It was the summer of 2012. Just like ever year, all of us cousins had gathered at nani’s place to spend our vacations. It was the way it usually went - nani was in the kitchen on the first floor of our family home, making laddoos or anything it was we wished to eat that year, her daughters on the floor below taking turns to go up and help her, us kids getting lost in our own games, only appearing every now and then for water and snacks, and disappearing again. I was playing around with my new keypad phone, clicking everyone, and subsequently I clicked a photograph of nani’s hands. She was making her patented bundi laddoos.
The photo wasn't all that much. A pot with bundi. Both her hands shaping them into laddoos. Her feet crossed on the floor. Silver payal on both feet. Years later I am still grateful that that moment was captured.
When I was asked to write about something by nanaji, there was not even a shred of doubt in my mind about the subject. Of course it would be about our nani. I don't know why but it seemed as clear as the day. Probably because she inspired us in ways unknown even to us. Probably because she every time I think of people that I look up to, hers is one of the first faces that comes to my mind. Probably because all of us in our house aspire to be a little bit like her in some way.
She was born in 1950. From what we have heard, she always had the greatest desire to not only learn, but also actively educate those around her, and try to bring about a change in any way possible. And she did that.
Mom tells me that back in the day, it wasn't considered very agreeable when women wore footwear or wrist watches when they stepped outside their homes. It was considered untowards in society at the time. These institutionalised biases did not dim her light.
Every morning she would get dressed, choosing a sari from her carefully curated collection, wearing perfectly matching jewellery, ultimately wearing a watch; and go to the temple. People talked. She still continued wearing her watch - a symbol of resistance perhaps. The symbol, albeit physically small, still made a difference, as eventually people moved on to more important matters. She ended up educating women and bringing about change through her position as a member of the local council. And yes, she still rocked that wrist watch in those council meetings.
This is just one of the many instances where she was subtly resilient. I have no doubt in believing that there must be many, many more such examples. I will never be sure about where she got this immense tenacity to be such a loving nani, a responsible member of the society, and most of all a thoroughly resolute woman. Maybe it was nanaji who stood by her enduringly, or her brothers and sisters, or her kids. But the one thing I am sure about is that in any of these instances, the one constant element was her humility and respect. Respect for her community, her fellow women, her family, even herself.
I still see the dignity with which she carried herself reflecting in her daughters. She left us last year but somehow she still teaches me to be a better woman every single day, and encourages me to find my own ‘wrist watch’.
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