Paati

She offered me love, unconditional in the true sense. My mere presence could give her joy, even during her last few moments. I was an integral part of the final decade in her 91-year-stay on earth. 91 year old lady, it is my grandmother I'm talking about.
I suppose a few of you are going to quit reading this here.

When I was a kid, the ritualistic January visit to Kumbakonam gave me immense joy. For the first nine years of my life, that was where I used to meet my grandmother. She would call out to me "Vigneshuuu!", I would respond "varen 'Etchi' paati.". I was very bad at pronouncing 'Lakshmi Ammal', her actual name. 

She would put her hand over me when I lay on her lap and I would play with the wart on her right hand, next to the thumb. She had raised three children, she knew what could comfort kids and it showed.
She was a popular lady in the Brahmin community in Kumbakonam. People came to her for loans, for marriages or for educational purposes. She wasn't a rich lady herself, but she knew where to get the money from. She would ask the influential, willing ones and they would oblige to paati, 'Lakshmi Ammal'. She was a well wisher to many in the town. 

She was 80 years old and her health needed more attention. The kid always loves the grandparent and I jumped in excitement when paati moved in with us permanently. She was offered all kinds of materialistic luxury to make up for her grief of leaving Kumbakonam. I had been an integral part of her life since then. 

A couple of years later, I shared my bedroom with her. She watched her TV shows on mute when I opened my books to study. She was on her own during this period, she could take care of herself, do the evening walk on her own with the walking stick. She had stubborn preferences unlike most women of her generation, she wouldn't use the walking stick if it didn't satisfy her quality norms. 

During her stay in my room, she spent most of her time writing names of Gods in notebooks. She woke up from her afternoon nap around five every evening and sat up to do the writing. She smiled in joy everytime I praised her handwriting and argued with me over the number of pages she wrote. She always got the calculation of the number of times she had written right and I more often that not, wrong, number of rows * number of columns * number of pages.

When I sat next to her on the bed, she would move and ask me to lie next to her on the bed and put her arm around me. Trust me, she moved every time I sat on the bed, even if it meant compromising on a comfortable nap. She never asked me to study, she only asked me to take breaks.

She had to bear all of this from me in her 90s

I wasn't a consistent performer at school, the never bad but never too good kind. Once, she had somehow deciphered I was in for yelling when dad returned from office. She probably overheard my conversation about the exam results with my father over phone. It was 6pm and time for dad to return that evening. I waited anxiously hoping to meet him in good mood. But no, Murphy's law worked. Dad and I took opposite seats in the hall and I knew I was in for some serious advice. But wait, guess who walked between the two of us and took the seat in the middle? Yes she came to the hall and why?, to take my side.  She said to my dad (and I translate to English), "I know Vignesh hasn't done well this time but you shouldn't shout at him for that. We know he is a capable student and that he will do well in his next exam. Don't you dare raise your voice against him." And that is no exaggeration. She was my hero that night. 

She squeezed herself through the tiny gap between the chair and the cot while I was studying. She didn't want to ask me to move thinking it would disturb me. 

But those were the last few days she actually walked. Health started playing spoilsport and she wasn't the kind that accepted deterioration with age easily. She got into moods of depression in self pity. She found solace in me sitting beside her.

A walking stick wasn't enough anymore. She needed a four-footed-walker and it wasn't too late before it became too heavy for her to carry. She needed people to help her walk to attend nature's calls. I accompanied her when the maid wasn't around, she feared less when I was around. 

My room wasn't hers anymore, she moved to the adjacent room which has an attached washroom, it made the walk less stressful for her.

From the next room, she would call out to me, "Vigneshhu!". She did her evening walks inside the house, she walked the extra yard or two when I held her hands. She ended these walks with a half an hour halt at the hall, I would come back to bring her to the room. 

Her health fluctuated, more towards the negative side, it wasn't uncommon, she was just getting older. Whenever she had dissensions with the maid, she would call out to me and if the maid responded I was busy studying, she would tell her, "Tell him I called. He will come." I eventually ended up next to her to help her out. 

Times changed and I didn't have much time for paati. I attended to her calls from the next room yes, but not much more than that. 

I realised I felt frustrated about her poor health, she always said she wouldn't complain without reason. We never really understand a person as old as she was.

She was bed-ridden, but the humour her innocence brought out was never down. She questioned dad why he was late from his trip and he replied, "Traffic ma.", referring to the traffic on the way back home from the airport. The innocent person that she was, began wondering about airplanes stuck in traffic mid-air. She hadn't seen real ones in her life and she never really knew how they worked.

She was permanently bed-ridden. She needed a nurse to help her with essentials. She was always afraid of the hospital. She mentioned she wanted to breathe last only at home and prayed to Perumal. Months passed and the day occurred when she had to be hospitalised. It was meant to test her increasing back pain that made it hard for her to sit. The day she left home, she turned to me and my dad from the wheel chair and said (and I translate), "I'm afraid I wouldn't come back." Dad replied, "Of course you would ma". I kept silent. 

I paid visits to the her in the hospital every alternate day. I was sent to give her food, which she otherwise would refuse to have. 

For the first time, she showed signs of memory loss. She couldn't place herself in a hospital and asked me when we would go back to Chennai. She remembered me well enough, however. The "how will I not"  look on her face when the maid asked her if she remembered me confirmed it.

She had been in the hospital for seven days, we knew and the doctors confirmed, we had to be prepared for her end. She was carrying a legacy, the last alive among siblings.
To me, she had been a friend, a well wisher, a roommate, a grandmother who had only love to offer. Just before I left to Trichy for a competition, I met her at the hospital. I let her know I was going to sing and that put a smile on her face. I shook hands with her in return for her signature 'thumbs up with the smile'. Little did I realise then that it would be the last time I would see her smile.
I returned from Trichy and there she was, lying in her hospital bed, with the oxygen mask on. She had lost conscience, her organs had started quitting. She wasn't gone yet, but it was grief I decided to let out then, I cried.
She showed hints of recovery for the next couple of days but not after that. Her organs failed her, all she could do was lie down on the bed with the oxygen mask on.
"She has a renal failure..you know they don't make it long after the kidney fails.", the doctor said. Two days up, and she still survived with the oxygen mask on. It was a matter of surprise for the doctors, "A 91 year old lady surviving two days with a renal failure?!"

"Paati always said she wanted to breathe last at home", my mother remembered. Yes, that was what she was waiting for. She couldn't say that out, she was too weak to talk and she wasn't going to stay longer. She had spent twelve years with us at home, and that is where she wanted to end.
The nurse whispered in paati's ear before leaving the hospital, that she was going home. Her ears moved as though signalling approval, the nurse said. It was a risky task to bring her home in that condition, but it was discernible she wouldn't stay long in the hospital as well. She was put into the best ambulance the hospital could offer and brought home.
The oxygen tank was ready at home, the bed set, the home all ready to welcome her. The ambulance reached the lobby and I brought the wheel chair.

She probably thought she had reached home already while downstairs, she breathed last in the ambulance.

Upholding a Cultural Identity

What is it about the current generation in India that sets it apart culturally? I've mused over the question many a time, yet never have I been able to find a definitive answer.

I'm sure you found the question vague. We dress in western fashion. We prefer the western language over ours. We accept the western education. We see 'western' as the bench mark. Yes, there is just too much of 'western' in this paragraph as well as in our lives.

'Education is truly what defines a person' sounds like a sentence lifted from an essay written by a fifth grader but is very true. The western education is what is required to survive practically in the current world, one may argue, but the Indian system of education is what defined it culturally in the past. A modern world Indian parent wouldn't even consider enrolling her/his ward in a Gurukula. The answer to the question "Why isn't the Gurukula system of education practical in the current world?" is "It is too superior to be practical in the current world."

Over the past centuries, the Gurukula system has faded away, giving way to modern day schools as we know them today. 'Gurukulas' are described in past tense in textbooks of the current system. However, they aren't completely extinct, thanks to Purohits who still practise it.

As I was carrying out my Yajur Upakarma (sacred thread ceremony) rituals, I glanced at the twenty odd little boys who had accompanied the 'main Purohit' to help him out with the proceedings, all dressed in dhotis tied in traditional style and head half shaved with a small tuft in the back (kudumi, sikha). They bowed to their Guru in respect and carried out the tasks he had ordered them to.
It was a working day at the Gurukula for them, a practical class on how to carry out the Upakarma rituals. The dhoti was their uniform, the Purohit, their teacher. It was all analogous to a modern day classroom.

The boys' faces sparkled with an innocence a 10-year-old-school-going-kid now lacks. The boys were in their Bhramacharyasharma stage, where Vedas are studied under the guidance of teachers at the Gurukula. Though analogous in classroom pattern, these are two very different education systems. In a Gurukula, the sishya (student) is required to stay with his Guru away from his parents throughout his Bhramacharyasharma stage.
Any classroom is incomplete without the notorious ones. The notorious one among the ones who were present on that day reached out to the tuft of another fellow sishya and pulled it.

These kids look seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they lead a life very different from a mainstream kid of their same age. 'The kid distributing the thread' passed by the 'little boy from the apartment' meddling with his iPad without taking a second to glance at him. The act, to me, showed the kids' acceptance of their detachment from the modern world amenities. They lead the simple life, devoid of most of the comforts the modern kid fancies.

The Vedas are their syllabus. The Vedas are some of the oldest writings ever known to mankind, invaluable gifts from Rishis. They teach the philosophy and principles of life which the western-influenced kid today lacks. Had he/she been introduced to the Vedas at a young age, he/she would have had a cultural identity of his/her own.
This is exactly what our generation lacks, a cultural identity. The western man is staying true to his principles, the Indian isn't.

As I continued looking at these kids of Purohits, I wondered how they have a legacy to preserve. It is a matter of surprise that the Vedic culture scarcely prevails amidst distractions of the modern world.
These kids, probably have not realised the responsibility they hold yet, they need to uphold what truly sets our country apart from the rest of the world, the Vedas.