Summer again

 This summer holiday has been unique in so many ways. Touchwood, it has been easy. It started off looking quite boring and uneventful. But in due course, I was able to savour this stage of the kids where they are way more independent. They would wake up, grab some breakfast, and get on with some activity. Be it reading, playing a video game, or doing some craft work. They found the treasure trove of Netflix games this summer. And it was a full-on family activity playing a bunch of those games. K, to be honest, is very competitive when it comes to these games. 

Since the girls have built some stamina, we were able to go on way longer walks. So instead of short walks every evening to keep them engaged, we could enjoy really long walks. Be it in the area of a trip to the city centre via walk or be it a trek. It was quite wonderful to have the company of these young girls and walk around. There were days we would chat about random things. Other times, they would listen to their choice of music. Again, a huge advantage of having them in this stage is that they are quite independent to have their own taste of music so that they are not dragged to listen to someone else's playlist. We also use this opportunity to swap music titles of each other’s favourite artists. 

Since Chiyaa is nearly 15, my sis and I spoilt her by watching Squid Games. It was a really thrilling and enjoyable watch. Again, reaping the benefit of having a bit older kids is that we can enjoy a lot of shows together. We have been regularly watching an anime called The Way of the Househusband. This, in turn, inculcated a desire to cook, and we have been trying to dish out a few of the items. A huge success was cheese croquettes :) Talking of dishes, the girls have been keeping super busy cooking, baking, and Chiyaa has become a pro in making ice creams. They are really thriving in making different dishes and enjoy feeding people around them. They have also tried to keep up with their instrument practice, though it has been the toughest habit to push this summer.

I have seen such a progression from the days when I used to dread the holidays and keeping kids entertained. We have come to a point where we thoroughly enjoy them. Apart from our plans we have been graced with celestial events such as the solar eclipse and the Perseid meteor shower. We love the raucousness in the house, the mess in the kitchen and bedroom, the absolute anarchy in the living room, and the total fun in spending time together. As the lovely six weeks of switched-off alarms, lie-ins in the morning, playdates, walks, shopping, lots of cooking, and lots of eating draw to an end, all I can do is wait for the next one next year :) 

Moma

 The summer vacations are on for my girls. For me, as a child, summer vacations were a trip to Cuttack to Moma's house. Moma - my maternal grandma. Our family used to make the overnight journey from Rourkela to Cuttack to spend the summer at her house. My cousins used to come down as well; they were days filled with games in the big house, eating enormous amounts of food, and totally pigging out on mangoes.

Moma was a school teacher, and some days she used to take me to her school. Because I had nothing better to do. :) I was adored by the staff, her colleagues, and her students. I sat in the staff room with other teachers and spoke about my school and teachers in Rourkela. Someone would order a chocolate for me, someone else would order an ice cream, while yet another person would get some samosas. It was pure royal treatment. She used to take me to her classrooms as well, and the children there just loved me. Moma taught the higher classes, so most of her students were older than me. The girls treated me as if a golden retriever had walked in. I was totally adored; they fought over wanting me to sit with them. Someone would give me a fancy eraser, and yet another girl would give me a little notebook. I felt utterly elated at this special treatment.

The way to Moma's school was through a bazaar. It was full of all sorts of stuff, and Moma would stop to buy some vegetables and groceries on her way back. I loved how the shopkeepers all knew her and were so respectful of her. Being a teacher, she was referred to as didi by them all. I would say that was my first impression of true woman empowerment. My Moma, a petite widow in a white saree, navigating the big bazaar, bargaining, shopping, and even deflecting big bulls (real bulls, the bazaar was full of them, and I used to be super scared of them. But Moma never flinched and would deftly manoeuvre and come out from the shops with her purchase.

She was an amazing cook and would make the most amazing fare without using onions and garlic. She was an adept storyteller as well. She used to regale us kids with stories of Akbar and Birbal and from the Panchatantra. And once we had had our fill of them, she used to tell us stories of her life. Of her time growing up in Bombay and having the most fashionable life there. She used to tell of her touring days with her father and then later with her husband, our grandpa. And of course there were stories of her life with our larger-than-life grandpa.

Moma was inspirational, fun, and feisty. She had a few properties let out and she used to handle all the tenants and their requests for upkeep alongside chasing them for payments. She single-handedly raised three independent and feisty daughters who could take on the world. She supported their careers and established them. Moma was like no one I knew from her generation; she was well-spoken in English and Hindi (which is not our native tongue), she was a working woman, and she was a lovely, loving lady.

I used to cry a whole lot leaving her home and coming back to Rourkela. We used to take a rickshaw to the bus stand, and I would look back at Moma, the small lady in a white saree, against the huge house. I used to feel sad that she would be all by herself in that house, but I also used to feel proud that she could handle it all. When we were kids, we were asked quite often if my mum had brothers because having a mama was a big deal. But we used to say no, we have Moma :)

But time works its weird hand, and even the most strong edifices crumble. As days went on, her health deteriorated. She had to leave her big house and come and stay with my mum and my aunt. She made her peace, but she was always resilient and self-reliant. It was a pity to see her become a shell of her former self. But then it was such a pleasure to see her fiery self back again. When I met her in April this year, she chastised me for not wearing a bangle in one hand (as every married woman should!). She took on K and enquired why he had undergone the pain of getting tattoos. Her brilliance was still there under the patina of age.

My Moma breathed her last on Saturday, the 25th of July. But she still lives on - in the cardigans she knitted that are still in top condition and in spite of being passed down, are still wearable. In the independent stubborn streak her daughters have. In my own Chiyaa's unruly black shock of hair, which is the exact replica of Moma's. She will live in my thoughts as the true champion of women's power, where a lot just talk the talk. She will live in my memories as the one who gave those wonderful summer vacations. She will live on as the one and only Moma!