An ode to my Big Mamma

My mom’s mom, who is called Ammama by all the 13 grand children ( their spouses, wherever applicable) and 4 great grand children is a very important part of my life and is a central focus of my childhood memories.

She is 93 years old and lives with her son’s family. I dedicate this poem to her and her perseverance.

Holding on to your little finger

I have roamed around the ancestral home

I remember the strong hands, smell of soil,

the hugs, love, care, concern and

most of all the treats to my palate

with your simple yet amazing culinary abilities.

You gifted me my best childhood memories

of Joy, happiness, safety and warmth

in my truly nascent years

along with those countless happy

and carefree days of pure bliss

that’s an inseparable part of my Summer holidays.

You could understand my need, my worry

my happiness and all my myriad set of emotions

as a teenager, just from my voice and

you disciplined me in your old conservative ways.

Even when I rebelled against them

you loved me unconditionally.

When I grew up to my big day, my wedding,

you were there to bless me with the priceless

gift of your presence

never forgot to get back to me

to nurture me during my gestation

and for post natal care.

You embraced my better half

with a love that he had never experienced

making him part of your brood in no time.

When my son was growing up

you showered the same love,

you once smothered me with.

Today, I look into your eyes to draw a blank.

You do not recognize me, my voice.

I still hold your hands

I still talk to you,
silently cursing the demon Alzheimer’s

That is slowly but steadily devouring you

But then,

Just, once in a while,

I see a spark in your eyes

And I instinctively know for that split second

You know who I am

And I can go on for ages talking to you & waiting

for that one flash of a moment.

Love you Ammama, Loads and loads.