MEMOIR | THIS HAPPENED TO ME
Mourning An Aunt I Did Not Even Know That Well
Grateful to my mom for teaching me to see the good
Last week, I received the sad news that one of my aunts had passed away. Naturally, I was shocked, because I had met her a couple of years ago at a family celebration and she seemed absolutely fine.
Even though we met after several years — these days we usually meet family only when there is a major family event — she was just the same. Kind, playful, teasing, loving.
Although this aunt is not a favorite in the family, she has always been loving to me. Most of the family did not approve of her or made nasty comments about her habits. She was a foodie in the true sense and loved to spend time with every morsel, but managed to skip participating in the cooking. It was also true that she tended to get out of chores quite smoothly. She’d do things so slowly that the rest of the impatient eager beavers in the family simply jumped in and did it themselves. Then they’d complain about her. She was the subject of much gossip.
None of this affected her, though. She was always consistently kind to everyone. Occasionally she would lose her cool. But she’d get over that quickly.
I think she pretty much lived by the mantra — just because you have expectations of me, doesn’t mean I have to meet them.
I was sixteen when my uncle got married to her, back in 1979. As per tradition, our family, comprising my grandma, my uncle (the prospective groom), his brother, my mom, and I went to “see” the bride. It was a late marriage by our family standards with the groom and bride being in their thirties.
My aunt’s family was a mixed bunch, some of them downright rude, some okay-ish. My first impression of them was “crazy people”. When I saw my aunt for the first time, I remember thinking, wow, what long eyelashes. At that very moment, she looked up at me directly and smiled. Maybe we bonded in that instant.
When the groom’s family visits the bride’s family to see the bride, they traditionally serve a sweet and savory along with coffee. Some families discuss the dowry. What wealth would the girl’s family give her when she got married? This usually ranged from property to gold to jewelry to vehicles to furniture to whatever else the groom’s family expected.
I am proud to say our family isn’t one of those. In fact, my uncle did not even want to go meet the bride’s family — he believed that it is awful to “see” someone and say no. How would the girl feel?
So before we left home to visit the bride’s family, his condition was he’d say yes. We had seen a photo of my aunt by then.
Anyway, we enjoyed the snacks they served. There was a discussion about the wedding date. When they wanted to talk about what to “give” the bride, my grandma assured the family that her son had a good job and a decent salary and did not expect anything from them.
A wedding date was agreed upon and preparations began. It was a lovely wedding. My uncle returned to Mumbai where he lived, with his bride.
Ours is a close-knit family and everyone visited everyone often. And this particular uncle of mine, more often than most.
I remember how, when we all sat on the floor in a circle for meals, my aunt would be humming as she picked up her food, and holding it, would finish that stanza she was singing before she ate the food. And my uncle, with his huge sense of straight-face humor, would keep teasing her. She was tone-deaf but that did not stop her from singing anyway. She was always the first to break into song at family events.
I remember how she would always praise me for something or other — dressing well, draping the sari perfectly, cooking well, speaking well, writing great letters — the list was endless. Another aunt of mine would remark that she was simply “buttering me up” to do her chores for her.
Maybe that was true because, in the process, she would somehow talk me into washing her clothes, packing her suitcase, and any other chore she was supposed to do. Oddly, I did not mind it, although my other uncles and aunts would scold me for giving in. It irked them that she got away with so much.
I think the only time I got a little annoyed with her was when we were on a family trip. I had a cute light pink diaper bag. She put some turmeric pieces in the side pouch and that stain never went away. I smile when I think of it now, recalling how she hugged me and apologized profusely, and praised me for maintaining things so well.
The point is, it was very hard to get mad at her. At least for me.
Over the years, I only liked her more. Maybe it was because we didn’t meet that often and when we did, it was a pleasant interlude.
She was the life and soul of the party at my wedding in 1997. When the rest of the family was worked up over things going well (we had challenges, I won’t bore you with the details) she simply focused on pep-talking me — telling me how lucky the groom was to marry me, how fabulous I looked, the sparkle in my eyes, and so on.
That she could be cool in any situation — was a life lesson for sure.
When I met her last at my uncle’s 80th birthday celebrations, one thing she said stayed with me. She was in her 70s and had some health issues.
As she sat, holding my hand, after we’d had dinner, she said, “It is what it is, Vidya. I can whine about it and give you the boring details, or I can simply enjoy this moment. You know I choose the latter. Health issues apart, I consider myself truly happy right now. I live alone. I am not financially well off. But I have wonderful neighbors who care for me. They bring me food every now and then. When there’s an occasion in their families, they gift me saris. I have everything I need. If I want to talk to someone in our family, I just pick up the phone and chat. I spend my days in peace. If I suddenly pass away, know that I would have gone happy.”
When I got the phone call about her death, I remembered her words. It was the last conversation we had.
The day before she passed away, she was nursing a mild cold but had been cheerful nevertheless. When her neighbor suggested she see the doc, she laughed and said it wasn’t bad enough to spend a few hundred rupees.
She was an early riser, and the next morning, when she did not open her front door as usual to draw the rangoli, her neighbors were a little concerned. It is customary, on waking up in the morning, to light the lamp and then wash the area outside the threshold, then draw rangoli, or a design with rice flour to welcome the goddess of prosperity. This is done by taking the rice flour between the index finger and thumb and then releasing it slowly on the floor to create the design. Busy people just fix a rangoli sticker or use a piece of chalk to draw the rangoli.
As the hours ticked by, they grew alarmed and knocked on her door repeatedly. No response. Finally, in the afternoon, they forced her door open and entered her house to find her still in bed. They called a doctor, who arrived, checked her, and confirmed she had passed away.
It took them a while to find her mobile phone, which had to be charged before they could inform her siblings and other relatives.
It is true we come alone, go alone. In a sense, she was surrounded by loving people, but I felt sad at how she had passed away with no one by her side. I felt a little guilty about not calling her in the last two years.
I will always remember my aunt with kindness and love. My heart hurts that she loved kids so much but didn't have any of her own–she suffered multiple miscarriages. And yet she always smiled through her sorrow.
As I muse over the time I have known her, I am happy that although she was not well-liked by the family, I was able to look beyond all those perceived faults and cherish my own connection with her. And that’s a trait I am grateful to have inherited from my mom.
Thank you for reading. ❤
