My earliest memory of her is probably when I was very young and I have a faint memory of seeing her outside her one room house in Nagarthpet. It was a Bangalore where the walls between the rich, middle class and the poor merged seamlessly and we all lived together with respect and dignity.
Lakshmi has been with our family from my earliest memories, followed by her two daughters who also worked in our family and then moved on to setup their own families. Not Lakshmi, we became family for her as she lived the rest of her life in our granny's home.
My impressions of her have formed from the stories I have heard my family speak, sometimes in hushed tones and sometimes in English for she knew none of it. "She has gone made since her husband died." "She has been with us from even before you were born." "She is hiding gold and jewelry in her massive trunk." "She has a lot of money stashed away somewhere." "She is like a second mother to you." "Don't laugh at her when she is talking to the air. She is an elder." "Who else will take care of her, if not us. We are her family."
As I grew up, in this large household of cousins, uncles and aunts, Lakshmi was a constant at Granny's place. She had learnt the language and often I would wonder how this visibly South Indian woman could speak such good Sindhi. She would help with household work while talking to herself or an invisible friend all day long. We laughed and giggled and troubled her for her idiosyncracies. We secretly called her mad and sometimes were scared of her when she shouted and verbally abused this invisible friend.
As I got older, she became invisible to me. I was too busy to notice or acknowledge her presence. Granny moved on, Lakshmi (sometimes called Rathnamma, as mother of Rathna - her eldest daughter) stayed on with our youngest Uncle and his family. I didn't realize when she became a family member, a grand mother to my younger cousins. She was treated with love, care and dignity and as she aged, she was well taken care of and tended to by the family.
When she came home, we would ask how she was and treat her like family. It seemed natural that his woman who had come as a domestic help into our large family had become a member of the family.
The one thing she was fond of was chewing betel nut wrapped in a betel leaf. Mom would always remember to get a pack for her when she went grocery shopping. The other thing she loved collecting were coins. Always asking for coins!
I remember once, a European friend had come home for lunch and we jokingly told her she was my wife. The first question, Lakshmi asked is if the girl can cook a meal for me. She would then fuss over why I could not find a good Indian wife and then she slowly warmed up to my friend. She was happiest when she found out I was getting married and that too, to an Indian bride. She asked for new clothes and wore them with great pride. I remember feeling the urge to seek her blessings and feeling proud to see her happy.
Yet, in my busyness of life, she was more invisible then visible. I would hear faint murmurs of her failing health and forget about it when I got distracted with everything else unimportant in life. On May 11th 2015, Lakshmi moved onto her heavenly abode. She died on her way to the hospital and our family decided to cremate her right away. She was largely invisible in my life and moved on in her own invisible quiet way. A sadness I am yet to overcome. Her true family - My uncle, aunt and his daughters were beside her.
I miss you, Lakshmi. The talkative one. The one with the invisible friend. The one who adopted us as family and became a mother and grand-mother to us. The silent one who saw all, observed all and loved all in your own special way.
Thank you for giving our family the gift of your life. Thank you for taking care of us as children and adults. For ever in gratitude.
Lakshmi has been with our family from my earliest memories, followed by her two daughters who also worked in our family and then moved on to setup their own families. Not Lakshmi, we became family for her as she lived the rest of her life in our granny's home.
My impressions of her have formed from the stories I have heard my family speak, sometimes in hushed tones and sometimes in English for she knew none of it. "She has gone made since her husband died." "She has been with us from even before you were born." "She is hiding gold and jewelry in her massive trunk." "She has a lot of money stashed away somewhere." "She is like a second mother to you." "Don't laugh at her when she is talking to the air. She is an elder." "Who else will take care of her, if not us. We are her family."
As I grew up, in this large household of cousins, uncles and aunts, Lakshmi was a constant at Granny's place. She had learnt the language and often I would wonder how this visibly South Indian woman could speak such good Sindhi. She would help with household work while talking to herself or an invisible friend all day long. We laughed and giggled and troubled her for her idiosyncracies. We secretly called her mad and sometimes were scared of her when she shouted and verbally abused this invisible friend.
As I got older, she became invisible to me. I was too busy to notice or acknowledge her presence. Granny moved on, Lakshmi (sometimes called Rathnamma, as mother of Rathna - her eldest daughter) stayed on with our youngest Uncle and his family. I didn't realize when she became a family member, a grand mother to my younger cousins. She was treated with love, care and dignity and as she aged, she was well taken care of and tended to by the family.
When she came home, we would ask how she was and treat her like family. It seemed natural that his woman who had come as a domestic help into our large family had become a member of the family.
The one thing she was fond of was chewing betel nut wrapped in a betel leaf. Mom would always remember to get a pack for her when she went grocery shopping. The other thing she loved collecting were coins. Always asking for coins!
I remember once, a European friend had come home for lunch and we jokingly told her she was my wife. The first question, Lakshmi asked is if the girl can cook a meal for me. She would then fuss over why I could not find a good Indian wife and then she slowly warmed up to my friend. She was happiest when she found out I was getting married and that too, to an Indian bride. She asked for new clothes and wore them with great pride. I remember feeling the urge to seek her blessings and feeling proud to see her happy.
Yet, in my busyness of life, she was more invisible then visible. I would hear faint murmurs of her failing health and forget about it when I got distracted with everything else unimportant in life. On May 11th 2015, Lakshmi moved onto her heavenly abode. She died on her way to the hospital and our family decided to cremate her right away. She was largely invisible in my life and moved on in her own invisible quiet way. A sadness I am yet to overcome. Her true family - My uncle, aunt and his daughters were beside her.
I miss you, Lakshmi. The talkative one. The one with the invisible friend. The one who adopted us as family and became a mother and grand-mother to us. The silent one who saw all, observed all and loved all in your own special way.
Thank you for giving our family the gift of your life. Thank you for taking care of us as children and adults. For ever in gratitude.
