My mother’s aunt, Meenatchi Avva, was the quintessential grandmother figure who inspired me in my childhood formative years. She came to live with us in her 80s, bringing with her a quiet strength and wisdom. Petite and unassuming at first glance, her rounded frame belied how effortlessly light on her feet she actually was. With her stark white hair, porcelain complexion, and a slow, deliberate gait owing to her deeply bowlegged legs, she embodied both grace and resilience. She combed her hair neatly and tied it back into an effortless bun. Her skin bore wrinkles of time, but her smile and mischievous sparkling eyes hinted at a youthful exuberance.
Married at 13 – a common practice then – Avva often reflected her love for learning and how her husband supported her independence. This rare dynamic for their time deepened her belief in personal choice, a value she carried into every aspect of her life. His unwavering support allowed her to pursue passions like Carnatic singing and attending drama shows, deepening her belief in personal freedom. This mutual respect in her marriage shaped her conviction that women should live by their own choices. When she shared about her married life, I could see how passionately she loved her late husband.
What truly set Avva apart was her graceful blend of dignity and humor. She exuded warmth and positivity that was utterly contagious. Her presence brought an aura of calm and purpose. I have never seen her complain or use harsh words or speak ill of others behind their backs. She commanded respect without asserting authority and infused lightheartedness into everyday life through witty songs and faint sarcasm. She often sang songs with playful twists, masking hidden meanings behind a knowing smile. I still remember when she subtly teased a family friend – recently remarried and living with two wives – through a cleverly altered song, leaving my mother and me stifling our laughter once we caught on.
Her quite confidence, strength and humor made it natural for me to gravitate towards her.
For me, as a young teenager, her influence was transformative. I often confided in her, sharing my frustrations about family culture, misogynistic attitudes and what I felt were unfair practices. While I debated with her about feminism and women’s rights, she taught me the wisdom of choosing the right time to express strong emotions. Though I challenged her views on timing my expressions of frustrations, I now see the wisdom in her advice to speak when emotions are calm, and the moment is right.
Yet, our conversations weren’t always serious – we giggled over college stories, and she playfully would ask what kind of man she should find for me. I’d confidently say, ‘Not a doctor, and someone who lives far away.’ She would chuckle, ‘Far? How far?’ and I’d shrug, ‘Just far from home.’ It was my youthful yearning for independence, spoken aloud to someone who understood.
Avva and I slept together in the afternoons in the prayer room on the floor. At times, she would allow me to put my hands and legs on her while sleeping and would gently pat me to sleep. I did not remember having a close relation with either of my parents’ mothers but felt very fortunate for her to fill that role for me.
Avva fit seamlessly into our family, and it was evident she adored living with us. To my mother, she was a guiding hand and a source of empathy. To my father, whose demanding job often kept him away, she became a symbol of the mother he had lost. Their morning coffee conversations were filled with lighthearted exchanges, and Avva even playfully defended my mother in their debates, bringing a balance to our home.
While Avva’s presence brought comfort to our entire family, it was in her personal rituals that her true essence shone brightest. These daily practices weren’t just routines; they were the quiet manifestation of how she moved through life – with purpose, grace, and an unwavering sense of self.
Each morning, she began her day in quiet devotion yet never expected anyone else to follow her routines. Her daily rituals mirrored the balance she maintained between tradition and independence.
Every morning before sunrise, Avva quietly began her day with a bath and personally washed her clothes, refusing help despite the household maid. Using a long wooden stick, she hung them on the ceiling rack in the prayer room. The room, cool with red granite floors and lined with deity images, became her sanctuary. Lighting the oil lamp, she carefully placed fresh garden flowers before the gods. Only after completing her prayers and sharing prasadam would she rejoin the household, grounded and ready to engage with us all.
Though deeply traditional, Avva never imposed her beliefs on anyone. This quiet respect for individual choices mirrored my own discomfort with being pressured to conform. Her presence affirmed that one could stand firm in personal beliefs without expecting others to follow suit. It was a silent lesson in living authentically. Avva’s quiet strength and deep respect for individuality enkindled in me the courage to make my own choices. She taught me that independence isn’t about rejecting tradition but about living truthfully and allowing others the freedom to do the same. Her life was a beautiful balance of devotion and freedom – one I strive to embody every day.
lotusheartgrateful.com 