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V Gangadhar

Periyaamma patti...

Charles Schultz, the creator of the Peanuts strip, remembered to create a grandmother. But Linus, the Bible-quoting hero attached to his security blanket, does not think much of her. This grandma has no liking for his blanket and tries her best to separate her grandson from it.

Grandmothers are part of the growing up process. Take, for instance, the grandma created by R K Narayan, in his inimitable Swami and Friends. She lived in the shadows of a middle class brahmin family home but, for young Swami, she was the friend, confidante and comforter from the occasionally unreasonable father and mother. He told her everything -- school experiences, friends, ambitions -- and even tried to explain the intricacies of cricket when starting the Malgudi Cricket Club.

Grandmothers are not only great storytellers, but also wonderful listeners. Young boys and girls occasionally need someone to listen to their prattle and that is why they value grandmothers so much.

My childhood was enriched with the presence of two pattis (grandmothers). One of them, whom we called Sondham patti (our own grandmother), was my father's mother but lived with us only occasionally. The other grandmother was named Kaveri. We called her periyaammai patti (roughly translated as 'senior mother grandmother'). She was my father's aunt and, as far as I remember, lived with us most of the time.

Periyaammai patti was a major factor in my young life. She was married at nine and widowed two years later. The cruel customs of those years forced her to have her head shaved and wear white all the time. She did not even remember her husband, and once he died, came to live with various relatives. All of us had seen her only in white.

One day, in all innocence, my elder sister asked her, "Patti, when did you start wearing the white sari and apply holy ash on the forehead?" Grandmother paused a bit and replied, "I was born like this, child." The impact of this statement was to hit me several years later.

Most of the time, mother and Periyaammai patti got along quite well. But, in her own ways, patti created problems. She was very orthodox, observed all the rituals and got irritated when we intruded into her puja room. For patti, even my mother was not orthodox enough.

To 'purify' the food cooked by mother, she used to sprinkle milk on the dishes. This asaram (orthodoxy) was carried to such an extent that patti was always picking quarrels with our cook, who delighted in provoking her. Once in a while, mother complained to father who spoke sternly to grandmother. But I do not think this admonition had any effect on her.

She was my favourite grandmother because, unlike my sisters, I never made fun of her (even in jest) or picked up quarrels with her. Patti had never gone to school. Somehow or other, she taught herself to read and was always found poring over the pages of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. She even read the popular Tamil magazines particularly Ananda Vikatan. This enabled her to tell us wonderful stories.

After dinner, I snuggled up to her and listened enchanted to her folk tales. In one of these tales, a fox disguised itself as a brahmin and played havoc in the village before it was exposed by a god-fearing girl.

Virtue was the major theme in such stories. Cruel and unfeeling stepmothers were always punished. Grandmother did not spare us the gory details and we shivered in horror as she described how the evil-doers were dragged to hell by Chitraguptan (the assistant to Yama, the God of Death) and flung into cauldrons of boiling oil.

When not telling stories, she played games with us. She was an expert in pallankuzhi (a native game played with a wooden board and sea shells) and was so sharp that she detected any cheating we resorted to. We taught her to play carrom and she became proficient in that game too.

Periyaammai patti was also a wonderful cook. On the days she fasted, she had only one meal and she cooked her own food. This was not the usual rice sambhar-rasam-vegetable-curd dishes, but tasty snacks which we called palaharam. I particularly remember a dish called morkhali made from buttermilk and some kind of dough. Though this was meant for the person who fasted, the best part of the morkali was consumed by me. But grandmother did not mind and drank extra glasses of water to kill her appetite.

She seldom went out. In fact, occasional visits to the temples were her only outings. One day, I decided to change all that. Our cook and I were alone in the house and we had planned to go to a movie called Krishna Vijayam which dealt with the birth and early life of Lord Krishna. Suddenly, I had a bright idea. Why not take patti for the movie?

The cook, who was initially flabbergasted, finally came around. The driver was also thrilled because he was driving pattiamma for an unusual adventure. The movie was quite entertaining with the hero, Lord Krishna, chasing the gopis, killing the demons and supporting virtuous people. When the movie ended, I asked her, "Why didn't you fold your hands and pray? Lord Krishna was before you." She laughed, "Do you think I would believe it was the real Krishna? It was all a vesham (illusion). But all the time, Lord Krishna is within me." I was quite stumped by that answer.

By the time father retired and settled down temporarily in Palakadu, I had left home. Due to some family problems, Periyaammai patti could not live with us in Palakadu and was left to stay with her brother in her native village. One day, my father received a post card that she had died peacefully.

If at all there is a place called Heaven, an honoured place would be reserved for her. Today, looking around me, I see statues erected for all sorts of useless persons. If ever, in my very old age I am fortune enough to acquire a big bungalow, I would erect a statue of my beloved grandmother and arrange story-telling sessions for children. Periyaammai patti brought so much joy to my childhood that I would like to pass on some part of it to other children.

Illustrations: Dominic Xavier