~ she wore nine-yard saree everyday of her life from the time she was 18 all the way up until 81. (she was forced to switch to the sari for practical reasons — and she hated it)
~ she had all the phonenumbers we ever needed. if she met you, she would make you write down your ph. number in her tiny palm-sized notebook, in your hand. you could have a page to yourself. she would recognise your name by your handwriting, later.
~ she ironed her saris by sitting on them, or putting them under her bed
she was diabetic, hypertensive, had three heart- attacks, and took insulin shots everyday (15ml). and still helped herself to the sugar bowl
~ she travelled to the United States, 20 years ago. Alone. On the flight. Knowing only Tamil. Took everything in her stride. and went on a tour of Singapore, during the stopover as well:-).
~ She taught one of her grand-daughters to make microwave idlis 15 years ago, only one day after encountering the microwave. she could have patented her idea
~ she called my firstborn “pattanna”. I thought she would call baby param something else: but he too was “pattanna”. viz. all cherished kids = one blanket nickname.
~ she had a mental database of people whose status updates she’d want to be in the know about… and so she often clicked on refresh, whenever she found a source.
~ whenever she cried, she ran to the bathroom and drowned her sobs by turning on the taps on high.
~ she said she would eat any food: “so long as it didnt have eyes, hands or feet”
~ i taught her the English alphabet (small letters) when I was 12. She told my dad that she felt like she was going to be able to read the newspaper, real soon.
~ “He took all my teeth. Why do we have to pay him?” she asked my dad, after her visit to the dentist.
~ she would never mention the “good old days”. She only looked ahead.