili’s ability and willingness to shoulder that responsibility at such a young age.

Second, the courage the girls had to stay alone without both parents at that age.

Third, the training Amma had given the kids that helped them to manage on their own.

Fourth, the willingness of Appa and Amma to take tough decisions without being blinded by anxiety.

Fifth, and perhaps most important, the fact that Appa and Amma always did their best, and to God, they surrendered the rest! 

 

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 8: Tough times…Tough people

When Amma got married to Appa, a geologist, he was working in Sandur Mines in Bellary. The rest of his family lived in Kyatsandra (in Tumkur) which is famous for the Siddaganga Math, and his father Kashi Srinivas Iyengar was the first Principal of the Siddaganga Samskruta Pathshala. For about 3 years after their marriage, Appa had left Amma at Kyatsandra with the family, with the intention that she should serve Tatha, and get his blessings. Appa stayed alone in Bellary, with occasional visits home. 

First person to reader's left with Thirunamam - Kashi Srinivas Iyengar.
Pic taken at Siddaganga Samskruta Pathashala in Tumkur by my cousin Kodandaram M. 

The family was a big one, and there was always some or the other work to do for Amma. I remember her recounting how she and her two co-sisters would do all the housework together. There was a definite hierarchy in place, and these daughters-in-law would cook breakfast, but get to eat it only after all the menfolk (including the younger brothers-in-law) and the younger sisters-in-law had eaten – by then, it was time to get the lunch ready and by the time lunch was over, it was time for evening coffee and by the time that was over, it was time for cooking dinner…busy days full of the hard work of caring for a huge family.

There were no toilets inside the house (or even outside for that matter), and I remember Amma describing the travails of the ladies of the house who would “go outside” together after darkness fell or before the day broke.

I remember Amma narrating one incident when I had pestered her to tell me more about those times. On one of his visits home, Appa had bought a bottle of snow for Amma. In case you don’t understand, “snow” was the dainty name for “face cream” in those times. Amma had perhaps used it just once or twice, when her sister-in-law saw it, and coolly claimed it for herself, and Amma never saw it again.

I demanded to know what she did. “Nothing – what was there to do?” 

“Why didn’t you complain to Appa?”  

With that typical patient smile, she said, “What for? It was such a small thing. And we never bothered our husbands for such things in those times. And she was a young girl, so she must have wanted it badly.” 

Still in her teens, Amma herself may not have been much older than that ‘young girl’ in terms of age; but I got a glimpse of her maturity even then.

In due course of time, at 18 years of age, Amma was pregnant, and in keeping with customs, was sent to her parents’ house for the delivery. They still lived in that isolated house and as the days passed, Amma started getting worried about how they would manage the actual delivery. Her main concern was that her stepmother’s father’s health was steadily deteriorating and if anything untoward happened, she would go there, and Amma would be left alone.

Even as she fretted over this, her favourite aunt, Chinattai, came to their house for a few days. She took good care of Amma, but couldn’t stay for long. In what must have been the first of a life filled with tough decisions, Amma insisted on going with Chinattai to her house in Holenarsipura because it was a small town, and it would be easier to get the necessary medical help. At 19 years of age, she officially became “Amma” for the first time.

In writing this post, I can’t help but reflect on the spirit of people in those times. Dedication to parents, serving them, living in joint families, giving up personal comforts at times, making sacrifices so that life can go on …how different conditions today are!

 

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 7: Amma’s Childhood

Reading about all the love and affection Amma showered on us, you probably assume that she must have herself had a rosy and loving childhood. After all, isn’t it true that only those who have known love can give it to others? Read on…we’ll see…. 

Amma had lost her mother at the tender age of 8 years. Her sister was two years younger. As was customary in those times, the family pressurized her father to re-marry, and produce a son to carry forward the family tree. My grandfather, being an engineer (which was a rare thing in the 1940s), was warily viewed by the community as progressive-bordering-on-eccentric.

‘Why eccentric?’ I remember asking Amma. Her reply, ‘He didn’t want to live in the agrahaaram with the other Brahmin families; he built and lived in a house on the outskirts of the village, isolated from everyone else. He didn’t mingle with these families much, either. He was moody, sometimes rude. He allowed people of other castes to move freely in our house, and used to treat them with consideration, which orthodox people in the community couldn’t tolerate.’ Listening to this, I understood where Amma got her sense of empathy. But I also realized how the little girls must have felt isolated and alone, being deprived of the sense of security other kids their age would have had because of social interactions with the community.

So, Amma’s father refused to re-marry and held out as long as he could; finally, he yielded to the emotional blackmail of his father who threatened to go “Deshaantaram” (into exile) unless his son got married again.

Amma and her sister were lucky – they got a stepmother who was kind and affectionate to them. This was a boon for the girls, for their own father tended to be emotionally distant (remember the ‘eccentric’ I mentioned earlier?), and except for an aunt (their father’s sister called Chinathai) who doted on them, the little girls didn’t have much affection coming their way.


The stepmother came from an affluent family and introduced the sisters to new things like bathing soap, for instance. Although she was perhaps a mere 8 years older, the stepmother did her best to mother the little girls. (‘What did you use before the soap,’ I asked Amma and she replied, ‘Gram flour (besan) and shikakai powder and chigare (reetha) powder.’)

Amma was married at the age of 15 years – and if you’re thinking that’s such a tender age – let me inform you – it was considered pretty late by the standards of those times. Right from the time she had been 11 or 12, people would pester my grandfather to get Amma married, and some would openly snigger that “there was something wrong with Narsimhamurthy’s daughter and that’s why he can’t find a groom.”

Reality - Engineer Narsimhamurthy, as I already mentioned, was a progressive, who insisted on toeing the legal line. The law of the time said girls should not be married before the age of 15; so he got his daughters educated till Matriculation, and arranged their marriage only after they completed 15 years of age.

As I come to the end of this post, remember my question at the beginning of this post? Can someone herself starved of deep affection be a loving mother? Psychology experts will say it isn’t very likely and yet, I’m sure you’ll agree that here too, Amma defied the odds.
More about Amma’s life before her daughters were born, tomorrow!

NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 6: Magical Hands

At the risk of repeating myself, let me say this again. There was magic in Amma’s hands. Her “kairuchi” (kai=hand, ruchi=taste) was such that once someone had eaten her food, they would never forget how tasty it was.

My sister Komala remembers,

After my delivery, some sadhaks from Chennai had come to see me and the baby. It was a group of 3 adults and 2 kids, and they insisted they had eaten already before coming home. But I sensed they were saying that to avoid trouble for us, and told Amma this. She prepared upma and hot coffee in a jiffy, and they tucked into the food with gratitude. When they learned of Amma’s demise in May, Krishnaveni Mami, who is an elderly lady and herself a good cook, called me up to offer condolences, and the first thing she mentioned about Amma is that tasty upma.
I’ve forgotten about it, but my friend Leena from Goa still remembers the tasty akki rotti (rice flour roti) and tamarind chutney Amma had prepared when she came home.

Someone else remembers how Amma gave them dosa with a mouth-watering combination of spicy red chutney and home-made fluffy butter.

Butter reminds me – I have some memories of Amma churning butter using a hindalium butter churn for some time. Later, she moved on to simply shaking the sour cream in a glass bottle. Whatever the method, the butter had that unique melt-in-the-mouth consistency and fresh taste.

In case it hasn’t struck you yet, I’d like to tell you precisely why all these things are so totally amazing.

For close to 12 years following marriage,

• Amma used a mud stove that worked on firewood and cow dung cakes (no gas stove and cylinder in those times); later substituted by a kerosene stove and occasionally, the hot plate

Amma drew water from the nearby well (no piped water anywhere in the house – so that meant drawing water from the well for everybody – 8 people – for ablutions, bath, cooking, drinking)

• Amma boiled bath water for 8 people in a brass handa, heated with firewood ( had to be heated up at least two hours before it was time for bathing – that meant waking up at dawn)

• Amma made all her delicacies and regular cooking using a grinding stone ( no mixer or grinder – chutneys, paste for gojju, idli and dosa batter, vada on festival days – all ground by hand)

• Amma did all the evening chores by the light of lanterns (no electricity in the house)

Guess her age at this time? She was just in her mid-twenties!

And yet, she never complained of tiredness, or of having to do such hard work, or that she had no one to help. When we grew a little older, Amma would allot some small chores to us, but nothing major. During vacations, she divided some of the house cleaning tasks amongst us sisters in batches.

But Amma always did the lion’s share of the work herself. Her logic was – anyway after marriage her daughters would have to work hard in their husband’s home….why burden them with work even now…let them relax and have a good time now – the hard times will come in the future anyway…

And so, she would do all the work, reciting stotras all the time, and through her, God worked His magic in our lives.