Raiding the forbidden…

Neglection, unintended of course, has been eating away my writing. Life, the four letter word we blame everything for has been happening in its vibrant shades for the last few months. Endless complaints about things going wrong in the so called life whereby bitterness could have fuelled my thoughts and then reflected on my words. Or the brighter side of thankfulness which directs the conception of ‘it could’ve been worse’ also could have resulted in a yet another overwhelming positive note on encouragement to move on despite what’s happening.

A few characters, fictional and living (or once lived) have been playing with my sense of wonder ever since I started to think about writing something; may be in the span of last couple of hours before I hit my bed last night even. The first character is the one I read in Ruth Ozeki’s ‘A tale for the time being’, the 105 year old Buddhist nun Jiko, whose life inspires her great granddaughter, Nao. Composed very finely between a fictional and nonfictional worlds, Ruth brings out the delicate features of several characters intertwined at various points of their life and poses intriguing questions to the readers at the same time. Both Jiko and Nao are rich in characters despite how you want to picturise them inside your head, a struggling teenager versus a self denied old woman who takes welfare of everyone around  as her top most priority.

I don’t know how it is with you, but once I finish a book, turning that last page over to arrive at the back cover, the characters quite take its time to leave me or say me leaving them. Not necessarily I  always start to compare characters with the people I have had of same relationships in my life, but Jiko was special. She almost immediately roused my thoughts to my great grandmother. Mine was named Mary and she is from my maternal side. Reasons are aplenty why Mary Ammama was instinctively brought to comparison with Jiko inside my head. Apart from the obvious reason, Mary Ammama was almost forgotten or even less discussed in our family conversations because it brought back some not so long ago yester year’s sad memories with it.

Mary Ammama had committed suicide. She was in her late 60s or early 70s, I am not sure, but she chose to do it in a river next to our home in Calicut. It was nearer the day of Vishu, the beginning of an auspicious new year in or Kerala tradition that she chose to end her years. Perplexed even now as to why she did such an act on that fatal night, after her death, her close acquaintances shared their versions of how Mary Ammama clinically has had a past of unsuccessful suicide attempts. Talk about a skeleton in the family closet, her story became ours.

Emotions overpower logic when Ammama’s topic is discussed and everyone has their own favourite theory. Some put forward the theory of loneliness, some others of depression, others with domestic violence, and even madness! Choosing to ignore all of them, I think only herself can reveal what her intention was or why she took the decision. On the other hand, theories and explanations will not bring her back to life either. Being in the Christian faith also didn’t help much as she had to be given a funeral fit for a ‘sinner’ in a forgotten corner of the cemetery where unwanted souls are placed. A girl who died with TB, and another child who was born dead, lies buried next to her. Of course they are unwanted, but whose sight exactly may I ask?  No one, not in the least spoke for Ammama, considering the hefty donations she had wholeheartedly given to the welfare of the same fellowship and community who termed her an unwanted, sinner’s soul! Irony of life or death?

At the time of Mary Ammama’s death I was about 5-6 years old.  I don’t have a clear memory of any shared conversations with her. Thanks to my olfactory senses, I associate her memories to the smell of  the transparent glycerine made ‘Pears’ soap which she used and had a particular way of organising inside her cupboard. Sadly it is her death not her life that I remember more clearly  and  for a 6 year old all that you could grasp were the gasps and hushed and sometimes overtoned conversations at her funeral service where how most were blaming her for her stupid act, how some ‘faithful’ even discussed how she will be thrown out from heaven, or even denied entrance of heaven, and some with their long foresight even exclaimed how at the time of my marriage people would not accept alliances because of this tragedy in our family!  Sorry to be saying this late, but did they even consider an ounce of kindness 3 times everyday as a remedy for their sick and cruel hearts?

In Ruth’s story, Jiko and her Buddhist ways motivate Nao to take life as it comes and meet it head on. Not ever to give up and face the challenges as they are critical for character development. I had never thought of what Mary Ammama would have told me had she been alive now, but I believe one thing for sure, that her suicide has nothing to do with her ways of inspiring us. I am not glorifying her death nor her decision to end her life, but her life where she had done numerous good things to her fellow beings, not to us family alone stands as a firm statement of what a wonderful person she had been. My Mom reiterates a particular saying which she says has always been told to her by Mary Ammama, “Doing acts of charity, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing”(Quote from Bible). This definitely kindles my sense of wonder again as I don’t know when, where and how Mary Ammama had helped others. She literally practiced what she preached! To the yet unknown stories of her I am simply waiting which I believe will come to me at the right time.

Mary Ammama has been a simple and humble soul mortified for her cause of death. Writing this post is more like raiding the forbidden, but  in my mind I have released my share of burden on her afterlife journey. For her to know I would say that you are as much an invigorating figure to me as any other.I do not wish to judge you Ammama, but I would rather urge you be at peace.

 The other day I went to do some berry picking in Manor Farms in Tamworth. Reciting the day’s event to my friend, I was telling him how therapeutic I felt. I was carefully choosing the soft ripe ones over the hard raw ones. Likewise I am choosing to follow my heart on the fruitful and sweet things than on the bitter counterparts.

And yourself?

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