Dear Thatha,

My mind and memories race back almost 45 years to ‘Gokul’, our home in Secunderabad, Andhra Pradesh, India. You always needled me every time my maternal grandfather from Madras (now Chennai) came to stay with us by saying “Your favourite Madras Thatha is here”.  I could not tell you then, but I can tell you now why he was my favourite. I hope you can read this letter from wherever you are and understand why he, and not you, was my favourite.

On every visit, Madras Thatha would thoughtfully buy me interesting story books such as the Jataka tales, Panchatantra stories or the exploits of Lord Krishna. As I got older he introduced me to Bhavan’s Journal, a small booklet with information on Hindu culture and religion. More importantly, he initiated me to the joy of reading which opened my heart and mind to a wide new world

My Madras Thatha would ask me about school, how I was doing and always had words of praise and encouragement. Though you and I lived together, you had no time for me. You were constantly talking to Appa about clients who had paid their fees and those who hadn’t. I know you were helping Appa in his office, but it gave me the impression that you were only interested in money. I was also encouraged to study hard by my Madras Thatha.  He believed that I could do well academically. His confidence in me baffled me sometimes, whereas you constantly told me that a woman’s place was in the kitchen. What hurt me most was when you would tell me not to study very hard, but would visit your granddaughter Padma, my cousin, and instigate her to study hard to compete with me. Padma told me this as we were in the same class. Do you know how upset I used to be? Why did you have to show this favouritism, Thatha? Don’t you want all your grandchildren to do well?

Story telling was my Madras Thatha’s forte. I still remember the summer months when we used to sleep on the open terrace under a starry sky. In his steady, soft but inflective voice, he would narrate stories from the Puranas, the Ramayana and Mahabharatha. To my utter frustration, he would stop at the most interesting juncture.  Narrating the story of Ramayana, he would pause after “Then Kaikeyi asked for three boons”.  I would ask “What were the three boons, thatha?”.  “For that you have to wait till tomorrow” he would add much to my disappointment.

There is one incident I remember with clarity. It was a weekday. I was seated on the verandah reading the morning papers.  When you saw me, you said “What are you doing here, sitting cross-legged like a man and reading the papers, when you should be helping your mum and grandma in the kitchen”?  Innocently I replied “Why do you always say women have to be in the kitchen? Look Indira Gandhi is a woman and she is the minister of Information and Broadcasting. Mrs Vijayalakshmi Pandit is in the UN and not in the kitchen”.  Just then Appa entered after a long and hard game of tennis, exhausted and perspiring. You immediately accosted him and accused him of not bringing up his children properly. You told him that I had no respect for elders and that I was rude. Appa then undid his belt and gave me a thrashing repeatedly saying “Never talk back to your elders, do you understand”?  I said I wasn’t, but of course he did not believe me. To the child in me, that was the worst day of my life: to be beaten by my father, who had never lifted a finger against me.  I was devastated, furious and humiliated. I sobbed and wailed because I felt you had let me down and demeaned me in my father’s eyes. I realize now that children then were not expected to speak their minds. This thought hurts me even more now.

You had your kind moments too. You openly appreciated the colourful garland of garden flowers I wove for the altar in the prayer room and the flaky chapathis I made for you.

Older and more mature, I now realize that both of you were different personalities, shaped by your environment and upbringing. I do think of you often, but I think of my Madras Thatha more fondly and lovingly. You now know why!
Your loving Grandaughter (who now works both in the kitchen and outside)
Chitra