A Tapestry of Tradition: Growing Up with Four Grandparents

Growing up, my brother and I had the privilege of being surrounded by all four grandparents. My parents, brother, and I lived with our paternal grandparents, while the maternal folks resided just a short drive away. We visted and spent a lot of time at our maternal grandparents place, the house our mother grew up in.

Despite belonging to the same community and celebrating the same festivals, our households (Yes! We were part of both) boasted distinct traditions.

Take Pongal, for instance. At our paternal home, it was all about the sweet chakarai pongal paired with vadai, while our maternal folks opted for a subtler venpogal with an onion/garlic-free gotsu or sambar. As kids, we simply followed our mother's lead, reveling in the culinary diversity—a bowl of chakarai pongal here, a piece of vadai there, fully aware that the next course awaited at our maternal grandparents'.

This dichotomy wasn't exclusive to Pongal; it defined our Saturdays too. In the morning, our paternal grandparents hosted a 'Sani Kizamai Pooja' with neivedyam featuring vadai and a sweet, doubling as breakfast. Meanwhile, our maternal grandparents hosted the same pooja in the evening, treating us to sundal as prasadam—a delightful pre-dinner snack.

What I failed to recognize as a child was the incredible convenience and richness this duality brought to my life. Conflicts (two poojas or functions happening at the same time) were rare, and we grew up intimately acquainted with both families, immersed in their cultures, and, most importantly, spoiled with good food.

My brother's exclamation, 'It has been a good food day,' became a regular refrain for both him and I, after indulging in the culinary delights of both houses.

As for understanding Tamil months and their sequence, well, that was a mystery until I was around 8. 

What I did know was that there was a month of evening lamps (Karthikai), followed by Margazhi, during which my paternal grandmother's early morning temple visits turned our into a wake-up alarm for the entire locality owing the the wails of our pet dogs who didn't want to be left behind at home and wanted to accompany her in her walk to the temple. Seeking refuge at my maternal grandparents' meant avoiding the canine commotion and waking up to the exquisite kolams drawn by my grandmother or the lovely househelp, Saroja.

Margazhi, with its early morning bhajans and vibrant kolams, eventually led to the pinnacle of our festivities—Pongal, marking the end of a month-long celebration.

Reflecting on those years, I realize how seamlessly the traditions of our grandparents intertwined, creating a childhood steeped in love, diversity, and, of course, delicious food. It was a privilege—one that has left an indelible mark on the fabric of my past.

The Wizard of Happiness

Guess what made my day brighter today? Brace yourself for a heartwarming tale of unexpected kindness and mangoes! So, picture this: I've been battling a whole army of troubles, feeling grumpy and down in the dumps. Wait, I am not going to complain, because a sprinkle of magic came my way!

Enter my incredible household help, the superhero who cooks and cleans. She arrived today gleefully swinging a basket (that had a lid to stop that magoes from falling out, duh!) that contained not just one, not two, but three kili mooku mangoes! I was ready to pay her for this fruity delight, eagerly reaching out for those juicy treasures. Little did I know, a surprise was cooking up in the kitchen.

After wrapping up all her chores, I heard a delightful commotion emanating from the little kitchen. Curiosity got the best of me, and I rushed to the scene of the culinary crime. Lo and behold, my amazing helper was concocting a batch of mango pickle just for me! How did she know? Well, she remembered that a friend had once showered me with this delectable treat, and she thought it would lift my spirits.

Grinning from ear to ear, I instinctively reached for my phone to compensate her for the mangoes by making a deposit to her account. But wait, she had other plans! She put her hand up, stopping me, halting my generosity in its tracks, and shared the most heartfelt story. Turns out, her dear departed dad had planted that mango tree because he believed it would bring joy. And boy, was he right! The entire family continues to revel in the mangoes' glory. So, she insisted, "No need to pay me anything. Just savor those mangoes and bask in happiness."

Talk about being deeply moved! This remarkable lady has never taken a day off without letting me know in advance. She's always given notice, and if she has to travel, she even prepares food in advance, ensuring I won't starve. Sometimes, she goes above and beyond, leaving behind a delicious gravy so I can add veggies to it when she's away. Cherry on the cake: When I had a nasty cold, she went the extra mile and bought Sorakkai to whip up a comforting soup, all while juggling her regular duties. No complaints whatsoever!

Let me tell you, this extraordinary woman has been a saving grace for many families over the past ten years. The only reason she's had to bid farewell to a few households is due to their unfortunate relocations. But her entrepreneurial spirit never wavers, and she effortlessly balances caring for her six daughters and mother without uttering a single complaint. She even works in a mid-day meal kitchen and collects the excess food from the school canteen to serve other malnourished kids. She does this without having any formal education whatsoever! Can you believe that? Oh, and did I mention that she once borrowed 3k from me for her daughter's hospitalization? Well, bless her sweet soul, she insisted on deducting it from her future paycheck. Of course, I couldn't bear to take a single penny from this darling woman who deserves nothing but the best!

Today, my friend, I found happiness in the simplest of gestures, wrapped in the sweetness of mangoes and delivered by a superhero in an apron. Life's challenges may have been tough lately, but moments like these remind me that kindness exists in the world, waiting to brighten our days and put a smile on our faces.

Sometimes god does send superheroes to help us. This time it was a ladle-wielding, bundle of joy who made my day, and even my week perhaps. 

She is perhaps a magician whose wand is a ladle. Maybe, she's a happiness-bringing wizard who doesn't use a broom to fly, but instead uses it to sweep away sadness, one swish at a time.

Each one to their own

My phone buzzed continually as I tried to sleep, a debated Whatsapp exchange was going on in a group. I muted the phone and fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to over a hundred messages. Most of the people referred to a particular Tamil promoting politician as hypocritic as his daughter ran a school where Hindi was taught. I began to wonder whether it was such a big deal at all, as the politician and his daughter are two different individuals, with different ideologies and mindsets. Having a child, whose ideology does not necessarily subscribe to yours, doesn't make one hypocritic. Going back on one's one ideology is what makes one hypocritic.

I wear dresses to work, and my mother wears salwar kameez. My grandmother on the other hand believes that saree is the most appropriate attire for a woman and only wears sarees. While my grandmother believes that sarees are comfortable, my mother and I do not feel particularly comfortable in sarees and do not wear them on a daily basis. 

Does that make my grandmother hypocritic? Does it make me or my mother hypocritic ?

It absolutely does not, because my grandmother believes in her principles and sticks to it. She does not enforce them on her children or grandchildren. It doesn't make me or my mother hypocritic, because we follow what we believe in.

If you are still unconvinced, let me give you an example. Hiranyakashipu was a Rakshasa who tormented people, who had a humble son named Prahlad. Lord Vishnu took the form of Narasimha to kill Hiranyakashipu and save Prahlad. We consider Prahlad a hero, despite being the son of a Rakshasa. If we can accept this, why can't we accept the fact that a politician and his daughter can have entirely different mindsets. 

Why can't we agree that all of us are different from our parents and each individual has his or her own beliefs and we need not subscribe to the exact same values and beliefs as our parents?

Each individual is entitled to have her or his own beliefs, motivations and ideologies. While some of these are imbibed from the parents, other external factors such as school, friends and media have a role to play in shaping a persons mindset. This in turn influences the person and makes each individual a unique entity.

The next time you criticise someone for being hypocritic because his child or parent does not subscribe to the same ideology, just remember that you and your parents, or you and your children do not necessarily subscribe to the same beliefs. If this does not make you hypocritic, it surely does not make them hypocritic either.

The cold bitter-sweet truth

As I closed the tank, I felt an icy chill passing through my hand and the rest remains a haze. I got into panic mode, washed my hands several times and then finished my work. Half and hour later, my fingers felt numb and I couldn't move my hand. I rushed to the hospital and on the way bumped into an acquaintance. That day, I did not realise, that she would one day become a very good friend. She checked on me every few days, and bolstered me in the recovery process. It taught me that acquaintances needn't always be distant, some can be friends too.

While checking into the hospital, the receptionist asked me to sign a set of forms. My hands were numb and could barely hold a pen, I called a friend, who worked less than fifty metres away to help me sign the forms. He merely said "It will be okay" and cut the call. This was the end of the supposed friendship I shared with him. I held the pen and scribbled my name with my non-dominant hand is an unintelligible fashion. That moment, taught me to cut away people who use you and do not step up when you need them, even if it is not particularly difficult for them.
My supervisor, whom I feared (co-supervisor actually), turned out to be a great ally who ensured that I received the best medical treatment possible in Singapore. My lab safety lead and my counterpart in lab (two different people), ensured that I was well fed and took my medicines on time. They made me realise that the best in people is hidden and comes out only when needed.

Three of my friends in Singapore became my sources of support and champions. One of my friends would patiently unknot my hair and plait it everyday, another would cook and feed me, while the third would continually tell me that everything would be alright soon. 

My world changed significantly, leaving me dependant on people for a weeks and I am actually thankful for the accident as I realised that all friends, aren't 'Friends' and surrounding yourself with the goodness brings prosperity and incidents like these actually help you remove the parasitic weeds and retain the good people in your life. Those who realise you are wounded and cannot help them will leave, while those who truly care, will stay back.


My hand was exposed to cold liquid nitrogen, and I was exposed to the cold bitter-sweet truth of reality.

Until Poor Connectivity Do Us Part

A robotic voice says "Tu mangi il pane." I press the button to hear the same voice repeat the same sentence, in a much slower pace this time. I hear it right and key in 'You eat the bread', and hit the submit button. The 'ting' sound is heard and a green tick pops up on my screen. I click next and it proceeds to the next question.

Duolingo, is the only voice I hear apart from that of my parents and best friend (all of them over WhatsApp) on daily basis. Duolingo isn't my exotic friend or housemate, it is the language app that teaches me Italian and Hindi. For the last year, Duo (that's the actual nickname) has been one of my best friends. When I don't show up on the app for a day, Duo will buzz me, and even emails me to remind me that he misses me (how lovely!).

A few years ago, I considered myself anti-technology. I believed that technology puts people in a virtual world and makes them connected to an artificial space that doesn't exist. However, my opinion on technology today has taken a diametrically opposite turn. I truly believe technology can keep you sane. In an environment where the drop of a pin can be heard, where the nearest mall or train station is many miles away, it is this technology, the voice of my loved ones on WhatsApp, Duo's voice and Cortana's voice (the Android assistant on my phone) that makes me feel connected to the world around me.

Technology has occupied every sphere of our urban lives. From the alarm, to the voice that reminds you to get off at your designated station, everything in today's world is controlled by technology. My best friend can view my manuscripts ten thousand miles away and suggest changes. I can see the picture of my cousin's baby from three thousand miles away.

People say that we have become slaves of technology, yet I strongly believe that we have not become slaves but have started to consider technology as an indispensable part of life. A hundred years ago, electricity was not an integral part of life, now most people can not imagine a life without it. The same applies to Wifi, smartphones and other devices. 

This bond between man and machine cannot be undone so easily. Unless poor connectivity does us part, we will be tied in this relationship. A relationship that brings us close ones closer, when we are apart. 

Vijaya Dashami

Vijaya Dashami or Vidhyarambam is believed to be an auspicious day to start anything new. It is believed to be the anniversary of Rakshasa King, Ravana's death. The festival is celebrated across India in different ways. While the North Indians, Celebrate by burning effigies of Ravana, South Indians mark the day by beginning something new or catching up on things they have missed, making a promise to be regular until next year. As a child, I loved this day and dreaded it at the same time. I loved the fact that I did not have to go to school on that day and dreaded the long journey to my Music Teacher's house. 

The Music teacher, a sprightly lady in her forties lived halfway across the town. My aunt, her two daughters (who also happened to be students of the same teacher), my mom, a chauffeur and I would travel ten kilometers through Chennai's choc-a-bloc traffic to reach her house. The hatchback meant for five, needed to accommodate six. I being the youngest (despite being taller than my cousins) had to sit on the lap of either my mom or aunt for the entire journey. The car would be super crammed yet I would endure it as I knew that I would not be visiting the teacher's house for another year.

Post the bumpy car ride, we would return home to visit other teachers. Each teacher, including the art teacher and the lovely neighborhood Aunty who taught me mathematics would be presented with a cut piece of cloth (to make a blouse) and a bag filled with coconut, two bananas, a couple of betel leaves, some turmeric and betel nuts. The teacher would then bless me and the other students and would take a short five minute lesson to mark a good and auspicious beginning.

This year, unlike the previous 24 years in my life, Vijaya Dashami started on a quiet note. I did not have any teachers to visit. I made a list of all the activities that I needed to do. It had been a while since I had played my ukulele and I wanted to start playing it again. I wanted to update my blog and visit my lab to begin a new set of experiments. As I woke up, I remembered my to-do list. I opened my laptop to write a post, but ended up with a mild bout of the writer's block. I played the ukulele for precisely five minutes and went to the lab to run a couple of experiments.

Writing has been my favourite activity for the last three years. My blog has been my constant, intangible companion for the last three years. I wanted to write more frequently and wanted to start doing so on this day. Hence, I thought and decided to open the blog and write about the first thing that came to my mind. I decided to write about Vijaya Dashami itself and this is the post. the next thing I need to do, is to get the blessings of my blogging mentor and former roommate. 

I just want to say 'I love you'

It was a Friday and I was eagerly waiting for the clock to strike six. I was going to meet a friend for dinner and then head home to get some much needed sleep. I was in virtual bliss and my reverie was cut short by a call from my mother. Assuming that she was calling to have a simple chat, I cut the call. She texted me back requesting me to call immediately. My paternal grandfather had passed on, and my mom wanted to inform me over a call, rather than by text.

That moment, was the longest in my life. I was dazed beyond words and could not cry. It took me a few seconds for reality to hit hard. All of a sudden, like a tonne of bricks crashing on me, I could not hold it any longer. Tears streamed as I booked my tickets to my hometown to see him one last time. That night was long and never ending. My friend (God bless him) gave me company and reassured me for a dozen hours. 

My grandfather was an amazing man. Anyone who turned to him for help, would never return empty handed. He was the epitome of hospitality, who invited every person he met for a meal. He exemplified the phrase 'Strangers are friends we have not met'. He took me around on bicycle ride, bought me an aquarium, taught me a bit of science and engineering. He preserved his notes for over five decades. His grasp of Tamil, English and Sanskrit was impeccable. He was a Gentleman in every aspect and was definitely a 'Grand' Father to me, my brother and cousins.

Twenty five years if memories ambushed my brain. I wish I had told him how much I had appreciated him and loved him. My interaction with him over the last four years had been limited to meeting him during vacations and singing to him. I knew that despite my schedule, I could have made a little more time to tell him that I loved him. It was too late to feel bad.

Now, I try to tell those who mean something to me that I love them. I sometimes tell them a few times a day. Though I know that it might be an over kill, I no longer mind. Its better to be swathed in an overdose of love than not giving any love at all and regretting it later.

To my mother, my father, my brother, my grand parents, other relatives, room mates and my dear friends........

I just want to say 'I Love You',

I just want to show that I care, 

I want you to see my love for you,

I mean it from the bottom of my heart.