Of nostalgia and more…

This is weird…these days I seem to be plunging deeper and deeper into nostalgia with an aching longing for the ‘simple good old things in life.’

And the figure at the nucleus of my nostalgia is my maternal grandmother, who at the age of ninety is now the grand old family head of a traditional aristocratic family in Kerala. She is a woman who has survived a lot of triumphs and tragedies, glory and despair in her life. She had always been a source of support and strength not just to her family but to everyone who came in contact with her. She always maintained her composure and wit, and her unwavering faith in the Almighty helped her tide through some of the darkest moments in her life. She lived through her doting first grandson’s tragic death at the prime age of 28, subsequently passing on courage and faith to her heartbroken daughter and bringing her back to normalcy.

Although she attended formal school only till class four, she educated herself at home and became extremely well-versed in Malayalam and Sanskrit and to some extent in Tamil and Hindi. She also attempted English to quench her undying thirst for knowledge. She was a very good Veena player and had many students under her tutelage. She has authored various songs, poems and prose (mostly unpublished) and translated some of Kalidasa’s work in Sanskrit to Malayalam. One of her translations was part of the BA Malayalam syllabus in Kerala University for a long time. She was instrumental in introducing her children to the fascinating world of literature and poetry.

Whenever people from the world of movies or literature has any doubts regarding the painter Raja Ravi Varma (who is incidentally one of her great grand uncles) or any other facts regarding the history of the state etc; my grandmother is the most important point of contact. Even at this age, she fully retains her sharp memory, knowledge and humour. It is amazing to hear her recite poems, quote passages and historic facts so crisply and correctly.

She not only brought up her four children well by stubbornly ensuring that they received a good formal education (sometimes against a lot of odds) and were married into decent families but was also closely involved in bringing up her grandchildren too.
I have beautiful memories of snuggling close to her and listening to her read out passages from different literary works and poems (most of which I never understood at the time, but just listening to her voice was music). She was a master storyteller too. It was a routine for the children of the family to crowd around her and listen in bated breath to her grand stories from the Puranas (the Hindu epics) and others.

There is so much more to write about her, which can never be captured in a blog. She is an institution in herself and with her passing, a beautiful era will come to an end.

Today, I do not long for the glitter and glamour of city or corporate life, meals in a fancy restaurant or shopping from designer stores but I long to return to my grandmother’s ancestral home in a remote corner of Kerala and live an uncomplicated, hassle-free, pollution-free existence with her grand stories and comforting presence for company.

I know this dream will never be mine to posses because my grandmother has long been uprooted from her ancestral home, which has now reduced to a dilapidated palace visited rarely by curious travellers, students of history and movie crew. Now, in the place there are just echoes of a glorious, literally rich past gone by......one that can never be filled with real beloved voices again.