Nurungukal

    Many a season has rolled by since our marriage. Still 1970  September is a special month to us.  It was in this month we were married. Waynad, nestled in the slopes of Western Ghats, a land which resisted the plunder of Tippu, a land which nurtured the adventures of Pazhashi, a land which breaths as the lungs of Nilgiri biosphere and beats as the heart of the Gods Own Country, was shy as always like a bride, draped in a veil of mist, welcomed us on our maiden trip after marriage. As we reached the top, the sun was struggling to peep through a thick sheet of fog. 

     Nurungukal

    Many a season has rolled by since our marriage. Still 1970  September is a special month to us.  It was in this month we were married. Waynad nestled in the slopes of Western Ghats, a land which resisted the plunder of Tippu, a land which nurtured the adventures of Pazhashi, a land which breaths as the lungs of Nilgiri biosphere and beats as the heart of the Gods Own Country, was shy as always like a bride, draped in a veil of mist, welcomed us on our maiden trip after marriage. As we reached the top, the sun was struggling to peep through a thick sheet of fog. A chill pierced through me when my bare feet came in touch with the earth, which archived many stories of historical events. At the door step of the house, an abode of divinity,  merged with the back drop serenely, three ladies were poised with all accompaniments, ready to welcome the newly wedded. One of them was Ammayi and her sisters in law. Her real name was Sharada, which I came to know much later. She was shy and soft spoken as her name indicated. Moreover it related with the Autumn, the season in which I met her for the first and last time.

       

          She was the first and last Ammayi in my life for I had never met the wife of my maternal uncle. Because she had met with the destiny long before I was born. So I purposefully adopted or rather elevated her to that position, just because she was among the lot the eligible one, in my perspective. To my wife she was next to her mother and elder sister. She used to be strangely vociferous, while narrating her childhood days under the care of Ammayi and about many funny situations with her, along with other kids in the family. Children in those days were enjoying the nectar of a joint family grooming which was  full of fun and frolics and Ammayi always took the roll of a matriarch protecting them from the wrath of others on many occasions and came as a saviour of sparing the stick from other elders. Very rarely we can come across such a mellowing character. In a crowd she stood apart elegantly in her traditional Kerala attire.

       The other day when my wife expressed her desire to visit the ailing Ammayi, an intense and impulsive inner call prompted me to dash to her without an iota of hesitation. She was frail and struggling to respond. We returned with a sense of humility, but never sensed that it would be the last. When the news about her heavenly abode came, we consoled each other and thanked the Almighty for triggering our prudence in responding to our conscience.

   She was the last to pass, from that family chain as if like the setting of a full moon, leaving a legacy of humility, love and affection. Adieu Ammayi. Our Pranamam.

     Nurungukal

    Many a season has rolled by since our marriage. Still 1970  September is a special month to us.  It was in this month we were married. Waynad nestled in the slopes of Western Ghats, a land which resisted the plunder of Tippu, a land which nurtured the adventures of Pazhashi, a land which breaths as the lungs of Nilgiri biosphere and beats as the heart of the Gods Own Country, was shy as always like a bride, draped in a veil of mist, welcomed us on our maiden trip after marriage. As we reached the top, the sun was struggling to peep through a thick sheet of fog. A chill pierced through me when my bare feet came in touch with the earth, which archived many stories of historical events. At the door step of the house, an abode of divinity,  merged with the back drop serenely, three ladies were poised with all accompaniments, ready to welcome the newly wedded. One of them was Ammayi and her sisters in law. Her real name was Sharada, which I came to know much later. She was shy and soft spoken as her name indicated. Moreover it related with the Autumn, the season in which I met her for the first and last time.

       

          She was the first and last Ammayi in my life for I had never met the wife of my maternal uncle. Because she had met with the destiny long before I was born. So I purposefully adopted or rather elevated her to that position, just because she was among the lot the eligible one, in my perspective. To my wife she was next to her mother and elder sister. She used to be strangely vociferous, while narrating her childhood days under the care of Ammayi and about many funny situations with her, along with other kids in the family. Children in those days were enjoying the nectar of a joint family grooming which was  full of fun and frolics and Ammayi always took the roll of a matriarch protecting them from the wrath of others on many occasions and came as a saviour of sparing the stick from other elders. Very rarely we can come across such a mellowing character. In a crowd she stood apart elegantly in her traditional Kerala attire.

       The other day when my wife expressed her desire to visit the ailing Ammayi, an intense and impulsive inner call prompted me to dash to her without an iota of hesitation. She was frail and struggling to respond. We returned with a sense of humility, but never sensed that it would be the last. When the news about her heavenly abode came, we consoled each other and thanked the Almighty for triggering our prudence in responding to our conscience.

   She was the last to pass, from that family chain as if like the setting of a full moon, leaving a legacy of humility, love and affection. Adieu Ammayi. Our Pranamam.

     A chill pierced through me when my bare feet came in touch with the earth, which archived many stories of historical events. At the door step of the house, an abode of divinity,  merged with the back drop serenely, three ladies were poised with all accompaniments, ready to welcome the newly wedded. One of them was Ammayi and her sisters in law. Her real name was Sharada, which I came to know much later. She was shy and soft spoken as her name indicated. Moreover it related with the Autumn, the season in which I met her for the first and last time.

       

          She was the first and last Ammayi in my life for I had never met the wife of my maternal uncle. Because she had met with the destiny long before I was born. So I purposefully adopted or rather elevated her to that position, just because she was among the lot the eligible one, in my perspective. To my wife she was next to her mother and elder sister. She used to be strangely vociferous, while narrating her childhood days under the care of Ammayi and about many funny situations with her, along with other kids in the family. Children in those days were enjoying the nectar of a joint family grooming which was  full of fun and frolics and Ammayi always took the roll of a matriarch protecting them from the wrath of others on many occasions and came as a saviour of sparing the stick from other elders. Very rarely we can come across such a mellowing character. In a crowd she stood apart elegantly in her traditional Kerala attire.

       The other day when my wife expressed her desire to visit the ailing Ammayi, an intense and impulsive inner call prompted me to dash to her without an iota of hesitation. She was frail and struggling to respond. We returned with a sense of humility, but never sensed that it would be the last. When the news about her heavenly abode came, we consoled each other and thanked the Almighty for triggering our prudence in responding to our conscience.

   She was the last to pass, from that family chain as if like the setting of a full moon, leaving a legacy of humility, love and affection. Adieu Ammayi. Our Pranamam.