Remembering my Annamma (1925–2018)
My dad’s mother, my Annamma, passed away yesterday. My dad wrote a beautiful post about her, and I found it to be quite evocative. I decided to explore my own memories of her via writing.
I’ve been contemplating Annamma’s legacy — the mark she left on the world.
For me, a few things have always stuck out. She raised one of my most favorite people in the whole entire world — my dad. Based on that alone, despite the significant physical distance between us, I always felt connected to her.
She also taught me nearly everything I know about Hinduism. The slokams she taught me as a child remain fresh in my mind. The sayings — particularly, “help ever, hurt never” — will likely stay with me forever. She dressed me up in costumes (without much regard for my gender, mind you) and mirthfully took tons of pictures. Occasionally, when she wasn’t looking, I used to sneakily gobble one of her homeopathic pills (they tasted like pure sugar, also I think she probably knew what I was up to).
We used to exchange written notes. I would force her to write me a letter with her signature at the bottom every time she’d leave the US for India.
When she would stay with us, she would neatly organize her space in the downstairs guest bedroom with all of these old and recycled containers, pieces of cardboard, and used plastic bags. I always used to ask her if she wanted real storage boxes from Target or something, but she insisted that this was just as good. She cared deeply about being resourceful and not being wasteful.
I have warm memories of coming home to her after school. We never wanted any South Indian after-school snacks, so she adapted to our tastes. She would cut up potatoes into very small pieces and fry them up in a pan. They were a hit. I never really thought about it before, but it must’ve been disorienting for her to have American grandchildren. She adeptly navigated the cultural differences. She even picked up a few American things as she spent more time in the states — she used to put ketchup on everything!
One thing I think I didn’t fully appreciate until I read my dad’s post was her intelligence. I always knew that she was smart, but I guess I didn’t think too much of it. Her command of languages, in particular, was very strong despite only having studied until the 8th standard in India. As a kid who was born and brought up in America, I thought it was normal for your grandparents to speak English fluently. Looking back on her life and after studying adult second language acquisition in linguistics classes, I think it is incredibly impressive that she spoke English as well as she did. She was truly a polyglot; she would fluidly switch from Tamil to Hindi to English, and back when her eyesight was strong, she was an avid reader.
Another pillar of her personality was curiosity. When we’d drive together in our green Honda Accord, Annamma would read every single sign we’d pass. On our way to family friend parties, she would mumble “McCoy”, “Route 59”, “Fox Valley Mall”, “No turn on red” — always with a sharp emphasis on the last syllable. Frankly, I wasn’t a particularly curious person at that age, and I couldn’t figure out why she was doing this. Looking back now, I feel like her brain was constantly working overtime. Constantly trying to acquire new information, practice her English, get acquainted with her surroundings.
Perhaps the most important thing that I’ve gleaned from examining her life is her stunning resilience throughout every phase of her life. There is a certain kind of strength and grit that Annamma exhibited at various points in her life that has served as a constant source of inspiration. For that, I am grateful.