People

Amma Ji and Maama Ji

GITIKA KAUR BAJAJ, 14

A year ago, when my mother had purchased a new picture frame for our family room, we started looking through her box of old photos to find one that was “just right”. After going through the box for a good half an hour we came across a family photo which was perfect.

In the photo, you can see the three older siblings standing close together with their father (my Naana), a young fair-skinned man with a pink shirt and matching pink turban who looked obviously proud of his young family. He had his arms around my Maasi (mother’s sister) and my elder Maama (mother’s brother) who are both scrawny and dark from playing out in the sun for hours. Both are dressed in white.

My mom, in a baby blue dress, stands besides her sister. While the youngest child, no more than two years old, was shown on the far left, being carried by the nanny. She seems to be wiping something off his face when the photo was taken.

My Naani (grandmother), draped in a bright red chiffon sari, seemed to be perfectly at peace.

This August, 29 years after that picture was taken, that young baby boy, now a strapping, handsome and ‘very eligible’ young man, was back in Toronto to visit us, his sister’s (my mother’s) family … but with an ironic twist from the scene captured in the three-decade old photograph.

He was accompanied by a small, frail and aging woman in a wheelchair -- the very same nanny who had held him so lovingly in the photo so long ago.

Known by all in the family as Amma ji, my uncle (Guru Singh -- I call him Maama) had brought her to visit another of her many protégés, my mother. Amma had brought up all the four siblings and tended to the family’s needs over the course of almost four decades.

No one knows how old Amma ji really is. Guesses range from 80 to 100, but we do know for sure that she is really old. Everyone was anxious for her, worrying about her ability to handle the journey well: this was the first time she had been out of India, and the journey was very long.

My Maama had called from Frankfurt saying that their flight was delayed by eight hours. My mother who tends to panic quickly took this opportunity to do just that.

Many hours later, when we arrived at the Pearson International Airport (in Toronto) to pick up Amma ji and Guru Maama we saw throngs of athletes who had come to participate in the Pan Am Games. Groups of people in brightly coloured athletic clothing were being led out of the exits by very efficient looking managers/coaches. 

My mom, whose anxiety was now peaking, asked me to stand at the gate and watch the exit of the arrival section like a hawk. I still remember the first instant my eyes spotted the odd couple. 

Through the crowd I saw a fragile looking, petite, dark skinned, bright eyed woman, her back bent with age, her hair as white as snow. Dressed in an emerald green cotton sari which had crumpled over the course of her long journey, she was wearing a big diamond nose ring, matching earrings and thick gold bracelets.

It was a sight to behold: Amma ji sitting in a wheelchair, which was being pushed by this tall, fair skinned, buff, young Sardar.

Standing there, as I waved to them, for a split second my mind went back to the photograph that we had only recently framed and hung on the living room wall. It was hard to imagine that he was once the very same baby in Amma’s arms. I thought of the way he was clutching her shoulders in the picture.

The huge smile on Amma ji’s face as she was rolled towards us conveyed her excitement as she waved back to me. I was surprised. I had expected the 28 hour long journey would have tired her out as it had evidently tired out my Maama.

Amma ji had been much more than a nanny to my mom and her siblings. As my mom remembers, Amma ji would do everything for them … from bathing them, grooming them, and feeding them, to teaching them and keeping an eagle over them at all times. She would do it all. My mom doesn’t remember ever being sick and waking up at night not to find Amma ji at her bedside.

Amma was always very maternal. These were her ‘children’ and that’s how she raised them.

She’d even wake up extra early to make them each their favourite lunches. Everyone in our family, including my Naana (maternal grandfather), calls her ‘Amma ji’ -- literally, in various subcontinental dialects, ‘mother’ -- as a sign of respect. She has been a part of the family for 37 years and counting.

From the stories I have heard I understand that my mother and her siblings were quiet a handful growing up. There were always friends over at the house, day or night. Not only would Amma ji feed her four hungry children, she would without any complaints feed the numerous others as well. Today when I meet any of those school friends during my visits to New Delhi, I see that Amma ji is equally loved by all of them.

She would sometimes stay up all night for them. My Naana and Naani did not have to fret or set aside their work or social engagements. They knew their children were in the very best hands.

She gives and gives and gives.

On this trip Amma ji made sure she saw all the sights there were to see in Toronto.

Throughout her life Amma ji has followed a routine. Rain or shine she would wake up at five, say her prayers and start her daily tasks. She had been so regimental for so long. I was almost shocked to see that in such a short time we were able to convert her into acting like a teenager.

A week into her stay, Amma ji was following my routine. She was sleeping in, staying up late, and she preferred to eat out than cook at home. All very unlike her or anyone her age. In fact she had turned into a gourmet. She tried dozens of different cuisines and ate everything with a relish. From take-out from the local Chinese place to dining in a fancy restaurant in the city, Amma ji enjoyed it all.

Dressed in her best silk sari and a woollen vest, she wined and dined on the 54th floor in the heart of the financial district of Toronto. She walked down the streets in the city, admiring and buying street art with my mom. She watched multiple Shakespearean plays in the park and understood them perfectly without being able to speak a word of English. 

She was shocked that during dinner parties she would be greeted with a hug and was given a place at the head of the table (unlike eating in the kitchen, separate from the family, which was what she had been doing for years in India). She even started to join in on the conversation.

She definitely got the full Canadian experience on this trip.

At Amma’s age (whatever it is), she is more attentive than I am. She is so aware of her surroundings and has a much better memory than anyone I know. She would often do impressions of what my younger cousins in Delhi would say to her, whether to coax her for a slice of cake, or to get her to make raajma chaawal or trying to scare her off with ‘buddha-bhai‘.

She even remembers my mom’s childhood so vividly, it could be yesterday. She would often interject my Uncle’s stories on the trip to give more specific details, which to me made these stories infinitely more interesting. Guru Maama is definitely the closest to Amma. As the youngest, he has spent the most one-on-one time with her, being the baby of the family. Eleven years younger than my mom, Amma took special care of him. And he has always looked after her.

He is the one who made sure she could come on this trip to visit us. From the impossible task of getting her a passport and then a Canadian visa, to the hurdle of securing medical insurance for her, he made sure it all happened without even having any of Amma ji’s documents on hand. [Remember, no one even knows her real age!]

I definitely believe that it was fate that made sure Amma ji got to travel and explore even though she is old and sick. Five years ago she was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer.

I’m very fortunate she was able to come visit Canada and bless our home.

For 37 years, Ammaji has taken care of all of us. Now it’s our turn to take care of her. The older people get, the younger they act. On this trip, we took care of her food, bathing, entertainment, etc. It is said that it takes a village to raise a child. I believe that the same rule applies for the elderly in a way; one person cannot take on the entire responsibility, all of us need to do our share. Sure, we are not raising them, but it’s similar.

On her last day in Toronto I remember Amma ji was sprawled on a chair on our deck, her sari raised to her knees, trying to soak in the sun and everything else. She made the most of her last day and finally drank a whole cup of coffee (two creams and three sugars).

At the airport, as we waited for Guru Maama to check them in, a young, very fashionable, lady stopped what she was doing and said, “Wow, she’s so cute, I love her nose ring!”.

Amma ji flashed her a million-dollar smile.

Through this trip Amma ji got the utmost respect from both friends and strangers. I think it was her good karam and the positive energy she exudes.

When they finally checked in, we went to a cafe in the airport to sit and eat. The fact that they were leaving finally started to sink in.

Amma ji said: “I will always remember this trip and will miss you all very much”.

Soon, they were walking through the gate to security. Saying goodbye was sad but I am grateful that Amma ji got to visit our home and see Canada.

On this trip we got to spend time with her. She was visiting Banno and Gitika in Canada, something she and I spoke of often when I visited India. After seeing  everyone else go away so often, and return from Canada, she finally got to experience for herself what it was like where we -- her ‘children’ -- lived.


August 19, 2015
 

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