The end of an era
I lost my first memory to Covid-related complications on 31st January 2021. I say first memory because I was with her when cognisance took shape as words, memories and demands when infant hood became toddlerhood. My folks were in Kuwait and as primary caregiver, she bore the brunt of my terrible twos. My grandmum was larger than life. A daunting, intimidating woman to people who knew her as an acquaintance. An endless source of kind comfort and strength to those who loved her. This is me, committing her to memory - yours and mine.
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Mamma as I last remember her - smiling and soft; Christmas 2021
Pappa Paul and Mamma Grace
An early photo of my grandparents as young parents.
Mamma Grace with her parents, siblings, in-laws and the young fry
Mamma Grace and me.
Two patient grannies and one brat
Mamma Grace and Joanna Thatha entertaining toddler me
The community called her teacher. I’m sure she whacked the bottoms and other whacking-serviceable appendages of a good percentage of the above 50 demographic and sent them crying home. They called her teacher with a sort of reverence. Tiny in stature. Mighty in statuesque.
From our housewarming (90’s) - The Correya lot!
Eight individuals called her mummy. She was a pillar to them. The definition of strength and “pull your socks up! One must look smart when one faces life” kind of mother. The mother who was so brave that she was almost a warrior - a daunting one at that. A walk the narrow path kind of mother. A ‘puts the fear of God in you’ in a non-metaphoric way kind of mother. Her hand-starched sarees claimed the pride of the place on the clothesline like a proud flag of her sovereign. Seven in-law individuals came under her wing - adding to a grand chorus of fourteen human voices and one distant echo.
17 individuals called her mamma. To them, she was grandmother superior. The grandest of grandmothers. The alpha mamma. The “My granny is better than yours” grandmother. The endless supply of chocolates grandmother. The “I will always love you” grandmother. The intercessor, the rescuer, the Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Times of Parental Discipline kind of grandmother. The spare the child and spoil the child cause it’s my grandchild kind of grandmother. The wisest grandmother. The endless source of Bible stories grandmother. She was a shepherdess that held her little misbehaving black sheep closest. The matriarch kind of grandmother. The I-wish-I-were-more-like-her kind of grandmother. 17 grew, literally and made it 27. Plus one freshly made official.
8 tiny individuals called her Nana/grandma/mamama. They probably think that she kept a pet dinosaur as a little girl. The soft-voiced, sweet great-grandma with the smile of a benevolent mountain.
Her sisters called her chacha. As a little girl, it confused and amused me to no end. That my grandmother could have so many names.
Siblings and all!
Valiyaveedu - Mamma Grace’s ancestral home
Mamma Grace with her sisters Beatrice (Beatty Aunty) and Celine (Celine Aunty)
She was named Elizabeth. And she was called Grace. The man she loved had a way of making her name sound like an appeal to a higher order. A stretched out caress of an “Ayyyy” between the throaty Gr and the sweet sibilant of Ce. She was named like a queen and perhaps even named after a queen. And she conducted herself like one. But to the ones she loved she was called Grace because she simply was.
’twas Grace that brought us safe thus far and Grace will lead us home’.
