(It is strange that we look for bravery and endurance in newspapers, or plastered across billboards,when it is staring us in the face , right in our backyard.I have, in my short and singularly uneventful existence, come across many such individuals and I am sure there are many more out there, their stories waiting to be chronicled.)
Sari hitched between her legs, her spindly legs all wet, she would be assiduously sweeping the water off the tiled floor in our kitchen, hissing like a goose, all the while, to beat the chill of late December.Occasionally, she would break into a bhajan(a holy song),loud enough to make the inmates of the house smile in indulgence.
"Ramji jehi vidhi rakhiye, tehi vidhi rahiye."(roughly translated as 'let the Lord decide your fate)
The floor would still be muddy and wet, and had to be mopped with a mop, which would be dripping wet owing to previous days' floor washing and bad weather ,put together. Any amount of reasoning and convincing (that a dry floor is cleaner than a wet one) wouldn't work with ammaji.
She would , invariably inundate large parts of the house with vast quantities of water, and then proceed to mop it up; wetting things,and her saree , further.
This act of apparent thickheadedness is prompted by the rustic hindu belief of dousing everything with' gangajal' (water from the holy ganges) to render it pure.
Ammaji, or mother, as it would mean in Hindi, was a braveheart and a fighter.She worked as a domestic help, or maid,for us and couple of other houses too.She bore five children to a drunkard , who drank his way to oblivion, "many winters ago".He probably drank up all her savings and left her in abject penury, with several mouths to feed, and bodies to clothe.
But she bore him(' a soul long gone' ) no ill-will. Single handedly, she raised her kids from the scratch, earning money from her several jobs,living in various servant quarters , and over the years, developed a rock steady faith in the" Lord", and her own abilities.She also made an attempt to educate them, wherein one son matriculated last year , after a string of failures, and others just gave up after having "learnt the letters".
One daughter was married to a guy who lugged gas cylinders in the gas agency,other to a sweet shop owner(halwai) in a remote village. The second marriage being somewhat of a failure, the daughter would land up at ammaji's doorstep every six months' or so, with her latest newborn in her arms, a large number of runny nosed kids of various ages in tow, probably pregnant with the next arrival.She would then proceed to stay at her mother's place, for an uncertain period of time, thereby straining the meagre resources further.She would be welcomed every single time with equal enthusiasm, and gifts showered on her numerous progenies. The family shifted a little to make space for' baby'(as was her name)and her babies, and few more kilos of groceries bought with borrowed money.
Every twelve years, a festival of mammoth proportions is held in the holy city of Allahabad, a site of confluence of the three holiest of holy rivers for hindus, the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati(albeit underground).Ammaji was determined to take a dip into the holy river, despite the risk of stampedes,overwhelming crowd, filthy waters and freezing temperatures.Take a dip she did, and returned back safe and sound with' prasad'(holy sacrament) for all and sundry.
When a neighbour fell ill, she would be the first one to pay a visit.
When the government decreed that new identity cards be made, she was one of the first to apply and receive a copy. Not only did she brave long queues, stifling heat, and inefficient Govt. employees, she also didn't let her illiteracy stand in the way of her grit and enthusiasm.
When my mom-in-law broke a hip, she pressed her sons into service too, and took over additional tasks of cooking , without a murmur. Later when she recuperated, ammaji used to accompany her on her routine evening walks. A chore demanding tremendous patience.
She would offer to bring groceries in, even when it rained, or the winter sleet howled around her bony ankles, growling like a dog.
She had corneal opacity in one eye, which indicated a trauma to the head , long ago. Probably sustained during the early marriage years. Something she was always reluctant to talk about.But that didn't slow her down.She would have near-brushes with disaster , on a daily basis , almost. Once she was almost hit by a speeding car, on other occasions, utensils with food still in them would land in the sink, peelers chucked into dustbins along with masses of peels, but she would make up with the most endearing gift of assiduity and generosity.
On busy mornings, she would offer to carry forgotten notebooks to classes of irresponsible kids having hurried off to school in a huff. Not once unfazed by the fact that she might have to face rude sentries and displeased teachers.
In a world that turned increasingly literate, computer savvy and fast, she remained unfazed, old-fashioned, illiterate , but a generous and enthusiastic beacon of hope to people around her.
Sari hitched between her legs, her spindly legs all wet, she would be assiduously sweeping the water off the tiled floor in our kitchen, hissing like a goose, all the while, to beat the chill of late December.Occasionally, she would break into a bhajan(a holy song),loud enough to make the inmates of the house smile in indulgence.
"Ramji jehi vidhi rakhiye, tehi vidhi rahiye."(roughly translated as 'let the Lord decide your fate)
The floor would still be muddy and wet, and had to be mopped with a mop, which would be dripping wet owing to previous days' floor washing and bad weather ,put together. Any amount of reasoning and convincing (that a dry floor is cleaner than a wet one) wouldn't work with ammaji.
She would , invariably inundate large parts of the house with vast quantities of water, and then proceed to mop it up; wetting things,and her saree , further.
This act of apparent thickheadedness is prompted by the rustic hindu belief of dousing everything with' gangajal' (water from the holy ganges) to render it pure.
Ammaji, or mother, as it would mean in Hindi, was a braveheart and a fighter.She worked as a domestic help, or maid,for us and couple of other houses too.She bore five children to a drunkard , who drank his way to oblivion, "many winters ago".He probably drank up all her savings and left her in abject penury, with several mouths to feed, and bodies to clothe.
But she bore him(' a soul long gone' ) no ill-will. Single handedly, she raised her kids from the scratch, earning money from her several jobs,living in various servant quarters , and over the years, developed a rock steady faith in the" Lord", and her own abilities.She also made an attempt to educate them, wherein one son matriculated last year , after a string of failures, and others just gave up after having "learnt the letters".
One daughter was married to a guy who lugged gas cylinders in the gas agency,other to a sweet shop owner(halwai) in a remote village. The second marriage being somewhat of a failure, the daughter would land up at ammaji's doorstep every six months' or so, with her latest newborn in her arms, a large number of runny nosed kids of various ages in tow, probably pregnant with the next arrival.She would then proceed to stay at her mother's place, for an uncertain period of time, thereby straining the meagre resources further.She would be welcomed every single time with equal enthusiasm, and gifts showered on her numerous progenies. The family shifted a little to make space for' baby'(as was her name)and her babies, and few more kilos of groceries bought with borrowed money.
Every twelve years, a festival of mammoth proportions is held in the holy city of Allahabad, a site of confluence of the three holiest of holy rivers for hindus, the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati(albeit underground).Ammaji was determined to take a dip into the holy river, despite the risk of stampedes,overwhelming crowd, filthy waters and freezing temperatures.Take a dip she did, and returned back safe and sound with' prasad'(holy sacrament) for all and sundry.
When a neighbour fell ill, she would be the first one to pay a visit.
When the government decreed that new identity cards be made, she was one of the first to apply and receive a copy. Not only did she brave long queues, stifling heat, and inefficient Govt. employees, she also didn't let her illiteracy stand in the way of her grit and enthusiasm.
When my mom-in-law broke a hip, she pressed her sons into service too, and took over additional tasks of cooking , without a murmur. Later when she recuperated, ammaji used to accompany her on her routine evening walks. A chore demanding tremendous patience.
She would offer to bring groceries in, even when it rained, or the winter sleet howled around her bony ankles, growling like a dog.
She had corneal opacity in one eye, which indicated a trauma to the head , long ago. Probably sustained during the early marriage years. Something she was always reluctant to talk about.But that didn't slow her down.She would have near-brushes with disaster , on a daily basis , almost. Once she was almost hit by a speeding car, on other occasions, utensils with food still in them would land in the sink, peelers chucked into dustbins along with masses of peels, but she would make up with the most endearing gift of assiduity and generosity.
On busy mornings, she would offer to carry forgotten notebooks to classes of irresponsible kids having hurried off to school in a huff. Not once unfazed by the fact that she might have to face rude sentries and displeased teachers.
In a world that turned increasingly literate, computer savvy and fast, she remained unfazed, old-fashioned, illiterate , but a generous and enthusiastic beacon of hope to people around her.
Sheer grit and faith...............no room for doubt cast iron and sure the recipe to happiness in abundance ........ come what may ...........it is the WILL OF THE ALMIGHTY ............and is to be accepted...........wonderful memories which will inspire for many lifetimes............!
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