True stories - I saw her again today

True stories - I saw her again today

In June 2012, Girija Aunty, our help at ppd, like millions around the world, finally lost her battle to The Emperor of All Maladies..... for her in her uterus...

She was someone who had a happy childhood, a very pleasant marriage initially...until drinks got the better of her husband..... thus she had to resort of household jobs to feed her two children.... she worked as sweeper, maid servant, help at a hospital, storekeeper...almost any job she could physically do...even more than 5 years after she has been diagnosed of cancer.....which initially itself was labelled, incurable....

most of my relatives knew her, and my cousins have personally tasted her cooking...it was in all sense phenominal....i, being the irritant chori, only seldom mentioned it to her.... on the other hand, i nevr let her forget the time she added twice the amount of chilly powder, in our channa masala than she was supposed to....or the time she screwed up our fridge bottle by pouring hot water into it...or the time she almost burnt my dad by pouring boiling water into our regular drinking jug....or the time she made soup by mixing three seperate falvours of soup powder.... i never mentioned about her out of the world dosas... her terrific ullivadas and uzhunnu vadas.... her pazhampuris and her potato mezhukkupuratti which were the best in the world......I never complimented her when she won all admiration being the main cook at our place when mom was transferred to alleppey....or her countless hours behind the kitchen counter during my parents wedding anniversary or oppols marriage.....

Steve jobs had once said... "death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new"

my aunty was not old... she was 43. she was a widow, had a troubled kidney, cancer of the cervix, a stroke which paralysed her right side and gave up her life in a mere 43 years .... She continued working for 5 years after being diagnosed of terminal cancer, fighting through chemo, with a bandana tied stylishly to cover her bald head.....never did we hear her complain, never did we hear her ask, "why me??"  She just went on and on and on..... 

Girija Aunty, there is no reason to say this now...bcos now its too late....and u already know it.... I oppol achan and amma...loved u very much and enjoyed each and every moment with u...I wish we had many more years together...but better off for u, as u have finally freed urself from every ailment and obstacle and found peace....rest in peace aunty, love u lots.....yours, Kuttan.

Epilogue: August 2015. Today was my wedding reception. Girija Aunty's daughter chinju and son il law had come to bless us and be part of our celebration. Suddenly my attention was diverted to a movement of chinjus sari near her feet. There I saw a little girl. It was the most beautiful sight of my life. That little girl of 4 years, with big eyes and chubby cheeks was the exact replica of Girija Aunty, even at this age. I felt like I'm seeing my Aunty again, after sooo many years. I went down on my knees, next to the kid, tears dwelling up in my eyes and asked her, "Do you know me?". She didn't reply initially, half her face covered behind her moms sari. Slowly she said, "Kuttan uncle.....". Exactly the same voice as that of Girija Aunty, with that trivandrum slang and low pitch. I kissed her on the forehead and told her, "I know you too, I've seen you ever since I was a little kid." The kid looked clueless. They left the stage, the kid walking with that same straight, proud gait that Girija Aunty used to have and just before they turned the corner, the kid turned towards me and gave me the same toothless grin Girja Aunty gave me the last time I met her, before disappearing.

Where do people go when they die?? Answer is: They don't. They live on, in the hearts of people who care for them, and keep on appearing, in the strangest possible ways, before the people who love them.