​Amma’s mother’s family hailed from a village called Elugamvalasu near Dharapuram. My ammachi’s (maternal grandmother) mother died soon after giving birth to her. When her father decided to remarry, her father’s younger brother, Sinnappa Gounder, a dynamic and very respected person in those parts, decided to adopt Ammachi as his own daughter. He wanted to shower his care and affection on this young child who was motherless. He never married. 

Sinappa Gounder was the kind of powerful personality whose steadfast values, honesty and spiritual demeanor commanded the respect of everyone in those parts. It was said that a thousand villages would vote for whomever he asked them to cast their votes for. For someone who led a very ascetic-styled personal life, he was also a dynamic businessman. At some point, he relocated to Tirupur, a town that even then was well on its way to being the textile industry hub that it has been for decades since. He took his young niece with him as well. They were father and daughter as they lived their lives in the new town. Ammachi got married to my grandfather, who apprenticed in Sinnappa Gounder’s cotton merchant business, and would eventually fully make it his own after his passing many years later.

Eventually, Ammachi’s father and stepmother sent their three children to live with their uncle as well, and they all grew up in that very patriarchal household with Sinappa Gounder (who came to be known within the family, their friends and acquaintances as “Tirupur Ayyan”) as the family head who commanded as much respect (and fear even, with his penchant for discipline) within that household as in the outer world. Ammachi was the lady of the house, and that came with massive responsibilities to keep everyone fed and all the other duties of a large household. She was always busy, and many years later, she would speak about all the things she would do daily - taking care of her own children, her step siblings, her husband, her aging uncle/adopted father, and even cooking large numbers of meals for the hermits and priests Tirupur Ayyan would decide to bring home suddenly to feed. 

Amma, the first of her parents’ children, was born into this family dominated by the towering Tirupur Ayyan. She became his favorite at a very young age, shining academically in school, showing the utmost respect to her elders, looking up to them and always trusting them to do what was not just in everyone’s interest, but always what was morally right. A lot of these qualities were inborn, but Amma’s moral values, sense of duty and uprightness were massively influenced by Tirupur Ayyan - not just by listening to what he had to say, but also by observing how he lived his life. And to her, his approval was the ultimate complement.

I found many handwritten notes while going through my parents’ papers and belongings after they had both passed away. Among them were a couple pencil-written and fading but precious pages where Amma mentioned her two role models - (1) Tirupur Ayyan, and (2) her mother. The notes were in Tamil, and I translate: 

“I consider my number one role model to be Tirupur Ayyan (my maternal grandfather). He quoted the following Thirukkural at the time of his passing:
    “வையத்துள் வாழ்வாங்கு வாழ்பவன் வான்உறையும்
     தெய்வத்துள் வைக்கப் படும்.“
(Living a virtuous family life on earth leads one to be honored among the divine.)

He did not speak much. But the few words he spoke were succinct and cutting, etching into memory. For example, he had this to say about a relative: Oh, him? He’s someone who holds a light in his hand and (still) falls into a well.

From a young age, growing up as his first grandchild in our home, he had a big impact on me.”

Amma’s original note in Tamil:
[வாழ்க்கையில் நான் ‘model’ ஆக எடுத்துக் கொள்பவர்கள் (1) திருப்பூர் ஐயன் (எனது அம்மா வழித் தாத்தா). இறக்கும் தருவாயில் அவர் சொல்லிய வார்த்தைகள் - ‘வையத்துள் வாழ்வாங்கு வாழ்பவன் வான்உறையும் தெய்வத்துள் வைக்கப் படும்.’ என்ற குறள். 

அதிகம் பேச மாட்டார். பேசும் சில வார்த்தைகள் நறுக்குத் தெரித்தாற் போல் மனதில் பதியும். உதாரணம் - ஓர் உறவினர் பற்றிய அவர் கருத்து: “அவனா? Lightஐப் பிடித்துக் கொண்டு கிணற்றில் விழுபவன்.”

சிறு வயது முதல் வீட்டில் முதல் பேரக் குழந்தையாக அவருடன் வளர்ந்ததால் என்னில் அவர் தாக்கம் அதிகம்.]

In 2016, about a year after Amma’s passing, Thambi and I visited Amma’s Subramaniam Uncle (Ammachi’s half/step brother) in Elugamvalasu. That was the first time we were meeting him after our parents had passed away. He was emotional, calling them a “divine couple” (தெய்வத் தம்பதியர்), who could not be parted even in death. He felt Amma had a power of personality that pulled Appa to her even from the beyond. He called her “the true heir” to Tirupur Ayyan and his legacy, noting that in his opinion, nobody else lived up to Tirupur Ayyan’s values and moral strength like she did. 

​Today, a full ten years after Amma left us, I reflect on Amma, her moral and spiritual strength, and the legacy she left us. I am thankful for all her love, her uprightness, and feel blessed that I have had a role model like her, the worthy heir of the legendary Tirupur Ayyan, towering over us all in her own way - physically diminutive, but an unforgettable giant in our hearts.

Amma spent her entire life as a mother doing the very best she could for her children. My brother and I were deeply blessed to have a mother like her. Getting us educated, tending to our nutrition, teaching us life's values, helping us navigate society, even our recreation - all were done with her utmost involvement, passion and love.

A couple examples come too mind from Amma's later life of how she showed her love by going well beyond what could be expected in those situations.

My son and I flew into Chennai on August 2nd, 2010 in the very early morning, just a couple hours past midnight. Amma was in the middle of her chemotherapy treatment after having undergone surgery just a couple months earlier. It was between chemo sessions, so she was home. She usually came to the airport to receive us, and that was the very first time she did not do so. When we arrived home in the middle of the night, she was ready - cake in hand, candles ready - determined to celebrate my birthday (August 1st) only a few hours late. Chemo side effects be damned, she was not going to miss the opportunity.

​In late December, 2014, Amma's health was in a dire state. She was mostly bedridden, very weak and barely able to walk. I went to Chennai to assess the situation and get her medical help as soon as possible, as she seemed to be resisting it, knowing that her end was near. Before my arrival, she had still managed to drag herself to the kitchen and cook something for me in case I was hungry when I reached home late in the night. "I wanted to cook for you with my own hands," she said, knowing better than the rest of us that it was one the last times she would be able to do so. As it turned out, it was the last time she would ever cook.

Going the extra mile for her sons was second nature to Amma, past every trial and tribulation that life threw at her, and down to her last breath.

She lived in Chennai for most of her life - Chennai, that maddening but lovable city of millions, sitting on the coast, with the long Marina Beach bordering the sea. She worked, she traveled by bus, by auto rickshaw, by foot. She loved: her family, her job (most days), her children - most of all. She made friends. The sea sat silent, bearing witness to her life in that city.

She loved the sea. She liked to watch its waves. Beach visits were amongst her most favorite things to do. She went with her family, with her friends. She was no swimmer, and feared the water. But the vast sea and its waves were comforting, and she loved to watch - from a distance. Rarely, she would let the sea lap at her feet. The silent sea then saw her, up close.
​

As her children grew up, and her professional career as a teacher and academician matured, she embarked on pursuing her doctorate. She chose a subject that was anchored in her specialty, zoology, but combined  aspects of psychology, her husband's field and passion. Her field work involved trips to the beach to collect samples and to interview visitors and sightseers. The sea bore witness to it all, ever so silent.

In 1992, she lost her mother, her beacon of love. After many years of balancing her family and her work with the pursuit of her doctorate, that year - 1992, in the aftermath of her loss and grief, she dug into her research with renewed energy. She completed her thesis and submitted it before the end of that year. She dedicated it to her mother. The sea watched silently, and perhaps a bit proudly.
​

Later in life, whenever her grandson Adhiban visited, a trip to the beach was compulsory as he loved the beach and the sea too. She delighted in his delight. The silent sea watched them both.​
​

Later, disease became an all-encompassing concern in her life. By 2014, pain was a near-constant companion. That summer, she accompanied Adhiban once more to the beach. But she could not cross the sands to the sea and its waves. She was too weak. She waited afar while the rest of us walked to the water. The sea sat mutely, wondering. 

On February 9, 2015, she departed this world. Later that month, some of her ashes were scattered over the holy Ganga by her husband's IAAP friends in Varanasi. She had always wanted to visit Kasi. Her husband was fulfilling her wishes, in a way.
​

A few of us took the rest of her ashes to her beach and her sea, which had remained witness to her life and times. As I scattered her ashes into that sea, it finally seemed to break its silence. The waves roared, threatening to suck me in as well. That day, it seemed to me, the sea cried in lament for her. As we continue to mourn her, five years later, that lament still echoes in my mind, now and forever.
​

Show love for your children and passion for parenting
Love your children. So obvious, right? But how many people take the love of their parents or their children for granted? Or fail to show that love at appropriate times and regret it later, sometimes only after someone's gone from this world? Amma showered us with her love, and showed it in so many ways big and small that it was something my brother and I clearly perceived even at a very young age. Her love was not shown just by attending to our needs. She went far beyond what could be considered necessary, for instance, in terms of our nutritional needs. She researched nutrition, talked to her friends and colleagues, and came up with new and different foods to try. Once, she learned that washing grapes with a potassium permanganate and water solution would help remove pesticides. Suddenly, washing grapes became a small chemical experiment. Taking a shortcut to save time was not an option if it meant compromising something she felt was important to her as a parent. In those days, with no Internet or easy access to information, she still found out what she needed to know by being inquisitive and willing to listen. Food, shelter, clothing, education, even exercise and recreation - she anticipated our evolving needs in these areas as we grew and was always well prepared to meet them.

Amma's love for her children drove her passion for the daily duties of parenting. Whatever was her physical and mental state of the day, she did not allow it to come between us and what we needed from her. Her parenting was passionate and purposeful. The purpose was not just to feed, clothe and shelter us and give us an education. Her goals were higher. She wanted her children to grow into responsible and upstanding human beings, and sought to cultivate her values and morality in us.

Treat all your children equally
Amma was religious about treating both her sons equally. If one was given an opportunity, or if she did something for one, she went to great lengths to ensure that the other was given the same opportunity, attention or whatever it was she had done for the first. She had a tremendous sense of fairness, and wanted to be fair to us individually by offering each of us the same love and attention. It seemed that she considered this to be the most important thing in parenting multiple children. Beyond her sense of fairness, she was subconsciously working to prevent any future feelings of injustice, inequality, envy or resentment among her children which would otherwise have be caused by the perception that one of us was favored by our parents over the other. She brought this up with our father at times too, and made sure that Appa held himself to the same high standard of fair and equal treatment of his children as well.

Appa liked to narrate the following example of Amma's equal treatment of her sons. After my brother was born, Amma had to go back to work after six months. She had been able to be a stay-home mother to me during my entire first year, affording me the precious gift of her breastmilk for most of that first year. She did not want Thambi to lose that. In those days, there were no other options, such as storage, for him to continue to get her breastmilk while she was at work during that important first year. So, Amma went back home during her lunch break in college, taking multiple buses across town, to make sure that he continued to drink and her supply did not diminish. After he had his fill, she returned to the college, and repeated the trip back home at the end of the day. She kept this up for the rest of his first year.

Foster love and sharing among your children
Growing up, nothing was just mine or just my brother's. Amma made sure we never thought of material things as individual belongings. It was OUR comic book collection, OUR room, OUR video games. We learned to share such things equally at a very young age. It seemed very fair. It avoided the sort of conflict, sibling rivalry and fights that sometimes continued well into adulthood and destroyed family unities. Not only did Amma severely disapprove if either of us unfairly started even a verbal argument, she and Appa appreciated both of us for being so united and avoiding quarrels. My parents showed this appreciation in front of everyone, calling us their "Ram and Lakshman" proudly, and stating that this made them happier than anything else. This appreciation, and the sharing that Amma inculcated at a very young age, ensured that our brotherly love, unity and understanding of each other would continue for the rest of our lives.

In her last will and testament, Amma stated, "I have treated both my sons as equal in every aspect and I am blessed to have such wonderful sons." This Mother's Day, and every other day, I reflect on Amma's love and her purposeful parenting, and feel evermore indebted to her for enshrouding me and my brother in her love, her values, her balance, and the resulting sense of security she brought to our lives as we grew up.

Read Purposeful Parenting - Part II, as imbibed from my father.

​​Harnessing the expressive power of Tamil in four crisp phrases, Dr. Kanthimathi makes pithy and amusing observations on the styles of contemporary youth.

Translated:
The face that should be shown, half covered in hair
The body that should be covered, half shown
The English spoken so full of holes
A pronunciation hunt at the tip of the tongue!

A sabji is a North Indian curry dish containing one or more vegetables cooked with various spices and eaten as an accompaniment to Indian flatbreads like rotis and chapatis, or with rice. Dr. Kanthimathi's recipes for two such sabjis have been added to the recipe collection. As with everything else from her kitchen, these curries were always made just right, with perfectly balanced spices and perfectly cooked vegetables.

Click here to see the recipes

  -- By Arulnambi K.

​It was the year 1989. I had just started college. Mani Ratnam's Idhayathai ThirudAthe (இதயத்தை திருடாதே), dubbed into Tamil from his Telugu original, Geethanjali, was all the rage in Chennai, at least among the college-going crowd. Film composer Ilaiyaraaja, in the midst of an extraordinary series of creative and popular successes with his soundtracks for Mani Ratnam's movies, had another chartbuster with Idhayathai ThirudAthe. There is one song from that soundtrack, AthAdi AmmAdi (ஆத்தாடி அம்மாடி), which has an orchestral interlude that is my favorite piece of music from that film. Rustic percussion starts it off, followed by a dialogue between harmonium and flute. Then, the harmonium plays a brief melody, which is picked up and expanded in sweeping fashion by the full orchestra, led by Ilaiyaraaja's trademark strings. That transition from the harmonium to the string section is exhilarating and full of a lively zest that I feel to this day when I hear that music.

Amma heard that soundtrack, and seemed to like it. She had specific musical tastes, leaning more toward melody, and music that is soothing and soft-sounding.  Once, while I was listening to the aforementioned song, she started listening to that interlude as well. She asked, "Who composed the music?" while raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was impressed by it. She asked that question almost exactly after the harmonium handed off the melody to the strings, obviously meaning that she noticed and appreciated those moments as I did. I realized that I had inherited even some of my discerning tastes from her. True to her favorite subject, genetics, even interests, tastes, and other traits of one's personality can be passed down to future generations.

After I came to the U.S., I used my understanding of Amma's interests to engage with her as frequently as I could, at least on the phone and by other electronic means, in attempts to close the geographic divide and make her feel connected. This became even more important after she fell ill and needed to be in good spirits to fight her illness as best as she could. As many of these interests and tastes were in my own blood, at least in some evolved form, it was not a difficult task but a very enjoyable one.

I made it a habit to call her during my lunchtime at work, or over the weekend when I had more time. We would get into some long conversations. She liked the latest TV version of the Indian epic, The Mahabharatha. Once, we debated Dronacharya's partiality towards Arjuna and how he went against all virtue in his treatment of Ekalaiva. After one such long conversation, she sent me this message: "Whenever we have a long talk, I feel the nearness, as if we sit together and converse or otherwise as if you are here."

I shared music that I knew Amma would like. Getting her an iPod Touch helped with sharing the music easily. Ilaiyaraaja's monumental "ThiruvAsagam" was a guaranteed hit with her. It offered her many of the things she loved - classical Tamil lyrics, divinity, soothing and mesmerizing music. Later, I made her playlists of other songs she had requested or ones that I thought she would enjoy. A couple years before she passed away, I presented her with an iPad mini, which enabled text and video chats, sharing photos, and playing multiplayer games online.

Recalling the memories of such interactions with her on things of mutual interest is like recalling the time one spent with a close friend. A mother can be many things to a child. If one is truly fortunate, a mother can be a best friend. This Mother's Day, I miss my best friend.

  -- By Arulnambi K.

Amma loved going to the beach. She liked to sit and watch the waves, the boats and the people. After one such visit on a full moon day, she wrote the following:

Translated:
Today is a full moon day
We went to the beach
We saw the sand and the sky
We saw the ocean, stretching as far as the eye could see
We saw the clouds and the planes high up in the sky
We saw everything, and everybody
We did not see the moon, though (on this full moon day)

Today, February 9, it has been two years since Amma left behind her family and this world, and departed forever into the heavens. She was our sun, our moon, our shining star, and not a day goes by without her permeating my thoughts, the way I think and even the way I act. She will forever be the missing moon on my full moon days.