Despite the five states we cross, through all of the adventures of traveling and exploring, as well as all the diverse people we encounter, the best moments of the entire trip occur in the quiet comfort and warmth of Sebastian's grandmother's home. What a gift to have such a unique opportunity to live in a true native's house and experience day-to-day living. Though Ammachi is Malayalam for mother, it is the name Sebastian and his family call their maternal grandmother. Advancing in age, I feel thankful to meet her. Our very first encounter is quite comical, as she motions for me to kneel down next to her chair face to face, so she can get a good look at me. With a slight shrug of the shoulders, she tells Sebastian, "not bad." We all laugh and I come to know this very funny, endearing matriarch. Standing slightly slumped, with a rounded upper back, Ammachi is a strikingly beautiful woman, with burnt chestnut skin that maintains it's youthful glow, especially in her rounded, cherub cheeks. She usually dresses in a long white nightgown with delicate flowers adorned throughout, although on special occasions she chooses from her extensive collection of saris. Her smile, however infrequent, warms the room and infects all that surround her. She has a missing tooth on the right side of her mouth, further augmenting her character. Ammachi's hair is silvery gray, streaked with white highlights, shoulder length with gentle waves. She usually wears it pulled back in a low ponytail, which to me resembles the tail of a cute little dog. My favorite feature is her eyes, big and bright, that speak volumes of wisdom and truth and experience. Her life can be seen through the chocolate brown irises, a life of love and family. Speaking in broken English, I make out a few words but mostly relay on other family members to translate. She says the Rosary five times a day, a faith that both amazes and inspires, as I feel her depth and conviction. Ammachi has two favorite television programs she watches, daily Mass and Animal Planet, sitting on her couch, feet raised, with a giant pair of headphones on, resembling more of a hip-hop DJ than a grandmother. I cannot help but laugh every time I see her with the gigantic black headset on. She has a specific routine for meals, using a large silver plate with different compartments so she can keep her food in separate piles. Next to the plate, she keeps a small tray, filled with curry leaves she picks out of the different dishes and small pieces of mango pickle. Occasionally, she belches, loud and proud, and we all get a good chuckle from her lack of inhibition. She wears a simple pair of studded earrings, a long gold chain, one bracelet and one watch, which she takes off at mealtimes. Although in need of assistance to move around the house, she only allows one of her daughters to help and refuses the offers from Sebastian and I. As the month progresses, I feel myself growing closer to this woman, my connection to Sebastian's origin, as I accept and transform deeper into the Indian culture. After every shopping venture, I am excited to return home and show her all my authentic purchases. I am happy she notices my bangles, my henna, and my jingling anklet. She approves of my nose ring and likes that I clean my plate after every meal. We do not have much physical contact, except on the last day, when she affectionately touches my hair, not realizing she is actually touching my heart.
Ammachi's house reflects the cordiality and love that emanates from her being. Large and spacious, it has high ceilings, numerous windows for allowing in the natural light, and a functional yet classy design. Creamy ivory with brown accents of the outside, the house sits at the top of a short, rocky driveway, pass a beautifully ornate iron gate. There is a front porch with two wicker chairs and a table, where Ammachi sits and reads the paper, snacking on some fresh, local fruit. A back porch overlooks the small but dazzling garden, abounding with green trees and plants, a cage with an array of colorful birds, a house for the watchdog, Chikku, the black Labrador. The most perfect seat is the rocking chair, off to the corner that overlooks the entire space. I spend many an afternoon, rocking, contemplating and observing life in the garden. The interior walls are rosy pink, accented with mauve marble floors and cherry wood red furniture. Four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom allow for plenty of personal space and privacy. There is a communal living room, and eat-in kitchen where we share all the meals, as well as a side kitchen where the food is masterfully prepared. My favorite feature of the house is the large square skylight that hangs over a stone surrounded pond full of coy fish. Because the skylight remains open, when it rains,it streams through the two-story house and splashes on the water's surface. I also love the rooftop, perfect for tanning since it gets the full force of the Indian sun with little cover or protection. It is a welcoming house, allowing me to feel as ease and at home , making for a very smooth, easy transition from New York.
During my month stay, I also become very well acquainted with Alice Auntie, Sebastian's mother's sister. What strikes me the most about this woman is her beauty, the roundness of her face of crisp sienna skin and full rosy cheeks. She has long, thick black hair, usually worn pulled back in a low bun. Alice Auntie also has beautiful eyes, richly dark and inviting, a feature that welcomes and pulls me in. She has a mole on the right side of her nose, a characteristic that amplifies her beauty. Her smile, big and bright, has the power to uplift spirits and infect all those around her, something of which I am most attracted. She wears colorful Indian salvar kameezes, draped to the knee and a loose pair of complimentary pants. Simple, good jewelry adorn her neck and wrists, as well as a circular pair of stud earrings. The best thing about Alice Auntie is her laugh, her humor, how after something funny is said, she falls back into her chair in a belly laugh, hands drawn to cover her mouth, crackling like a young school-age girl. Her laugh is absolutely infectious; every time I hear it, I break out into hysterics. Additionally, she is a multitalented woman. I have tasted her exquisite cooking, seen her bargain with stubborn salesmen, care for her mother with such ease and grace, make her own jewelry, sew her own clothes, and share so much knowledge about this country. Similar to myself, Alice Auntie is always hungry, nibbling on some tasty snack that she delivers up to our bedrooms. Just like my own mother, she holds my hand during the nose piercing and reminds me always to wash my hands before meals. Paying close attention to detail, she notices my Indian transformation, complimenting my outfits and matching jewelry. Her generosity touches me, surprising me with little gifts or treating us to a good meal. She has a relaxed, calm energy so that nothing disturbs her peace of mind. Something about her reminds me of an angel. I think it may be her big, open heart.
Chandran, Ammachi's driver, is particularly one of my favorite people I meet on this trip. My first real non-family Indian I encounter, I am taken back by his eagerness to please. A small man within his miniature frame, Chandran's kindness has no bounds. He wears a short sleeve, light colored button down shirt over a plain white mundu, usually worn to his feet. His shoes are open sandals and he wears a watch on his left arm, with the dial underneath his wrist, rather than on top. He has tan, shiny skin on his elongated face, pronounced more so by his receding hairline which forms a bushel of curls at the base of his neck and a thick beard around his face. His eyes remind me of a child, sweet and innocent, while his nose resembles that of a parrot beak. His grin is goofy and friendly, revealing a mouthful of different color and oddly shaped teeth. Chandran is a master at the infamous Indian head wiggle, a gesture of greeting, acknowledgment, and acceptance. I learn this skill by first observing and then mimicking him. He is forever scurrying about, jumping into action before hearing the full set of instructions. There is a slight nervous energy about him, mostly from his desire to do his work well and fast. When he speaks, Chandran raises his left arm and rotates his wrist, as if unscrewing a light bulb. I am unaware as to why he does this, but nevertheless it is quite endearing. I am flattered and happy when he calls me Madame, when he opens the car door for me every single time we venture out, and when he happily acknowledges the my internal change taking place. I always opt to sit in the front seat next to him, an unusual choice in this country but I do not concern myself with divisions between the server and served. I enjoy watching him drive, careful attention to making the sure the car as well as the passengers are safe. He is usually unsure of the routes and we get lost quite a few times, but through his unyielding efforts, perseverance, and countless stops to ask for directions, we always arrive to our destination. Any time he is picking us up, he appears out of nowhere as soon as we are ready to live, scampering quickly to the parked silver Ambassador, eagerly awaiting our return. It is obvious he has a heart of gold, as well as immense respect and love for Ammachi and her family.
Lastly, however the minimal interaction, I must acknowledge Kumari, Ammachi's personal cook, as well as Mollymanti and Kuttichenuncle, Sebastian's other aunt and uncle. Mostly the anonymous presence in the cooking kitchen, Kumari consistently prepares the most delicious foods I eat in India. The range and variety of ingredients, spices, and creativity blows me away at every meal. We have difficulty communicating due to the language barrier, but I feel a connection to her nevertheless. Very unassuming and reserved, she keeps her place in the kitchen, preparing recipes that she learned firsthand from Ammachi. Dressed always in a traditional sari, usually in white and with a back dot perfectly centered on her forehead, there is grace and beauty in her face. I sense she has lived somewhat of a difficult life or something burdens her soul, but I am unable to determine what. She has the most beautiful smile, especially when I fumble in Malayalam to tell her how much I enjoy her cooking. I usually display my squeaky clean plate as evidence.
For the month, these people become my family, with whom I feel safe, accepted and loved. Feelings of being homesick are not present, for my new family surrounds me here. I feel so fortunate to be a part of such a big circle of love, to be included as an outsider and treated like an insider. Not for one moment do I feel awkward or uncomfortable; rather, I feel at ease, welcomed, and at home. When I reflect back on India, I will take the most solace in the moments I spend with Ammachi and her crew, in the countless meals shared over the kitchen table, laughing while eating mounds of Kumari's cooking in our hands. I will never forget the afternoons, when lunch is full in our bellies, when the house is peacefully quiet, each of us retired to our own respective rooms for a short nap before coffee and snacks. When I think of India, this will be in the forefront of my mind. I have been given such a rare opportunity, such an incredible gift to live in Ammachi home, to know her and Alice Auntie on a more personal, deeper level, and to experience Keralian life as close to as native as possible. I am saddened to leave this place, to depart from my new family, having to give up living in such a beautiful home. I know I will be back. In my bones, I know it.
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