March 1, 2021
March 1, 2021
Dear Paati,
Not a day goes by where I don’t miss you, Princess Grace. I have so many memories but yet not enough. From living with you in Cole Street to spending every Summer day learning from you during our “Paati Camp”, I look back on these times and can now see so much more about your character and your heart.
I remember when we were young and getting ready for school, we would peek down the hall and see you and Thatha kneeling together and praying or just starting your morning worship together, song and all. Now looking back, I can see how much devotion it takes to set time to worship God with your spouse. You made that daily habit seem so easy and your togetherness look so beautiful.
I started reading my Bible every morning in high school so that when you asked I would be telling you the truth. Now, every morning, I open my Bible and think of all the passages you must have read during those mornings with God. I feel remarkably blessed to have had a grandmother who wanted to instill a habit that would eventually grow into my day’s favorite moment. Now my morning routine also reminds me of you.
I remember the Summer we planted our little garden in that ugly overturned container. It was dwarfed by your garden but to us, it was our little Eden. The corn and sunflowers we grew with you were so tall compared to our little elementary school statures. Looking back, it was minuscule compared to the beautiful trees you had spent years cultivating yet, you spent time making our little garden a priority. Despite your passion, I remember grudgingly watering your huge garden—the front, the back, the fruit trees, the side citrus trees. As trivial as that memory may have been, now in my 30’s, as I walk around my own garden, I feel bad that I didn’t appreciate yours more. I can only imagine the accomplishment and joy you obtained from the hours spent daily in your garden—even from doing the little things like watering every plant and tree. Years later, watching you and my Amma garden together in your “house coats” still brings a smile to my face. Your passion for gardening has seeded a love of gardening in so many of us.
Oddly, I cherish our moments together as you grew older and truly became Princess Grace. I remember pulling into the Cole Street driveway and opening the front door to the familiar smells of home. I would hold your arm and usher you to the car door. We would tuck inside your colorful, soft, silky sarees and then I would reach over to buckle you up. I would inevitably make a comment about you being such a Princess and you would respond with that cute, belly-jiggling, squeaky laugh of yours that was so infectious. Then we were off to eye appointments, doctors appointments, or just daily rides to the nursing home. On the way home, we were never hungry but somehow we arrived home with an half eaten serving of large french fries. After kisses on both cheeks, I would get into my car and look up the porch steps at you—standing there, ever present, constant, steady, our anchor. You would wave goodbye. We would do our double car honk back and you would slowly turn to go back inside. You never failed to stand there to send me on my way.
Over the years we spent a lot of casual time together which gave me plenty of opportunities to get myself in trouble. I remember most of the silly questions I would pester you and Thatha with. Thatha would always answer after serious reflection. One day, I asked him if he could be any animal, what animal would he be? He answered, “lion, cinkam”, with such a commanding power in his voice. What a noble and fitting answer, I thought. Then I asked you, expecting an equally graceful answer. You just giggled that Paati-giggle and spurted out “chee khalathai” —one of your 3 go to phrases when it came to me. This wasn’t your only preformed retort reserved for my shenanigans. A conversation between us wasn’t complete with a friendly “kum-muttai” and a loving “yerum mahduh”. But that never stopped me. In fact, my favorite conversation was a simple exchange with Thatha about you. One day in the nursing home, I pointed to you and asked Thatha who you were? He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. With his pause I was certain he was having a bad Alzheimer’s moment but after a few seconds he responded in confidence, “that’s my baby”! He then looked affectionately at you and smiled. The love you both had for 72 years will always be one of your phenomenal achievements.
Over the last year or so, I loved FaceTiming you and showing you my plants and vegetables. Your approval of my garden meant so much to me. Your approval in everything meant so much to me. I don’t know why. I suppose it was a worthy challenge to obtain it and now I am such a better person because of everything you pushed me to accomplish. You practiced those same principles in your own life—You always strived for being better in any way, until the very end. You nurtured that characteristic in me. You never let me settle or stagnant. To have someone expect that you can accomplish things because they believe in you is a beautiful sentiment that took me years to understand. You and Thatha always treatment me fairly, scolded me when I needed it, redirected me when I was straying, loved me as your genetic own, and never ceased praying for me. I have so much to be thankful for because of you both.
I know I had you for 33 years but it wasn’t enough. I wish we were able to do more than just FaceTime towards the end. I wish you could see our home and the life we have created here. I wish your prayers for me to conceive could have come to fruition—to have a baby who could have met you. I wish you could have seen Amma, your youngest, become a grandmother and see her in that stage in her life. I think she will be the perfect blend between you and Thatha when it comes to being a grandparent.
Paati... I wish so many things. I wish the word “Pooti” and “Pootan” were frequent terms used in our lives. I wish I had written your life story. I wish I had asked you so much more. I wish I could have cooked and baked with you more. I wish for so much and the constant wishing has become the hardest part of it all. I miss you. I love you. Thank you for being you and the best grandmother I have ever known.
Your Granddaughter by God’s Grace,
Amanda
Not a day goes by where I don’t miss you, Princess Grace. I have so many memories but yet not enough. From living with you in Cole Street to spending every Summer day learning from you during our “Paati Camp”, I look back on these times and can now see so much more about your character and your heart.
I remember when we were young and getting ready for school, we would peek down the hall and see you and Thatha kneeling together and praying or just starting your morning worship together, song and all. Now looking back, I can see how much devotion it takes to set time to worship God with your spouse. You made that daily habit seem so easy and your togetherness look so beautiful.
I started reading my Bible every morning in high school so that when you asked I would be telling you the truth. Now, every morning, I open my Bible and think of all the passages you must have read during those mornings with God. I feel remarkably blessed to have had a grandmother who wanted to instill a habit that would eventually grow into my day’s favorite moment. Now my morning routine also reminds me of you.
I remember the Summer we planted our little garden in that ugly overturned container. It was dwarfed by your garden but to us, it was our little Eden. The corn and sunflowers we grew with you were so tall compared to our little elementary school statures. Looking back, it was minuscule compared to the beautiful trees you had spent years cultivating yet, you spent time making our little garden a priority. Despite your passion, I remember grudgingly watering your huge garden—the front, the back, the fruit trees, the side citrus trees. As trivial as that memory may have been, now in my 30’s, as I walk around my own garden, I feel bad that I didn’t appreciate yours more. I can only imagine the accomplishment and joy you obtained from the hours spent daily in your garden—even from doing the little things like watering every plant and tree. Years later, watching you and my Amma garden together in your “house coats” still brings a smile to my face. Your passion for gardening has seeded a love of gardening in so many of us.
Oddly, I cherish our moments together as you grew older and truly became Princess Grace. I remember pulling into the Cole Street driveway and opening the front door to the familiar smells of home. I would hold your arm and usher you to the car door. We would tuck inside your colorful, soft, silky sarees and then I would reach over to buckle you up. I would inevitably make a comment about you being such a Princess and you would respond with that cute, belly-jiggling, squeaky laugh of yours that was so infectious. Then we were off to eye appointments, doctors appointments, or just daily rides to the nursing home. On the way home, we were never hungry but somehow we arrived home with an half eaten serving of large french fries. After kisses on both cheeks, I would get into my car and look up the porch steps at you—standing there, ever present, constant, steady, our anchor. You would wave goodbye. We would do our double car honk back and you would slowly turn to go back inside. You never failed to stand there to send me on my way.
Over the years we spent a lot of casual time together which gave me plenty of opportunities to get myself in trouble. I remember most of the silly questions I would pester you and Thatha with. Thatha would always answer after serious reflection. One day, I asked him if he could be any animal, what animal would he be? He answered, “lion, cinkam”, with such a commanding power in his voice. What a noble and fitting answer, I thought. Then I asked you, expecting an equally graceful answer. You just giggled that Paati-giggle and spurted out “chee khalathai” —one of your 3 go to phrases when it came to me. This wasn’t your only preformed retort reserved for my shenanigans. A conversation between us wasn’t complete with a friendly “kum-muttai” and a loving “yerum mahduh”. But that never stopped me. In fact, my favorite conversation was a simple exchange with Thatha about you. One day in the nursing home, I pointed to you and asked Thatha who you were? He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. With his pause I was certain he was having a bad Alzheimer’s moment but after a few seconds he responded in confidence, “that’s my baby”! He then looked affectionately at you and smiled. The love you both had for 72 years will always be one of your phenomenal achievements.
Over the last year or so, I loved FaceTiming you and showing you my plants and vegetables. Your approval of my garden meant so much to me. Your approval in everything meant so much to me. I don’t know why. I suppose it was a worthy challenge to obtain it and now I am such a better person because of everything you pushed me to accomplish. You practiced those same principles in your own life—You always strived for being better in any way, until the very end. You nurtured that characteristic in me. You never let me settle or stagnant. To have someone expect that you can accomplish things because they believe in you is a beautiful sentiment that took me years to understand. You and Thatha always treatment me fairly, scolded me when I needed it, redirected me when I was straying, loved me as your genetic own, and never ceased praying for me. I have so much to be thankful for because of you both.
I know I had you for 33 years but it wasn’t enough. I wish we were able to do more than just FaceTime towards the end. I wish you could see our home and the life we have created here. I wish your prayers for me to conceive could have come to fruition—to have a baby who could have met you. I wish you could have seen Amma, your youngest, become a grandmother and see her in that stage in her life. I think she will be the perfect blend between you and Thatha when it comes to being a grandparent.
Paati... I wish so many things. I wish the word “Pooti” and “Pootan” were frequent terms used in our lives. I wish I had written your life story. I wish I had asked you so much more. I wish I could have cooked and baked with you more. I wish for so much and the constant wishing has become the hardest part of it all. I miss you. I love you. Thank you for being you and the best grandmother I have ever known.
Your Granddaughter by God’s Grace,
Amanda