The hosts that I am staying with has two adorable daughters. Because their mother runs a small business in the evening, in addition to her day job at DPG, they are cared for by their Aaji, grandmother. The eldest, age 5, is named Shrimira, after mother Mira, a French woman who traveled in India in the early 1900s, and was inspired by a Guru she met to stay. She herself became a Guru for others. The entire family are devotees of Mother Mira. The young one, age 3, is named Shrilakshima, after a Hindu goddess.
I spent my afternoon and evening at Tuticorin in the company of these two children. They immediately accepted me as one of their own, calling me Aaka, “sister.” Although, I can only communicate a few words to the eldest, we can understand each other naturally. The younger one, I communicate with through a combination of facial gesture, finger pointing, and head patting.
The children have already begun to develop a consciousness of the self and they will bicker about anything from who gets the tennis ball, to how many coloring pencils they are each gripping in their fingers. But even the most dramatic and motional moments will quickly dissipate to the attention required for playing. Without any playthings to call their own, they also spend less time over the anxiety of property.
The younger one is much more willful and has a greater tendency to break out into tears, screams, or laughter. But, at an age, when speech is still forming, she already shows an innate sense of sympathy. She would lightly touch the mosquito bite scars on my arms and ask where it is from. And when I washed my hand at the tap, she would say in Tamil “this is salty water”, her Aaji explained that the tap water is too polluted for handwashing. And anything from throwing a ball at her to giving her a kiss can make her giggle uncontrollably.
The older one is more contained and dreamy, often becoming too absorb in dancing, music, or coloring to notice anything else. During the afternoons, we walked around the seemingly forlorn and lifeless shrubberies and she would discover and name for us all the different species of plants and flowers around her home.
After playtime, Aaji will lay out a plate of food for each of us- usually something simple and coconutty, which she spent hours preparing. Even the rice flour for the dough is grounded up at home using a small stone mill. And while we eat, she would clear the house, sweep the front, and light incense for her prayers. The simple melody of their life continues into the evening until bedtime. A mat is laid out on the living room floor, and the two children crawl in with Aaji. The younger will usually run around and play catch for another hour before sleeping. When the lights finally go out, the night is filled with the rhythmic sounds of sleep, one loud snore, followed by two tiny ones. Even if it is transient, their life and love for each other seems to be one form of true happiness.
** This way of life only applies to those from low-income families. Middle-class and upper-class families are much more like the west.
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Later, my host told me that her father had died when she was 7, leaving her mother as the sole caretaker. Before that, her mother, a housewife, never left the home, but after, the family was completely uprooted with no source of income. Her mother, though, showed no signs that she has suffered during her life. She has a deep inner-peace that also resonates in the rest of the family. In the last two decades, the family has recovered. My host and her siblings have done well for themselves, but according to her, their fortune in life has nothing to do with themselves as individuals. Her every action she devotes to God in her prayers.
That's so sweet. :-)
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