Ammaji: Remembering a bold and carefree woman who was my great-grandmother

You might wonder why you should spend two-three minutes of your life reading a blog about my great-grandmother. Well, as far as I know, she moved so many people around her while she was alive, maybe she can do it even today while she’s away in a different world we’re totally unaware of.

Blessed are those people who have maternal and paternal grandparents. I always wanted to have my maternal grandparents, but I guess I wasn’t lucky enough in this lifetime. So, neither did I get to witness my maternal grandparents, nor did I have my grandfather (my father’s father). 

What I had was an amazing combination of two extremely opposite ladies- my paternal grandmother and great-grandmother.

To make things clear, only my grandmother is with me today*, and the one about whom I’m writing (Ammaji: my great-grandmother) left us for the unknown 17 years ago (in 2003). So naturally, I remember very faintly about her, but whatever little I remember still remains alive in my memories. [Amma means mother in Hindi and is also used to address grandmothers or elderly women, and Ji is spoken respectfully.]

“I’m sure this world has a huge collection of stories of unimaginably magnificent women that are waiting to be read, heard or spoken.”

Since my childhood, I have been aware of the struggles Ammaji faced in her life. According to my calculations (with my father’s age as a reference point), Ammaji must have been born in the early 1930s. She got married very young. She lost her husband and became a widow just within a few years of her marriage. By then, she had two children. She lost her daughter at a very young age too. The second child, my grandfather, was the only one left with her.

After becoming a widow, she returned back to her native village (where she used to live before marriage). Now she had to work all by herself to feed herself and my grandfather.

But life was planned in a rather different way for her. My grandfather (MPhil in History) died in his early 40’s (I wish he was alive too, we would have enjoyed weaving philosophy together) and she lost him too. You see, she lost her dear ones so early in life- husband, daughter and son. She might have needed them the most!

Despite all odds, can you guess what she loved doing?

She loved eating ice-creams from the old-styled and late 1990s-early 2000s ice-cream-wallah who used to blow a horn whenever he used to come with his cart. That horn still rings in my ears today (even while writing this).

But how will my Ammaji’s story move you?

I never said it “will” move you, but I think it “can” move you!

Though Ammaji was born in an old-vintage-early 1930s world, she was one of the coolest people I’ve seen in my life. A bob haircut with silver-shining white hair, a sober and elegant saree with a wooden stick in her right hand (to support her while walking).

Recollecting an old incident, I remember how I was running down a comb in Ammaji’s bob-cut hair and I unintentionally pulled her hair that got stuck in the comb. Till today, I remember the scolding I got. Without a doubt, she loved my elder sister more than me. I do not mind it now (though I did a little when I was a child).

The people in her village say that after the Rowlatt Act of 1919, Mahatma Gandhi was arrested from their village railway station while he was taking cognizance of the protests against the Act. He had been travelling from Mumbai to Lahore.

After India’s Independence (in 1947), Dr Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India, inaugurated a newly built “Gandhi Ghar” (Gandhi House) on 30 October 1957 in this village to commemorate the visit of Mahatma Gandhi in the village.

It was in this inaugural celebration that Ammaji and her sister along with some women from the village sang a few traditional songs. Impressed and delighted with Ammaji’s singing, Dr Prasad gave a Gandhi Charkha (spinning wheel) to her as a present. I will be getting that charkha once we visit our village, as promised by my grandmother.

Ammaji had a little child residing in her heart. A child, who despite facing so many bitter experiences in life chose ‘life’-as it came her way! Amusingly, she never allowed anyone to pluck fruits from the garden in our big village home. Guavas, pomegranates, black apples, mulberry, grapes, and occasionally some vegetables, all exemplified the beauty of our big and beautiful home. Not to forget, these fruits and flowers were the results and hard work of a woman who married my father in the late 1980s-another strong woman-my mother. She still loves gardening and treats plants, trees and everything budding from the soil like her own children (sometimes she loves them more than her children).

Ammaji never allowed my mother to keep a veil or cover her face. Maybe she knew (from an early age) what it meant to be a slave of orthodox patriarchal norms that were promoted (and still are) in the name of culture and religion. She indeed has been a glorious example of a powerful and strong woman in my life.

“Remember, someone else is happy with less than what you have.”

She was loved by people, especially the fruit and vegetable sellers, ice-cream sellers, people in the neighbourhood, among so many other people I do not even recognize.

Why did they love her?

Because she used to take out time and talk to them. Often, she used to take away their fruits and some extra chillies and sometimes even store these in her big silver trunk.

Why did she do that?

Even I do not know! No one in my family knows! Maybe she liked it, maybe she enjoyed storing things for use later, only she can tell (I can never know this now or ever). She is gone. Forever. 

Though she had been ill for a few days, she faced a peaceful death. No old-age medical conditions or diseases, nothing. Just a silent death with a smile on her face.

The day before her death, when my family took her to the hospital for a check-up, she had sung a song to a doctor at his request. That very night, she said good night and slept forever. She never even gave a chance to me to say, good-bye Ammaji!

I remember the railing of my house (on the first floor) from which I was looking at Ammaji’s corpse (on the ground floor), covered with holy clothes and sarees and bedsheets (these are given as a sign of respect, especially to elders). She had been a strong woman- authoritative, confident, assertive, witty and cheerful. I wonder how many life stories of such amazing and strong women fade away and get perished forever.

What if she’s reading this blog too, from somewhere?

If that’s true (simply imagining), I should say something to her, like:

“Dear Ammaji,

I wish I had been older when you left us all. I would have loved accompanying you eating ice-creams. May be I would have asked you your stories from a time that I now read in history books. Whenever we meet next time, I will make your hair and I promise I’ll do it with care this time and not pull any of your precious silver strands.”

I’m sure this world has a huge collection of stories of unimaginably magnificent women that are waiting to be read, heard or spoken.

Remember, someone else is happy with less than what you have. It is in the little moments that life resides and little by little, they become enormously big such that when you look back, all you do is: smile.

*My grandmother was alive when I wrote this blog in the year 2020. However, she too passed away in 2022 (leaving me with no grandparents at all).

Thanks for reading!

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