Grace the Transition

“Time is an illusion that passes way too fast!”― Ana Claudia Antunes

My in-laws belonged to Thiruvalla, a small town in the Pathanamthitta district of Kerala in India. The town has remained just the same for three decades, perhaps, it has remained unchanged for ages. It lies on the banks of the rivers Pampa and Manimala and is known for its characteristic narrow roads and rickety bridges on irrigating streams and rivers. It has beautiful paddy fields lined across the rivers and lakes and a highly-populated central area called Thiruvalla town that bustles with activities.

The long road near my in-laws’ house leads to Mepral that leads to Azhiyidathuchira which has a century-old Government High School. My mother in law had worked here as a teacher for more than 35 years. She had joined the school as a primary teacher after her Teacher training and a Visharad in Hindi at the young age of 18. I had never heard her speak in Hindi at home, she and my father in law would often speak in Malayalam but everyone would speak to me in Konkani. My father in law spoke the best Konkani, I have not heard my father who had been a linguist use some of the Konkani words that my father in law used. The culture of Kerala had got imbibed in the family and even the food reflected a few differences when compared to the authentic Konkani cuisine.

During our vacations at Thiruvalla, we found a few notebooks kept aside to be thrown away in the trash. The notebooks contained well rounded, sharp, thick lettered and well-spaced Hindi notes that had been maintained for years by my mother in law. We flipped through the book astonished as it depicted all the qualities of a good teacher. She had numerous teacher friends such as Vasumati Amma, Kanakavalli Amma, Anandvally Amma, Padmavathi Amma. The children of these teachers, my husband and his brothers and many others had begun their studies in the same school. The school provided education till standard 7 in those days, now it caters for education till std 12. The lady teachers were addressed ‘teacher’ in the school but when one had to name them they weren’t called Ma’am, they were called Sir such as ‘Vasumati Amma, Sir’, which seemed to be a revolution to stop gender discrimination.

During the first year of my vacation at Thiruvalla, I had seen my mother in law attend school, the schools in Kerala reopen early. I was the only daughter in law then. She planned things meticulously and the preparations began the previous night. She would get cracking with the rice and other things that had to be cooked the next day. She used to wear a Mund, blouse and thorth(soft white cotton towel) in the evenings during summers, I had read about the attire in Chemmeen, a Malayalam novel written by Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai in 1956. She would say the particular attire was suitable for the hot summer. As the family grew over the years, she began wearing soft cotton saris.

I had told her that we would manage everything the next morning but she nodded vehemently. She was up by 4 am the next day, to start her chores. We were offered tea as usual. There was no chaos in spite of the fact that she would not use the electric blender or any of the electric gadgets for finishing the chores sooner. I saw her move to the work-area (an extension of the kitchen) to grind chutney out of the grated coconut on the large mortar and pestle. According to her the stone gave the coconut a crunchy finish and did not turn it into a paste as in the electric blender. Every job was done meticulously in a tough way but she never found it difficult. She would grind the batter for idlis and dosa in a large electric grinder that needed a periodic watch. The large grinding stone was lifted for her by one of the men at home but she preferred washing it.

She had breakfast and lunch ready by 8 am that day and used the rest of the time to get ready to go to school. At 9.30 am, her colleague, Vasumati Amma, a pretty tall lady, was at the doorstep and they left talking and chatting. My mother in law would often take us to Vasumathi Amma’s house which had orchards. I stood watching them for a long, they were energetic, enthusiastic and their walk to the school was peaceful and joyous. My days never began so in Mumbai as we had to start very early. I used to rise up late and had no time for a cup of tea or a calm breakfast.

The next year, my mother in law got superannuated. She was just 55 years old but that is the retirement age for teachers in Kerala. I found her young and healthy, I kept saying that she should have something more fulfilling than just housework. She would smile and say, ‘ I have worked many years, it is time to relax now’. I would wonder how easily she had taken up the transition perhaps, letting go in life begins thus. I wondered whether her students remembered her but she never looked back. She enjoyed sweeping the yard, drying squares of tapioca to be used as chips, making pickles out of starfruit, talking to her mother whom we called Aayi. She found solace in her grandchildren and when they grew older, she was back to her old routine once again. Her friends had retired too. A few of them suffered health losses and left the world. We lost my father in law and Vasumathi Amma lost her husband. My mother in law often met Vasumathi Amma for they remained dear friends, but towards the end of 2020, Vasumathi Amma left the world after a prolonged illness. My mother in law was brave, she understood that everyone had to leave someday and there were a few things beyond man’s control.

Towards the end of January 21, my mother in law felt an uneasiness in breathing. She was taken to the hospital as the Pandemic was rampant. The tests revealed a weak heart. Further examinations showed that her lungs were bloated with water and the kidneys non-functional. She was undeterred and lived on but the days in the hospital were the longest ones. There was a need for additional help to take care of her, on browsing websites for help, my sister in law came across an agency that provided amateur nurses who did not have permanent jobs. They went to the agency to ask for help, the owner happened to be my mother in law’s student. He went out of the way and arranged help for her. She kept trying to heal herself but God had other plans for her. When she could not fight it, she left the world in conciliation, she carried the same kind of peace that she always had with her preparedness for life.

“Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.”― Isaac Asimov