This post has been pending for a long long time. I have been thinking of writing this for sometime now. This is the story of a beautiful couple, a couple who stood testimony to love and togetherness. This story will be through my eyes, their nephew.
My aunt Vimala, was born as the second daughter to Ranganayaki ammal and Raghunathachari in Madras. She was packed off to her maternal grandmother's home in Kumbakonam when she was very young because her younger brother Vasudevan was born immediately after her. Raghunathanchari was employed with the British and the family had a comfortable life in Chennai. But his in-laws were not all that well-to-do. So my aunt's childhood was spent in Kumbakonam where she had to struggle a little bit. Later when my grandfather retired, the whole family moved to Kumbakonam and my aunt started living with her parents. This was when the reason for my existence, my dad was born. My knowledge of her earlier life has been handed down from my dad. He always used to say, "For all that she suffered in her earlier days, she is very happy in her married life". He used to say that she was the fairest of the otherwise dark South Indian family and she was one of the few in the village (Baburajapuram near Kumbakonam) to use "snow" (equivalent of the cold creams and fairness creams of today), which my father stealthily used to use. But alas, he never became as fair as his sister.
We normally hear of a marriage from the perspective of the bride on how everything was so special and how happy she was during the whole ritual. But I happened to hear it from my uncle, Sampath Kumar about how much he enjoyed the whole ritual.
My uncle, Sampath Kumar was born and brought up in Bangalore in a Tamil family. With most of his childhood in Bangalore, you would expect him to be more of a Kannadiga rather than a Tamilian. But he was a different man. His spoken Tamil was immaculate and it had no Kannada influence in it whatsoever. The earliest memory I have of him was when he scared by leaving the wheel of the Ambassador when he was driving. Today, whenever I leave the wheel to relax on an open road, I remember him and that incident. A very funny man, he had a humorous perspective to whatever he saw. I have never seen him angry with anyone, although my aunt once told me that he had locked his youngest daughter in a room when she was naughty. He was a man who, I felt, cherished every moment of his life. I have never seen him being judgmental about anybody and always had a good word for everybody.
When he had first gone to see my aunt before the marriage, he was made to sit on a chair. Being the prospective groom all eyes where on him. Particularly my father standing close to him was looking at him intently. While he was soaking in the feeling of being important and trying to get comfortable, he noticed that the chair he was sitting on, had only three legs. To substitute for the fourth leg, they had kept bricks and covered it with a cloth to hide it. You should have seen the glint in his eyes when he was narrating this incident to us. Priceless.
The way he used to describe the Jaanvaasam procession (the tour from the temple to the wedding hall) was a treat to hear. The way he used to describe the fireworks and the Naadaswaram katcheri used to trigger my imagination to no end. And there was always a ring in his voice when he was talking about it. And the glow in my aunt's face was unmistakable. I could see how shy she would have been when she had been married, when I saw her 50th anniversary photos.
September 2010, my aunt passed away. The day I saw my uncle crestfallen. She had been the reason for his existence. They used to share Insulin injections, tablets in a leaf-shaped cup. He would never leave her side for more than half an hours time. Everything depended on her health. If she is fine, I will come, he would say. He was her voice when she lost her speech. His love for photography was epitomized in a picture of my aunt carrying water. The photo is so simple yet so beautiful. June 2011, my uncle also passed away. The separation had taken its toll.
My father was telling to one of my other aunts. "It is good that Vimala passed away before Athimber. None of us could have matched the love and affection he had shown her."
