Amma

Since childhood, up until I was in college, my brother and I called our mother ‘Amma’ which is what my mother used to call her mother by and always encouraged and wanted us to call her that too. I somehow always felt as if ‘Amma’ was too old fashioned a word and by the time I was in college, I found it ‘uncool’ to call my mother that when all my other friends used to call theirs’ as mom or mummy.

So I ditched ‘Amma’ and started calling her ‘Ma’ or more often ‘Mumma’. My brother who is more grounded in life, somehow always liked ‘Amma’ more and he stuck to it throughout.

Now, just like a million other regrets, I regret not sticking to calling her Amma.

 Amma.

The sound of it in my head sets off a plethora of emotions in my heart.

Million snippets from childhood. The warmth of her coarse but comforting hands. Her fingers, thick and knotty which she had always hated. But I never found them anything other than beautiful. The kind of beautiful only a mother’s hand can be.

Her laughter, full and deep, rising from her belly. Never fake. My mother had the most amazing laughter. Her head tilted slightly backwards when she laughed. She always felt it in her bones, never shallow or for the sake of it. Perhaps one of the main reasons why she continued to attract people of all ages who loved to call her their friend.

Image of her sitting at the edge of her bed, combing her hair. Wavy and feather light. Then arranging it all up in a single plait.  Amma, often reminisced about how long and thick her hair used to be in her younger days.

Amma.

My mind goes further back. Our home in Dehradun. The memories are much hazier of this time period as I was but a little girl. But I remember, our mother giving each of us a warm bath in the evenings before dressing us up in our pajamas, ready for bed.

Amma, feeding us from the same bowl one by one as we pretended to be the cow and calf respectively, waiting for our turns to go get a mouthful from her.

During winters, one of the fondest memories is that of sitting on bed on either side of mother cozily wrapped up in our blankets. A big pile of freshly sand roasted peanuts placed in the center on a piece of paper and we all digging in, popping the shell open to munch on the warm crunchy nuts inside. We loved seeing the pile of opened peanut shells get bigger and bigger amidst peals of laughter and storytelling.

Goofiness runs in the family..on my mother’s side. I was an expert in mimicking people’s voice, expression and body language and kept my family fairly entertained with all that at home when I was younger. This would send my mum in a fit of laughter, holding her sides, eyes tearing up. I would love to watch that effect on her. My aunt, the one who was closest to my mother was a master in twisting her facial muscles into the most cartoonish faces ever. I guess I got this art from her. My son now is showing the same traits and I love it 🙂

My mother, extremely beautiful with a pleasant figure and a long pointed nose which was ever so slightly crooked. How we teased her over her nose and loved to see her make silly faces at being teased. But it was the highlight of her face. Once as a little girl, I pulled out a passport size photograph of my mom from my father’s wallet and I was blown away by the beauty of the woman in that picture. It was an old photograph, my mother looked very young in it. She had nearly no makeup on. Big saucer like crystal clear eyes, flawless complexion and the sharp beautiful nose had me spellbound. My father told me rather shyly that it was the photograph he had received of my mother when the alliance for marriage was sent. I could see, why he would have immediately said yes to the alliance.

Amma made the softest, fluffiest rotis in the world…next only to her sister, again! Some of the dishes were her specialities. Her Baingan ki sabzi (Eggplant made with roasted indian spices) and Nariyal ke laddoo (Sweet made from coconut shaving & milk) were quite a rage with our extended families, friends and neighbours. For me, no one could make the simple north indian dishes like Daal tadka, Aloo paranthas, Egg curry and Gujiyas like my Amma. No one could even come close. Well, probably my Nani (grandma) still would score higher for Daal tadka – which we pahadis call as peeli daal which simply translates to yellow lentil gravy. The peeli daal is our lifeline and in some pahadi houses you can find it being cooked every day!

The word Amma only conjures up good memories. It’s utterance is like a giant hug, like wrapping yourself with a soft blanket on a wintry evening, like sipping on a warm cup of ginger tea on a rainy day, it’s like an old familiar book that you love to read within the warmth and comfort of your bed. The most vivid memory for me would be the sound of my mom’s feet hurrying across the living room to open the door while I stood outside after ringing the doorbell, waiting for her face to show first through the Iron grill door, a huge toothy grin splashed across her face as she would exclaim “You’re here!” Then I would bend down to touch her feet as she would engulf me in her embrace and we would hug happily for moments together. Coming home after every semester break, then while I was working in another city and finally visiting home annually with the husband…those were the very moments that are etched so deeply in my mind..my Amma and her huge smile welcoming me.

This June we completed 2 years of Amma’s passing.