NAMASTE!

Till now, none of us knows why the Putheth home is famously called Ammachi house, and so as the mystery behind why the house’s front door is never closed.

There’s never been a dull evening in her house, and that’s how I grew to learn about my family. My grandmother has six sisters, and I surprisingly know one or more things about each one of them. From which color they find abhorrent for a saree, to one of their favourite tennis players, which one likes their pulisheri* extra sour or even which one occasionally hides a prawn pickle bottle in her cupboard. How do I know? It’s been sixty years since she’s been married. Till now, all of her siblings, children and grandchildren still drive up to her home and live up to the promise of brotherhood and sisterhood despite how life goes on. Now I have a huge family I grew close to beyond a Christmas party.  Just like that open door, she showed loving never lies within that comfort zone.

She may never say,” I love you,” she never has to. We all just know. This may perhaps be the shortest chapter of them all. Only because Ammachi believes that love is pointless if only talked about or even boastfully shown. It’s something that ought to live in you.

 

She may never say,” I love you,” she never has to. We all just know. This may perhaps be the shortest chapter of them all. Only because Ammachi believes that love is pointless if only talked about or even boastfully shown. It’s something that ought to live in you.

Despite being in Kochi for five years and even though our homes were ten minutes apart, I wasn’t the granddaughter who always drove to my grandma’s place to be with her. She isn’t the grandma who dotes on me and shares stories into the night. She fascinated me with how she always kept herself busy and more importantly made it a point to be there for everyone family and friends. It was always a joke, that she has a solar panel on her back and she loves to be and learn under the sun. And every time I walked in with my pencil skirt, she’d have a thing or two to say. Or times I drove in very late after a long meeting at work, she’ll never ask why but have supper ready. Her warm eyes always say, “You deserve this after a long day.” And in her greatest company she always has the wittiest lines at the tip of her tongue, and then I remember why I started to write. My mother knows that I always have an odd connection with her and it’s only her who can only articulately say, “Her grandmother is always her secretive muse.”

See my Ammachi is not the woman, who’ll sit and untangle the knots in your hair, and sieve the comb through your worshipped hair, and she won’t braid it with some spare ribbons from the cut cloth by her sewing machine. She’ll leave it all to you.

“It’s all up to you,” you whisper to yourself.

Ten years, it took me to understand why she never handed me the comb.

Happy Birthday Ammachi

With love

Atheena - Molay (colloquial term for daughter)

79 IN TIME BY ATHEENA WILSON

Nº1: PROLOGUE 
Nº2: WHEN WAS WHEN 
Nº3: TAKEN BY THE CURRENT 
Nº4: BEAUTY 
Nº5: IDENTITY 
Nº6: BRAVERY 
Nº7: LOVE 
Nº8: EPILOGUE 

MORE ARTIClES >>

TRAVEL WITH US

RELATED ARTICLES


ART DIRECTOR & WRITER

ATHEENA WILSON

Run parallel, meet at intersections, skip a few lines, the line of thought has journeyed across a few latitudes and longitudes. To more miles before the big sleep. Cheers, Atheena

PHOTOGRAPHER

DENNIS ANTONY

Its been a journey from being a young soul where I have felt only love but unaware of its importance in my life I searched for love all over and only felt pain, scars and reality but never true love I still keep searching.

+

ayurveda trails pvt | © 2018