The antique girl

it is about a granny I spent the last 8 months with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I always knew grannies were adorable. I have vague  memories of my own .  Recollecting my memories with her is  like recollecting a dream  we try hard to remember. I remember her feeding me rice with banana and sugar, braiding my hair etcetra . More than memory it is from  stories I know her more.  I know she had grey eyes. And she was beautiful. My mother says I have bequeathed my curly hair from her. I know she was the  goddess of generosity of the village and  was nicknamed poppomma.

However, The last eight months I got to relive the moments I could not have with my grandmom.

I graduated medschool and  had to spend the next one year in training. I rented an  apartment in the hospital campus , most of my neighbours being nurses.

I  moved in  that evening and as I was hurrying  in  and out of my room I saw a little figure  looking at me stealthily.

Little did I know this short "statured , soft spoken nanny  , peeping through the clothes on the washline ,would  become so close to my heart.

As days went by, I was her granddaughter and she was my granny.

 I called her Ammachi ( meaning granny).

Every evening by 6:30 pm, I would wait in expectation  for the gentle  knocks on my door where she would stand at the door and say, “ come lets have some tea.” And I never stood to think twice……

She made the best tea in the world . It was a secret proportion of milk ,tea and sugar.she would give me a share of every new dish she made and in my absence save my share. On weekends she made me a mystical potion out of aloe sap from her own garden to wash my hair with. I celebrated Christmas, easter and birthdays with her.

She knew I come back late from work. On Christmas afternoon she waited  very, very  long in the sun to invite me for lunch . she kept all her guest waiting for me. When my friends came she brought snacks for them.

After my night duties I would run to her kitchen for breakfast and how I savoured down those ambrosial south indian dishes! And then she would narrate al that happened the previous day, all that I missed on TV. She often told me How she longed to  leave join grandpa  and  her farm back home.

And before long it was time for her to leave

Last I saw her was in her ruby-red saree and the torn blouse which shone in the moonlight when she hugged me last and kissed  me and caressed me lovingly over my chest.

Today,As I look at her  old  red saree that she left me all these run down creating an  amouage of memories.

She left me umpteen souvenirs and a little story in each of them. In the cups of tea, in the gentle knocks, in the gooey aloe potion ,in the old red saree,

I don’t  know her name  all I know is that  she  was  ammachi…..an ammachi  i could not own.

Grannies are adorable. oh!  I vouch they are. 

They truly are antique little girls!

 

 

Reviews

[Matching Socks]

What a beautiful story.
I really enjoyed this, it makes me think of my own two grannies or "Baba" as I call them.
One has recently passed, the other lives far overseas, we remain connected by airwaves...
Your writing is so beautiful and descriptive.

[Michelle Samson]

thank you Ana for reading me