In my native language, Tamil, “amma” means mother. However, I do not recall ever calling my mother amma because someone else already had that name in my eyes.
Ever since I was little, I have called my maternal grandmother, Malarvizhi Kannadhasan, “Malar Amma.” Now, it has become a tradition in my family, with all my cousins calling her that as well. I think this nickname perfectly describes the tremendous impact she has had on me, both as a confidant and a maternal figure.
For a glorious three years, I was the only grandchild, thus receiving all of the attention. However, in December 2012, my brother, Yughi Mukilan Sathish Kumar, was born. I had started attending school at the time, so my grandmother came to live with us to help my mother. My brother was a fussy baby who took up a lot of my mother’s time and energy, so Malar Amma was the one who woke me up, got me ready for school and fed me breakfast before sending me off.
My grandmother was, and still is, my favorite person. My mother taught me how to read and write, but it was Malar Amma who instilled in me the love of oral storytelling that later manifested an obsession with theater and the performing arts. Whether I was hyper or subdued, she patiently listened to what I had to say.
When I was angry or anxious, she always knew what to do to calm me down. If I was spending my day with her, I knew it would be a good one. The little things, like watching her cook or making up stories about people we could see out the window, were what made me the happiest. Malar Amma taught me to appreciate the simple things in life and for that, I am forever grateful.
When my family moved from India to Texas, going from being in the same city as my grandmother to being across the world from her was a huge change I have still not gotten used to. After three years in the United States, we have only returned to visit once. Nevertheless, Malar Amma’s influence remains. Often, something like a craving for a dish she used to make or seeing a pretty dress I know she would like reminds me of the woman who played such an important role in raising me.
I try to talk to my grandmother over video calls at least once a week, but our conversations are short. Sometimes, I miss the days when I would follow her around as she told me wonderful stories, but now, I am slowly learning to tell my own. Although I am no longer the little kid she used to rock to sleep, she still has so much to teach me, and I am eager to learn.
To Malar Amma, I love you so much and hope to see you in person again soon.
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