It was sometime in my childhood days, may be when I was ten or eleven. I can still remember that evening, when I saw her. I was playing with my sister in front of our house in Mandya, when I spotted her in her red saree. She was walking to our house, from the far end of the road, with a small bundle. May be it was her clothes which she packed for her short trip, placed cautiously under her left arm. She was in her seventies, and was very thin. She walked slowly, trying to spot the house she had seen just once before.
Me and my sister, all excited, went inside and informed granny and mom “Siddamma is here! Siddamma is here!”
Siddamma was my maternal great grand mother’s sister. My granny and mom, when in village had grown up with her. They moved to Hassan from Adagur village in 1980s, when my mother, who was their only child, got married. My maternal great grand mother, Kaalamma , who was the elder sister of Siddamma, was with us till 1994. My mom and granny always tell me that I was her favourite. She supported me in my every squabble and complaint, and hugged and kissed me when somebody hurt me, and cursed those who hurt me, whoever it was. She had Asthma, and I and my sister had seen the doctor visit our house often, when at Hassan. She was too weak to walk, in her last few days. Granny helped her with everything. She was bed ridden for a long time and passed away when I was in my second standard, when I was too small to understand or comprehend the meaning of it.
Siddamma stayed back in Adagur when my family moved to Hassan and used to visit us occasionally. Whenever she visited us, she brought with her some coloured sweets and candies purchased for me and my sister in the ‘Halli jathre’ (village fair), which she preserved carefully till it reached us. She loved ‘seegesoppu’ and its sambhar, which my granny prepared for all of us. She brought some of it every time she visited us. Granny never missed to prepare ‘bellada coffee’ (coffee made with black jaggery) when they met. It was their all-time favourite, and they enjoyed it together, when we kids, flicked pieces of black jaggery and savoured it with friends.
After that, we moved to Mandya in 1996, when I was in my fourth standard at school. Though It took time for me and my sister to get adjusted with the new crowd at school and the new teachers, within a year we were well acquainted with most of them, and had started loving the new place and new friends.
Siddamma was with us during our house warming ceremony at Mandya. Along with her, Swami (A friend of mom at Adagur), his wife and daughter had come all the way from Adagur, to help our family shift to Mandya. I still remember them, working all day on the day of function, dressed in panche and sarees, and with a bright mark of ‘vibhuti’ (a mark worn by Lingayats in Karnataka) on their foreheads, which loudly proclaimed their fear and love to Lord Shiva. I admired their helping nature, and their activeness, as they were not our blood relatives, but still offered their full help in whatever way they could. Swami even carried our heavy Television set on his lap, all the way for 3 hours in our hired taxi from Hassan to Mandya, on the day before the function. It has been years now, and we have lost touch with them. But those memories are unforgettable for me, which were a part of my wonderful childhood time.
After the function Siddamma had not visited us till that day. She had informed mom and dad a week ago over phone that she was coming. It was 1997, and landlines, as even now, were rare in villages. She had asked some friend in the telephone exchange at Adagur, who knew Dad, to call us up for her. She talked to mom and granny and told them she wanted to visit us. She had also told them about a wish of hers. Since her childhood, she had always wanted to see Mysore palace, but hadn’t got a chance even once. She was now in her seventies, alone in the village, with nobody of hers around. May be she really felt lonely there. She told them that she wanted to visit the place and us. Mom said she will try to arrange for the trip and said she was always welcome.
Siddamma had left for Mandya, to meet us, a week after that. I admire her courage and liveliness at that age. She had to first board a bus from Adagur to Hassan, and then from Hassan to Mandya, for 3 hours. She walked to our house after she got down at Mandya. It was may be a kilometre or more, but she had managed to cross the main road and come down till our road. I wondered why my parents didn’t pick her up. May be they were really busy at office, I thought. Now that they had returned home, they went out and received her. I and my sister were really happy to see her after a year or more. We went up to her, running, searching her for her bag and the sweets.
She freshened up and gave us the sweets she had brought for us. We had dinner together in our room that night. The next day, mom and dad discussed with her about the trip to Mysore. I looked at them with my eyes wide open, waiting for them to decide. Since our birth, I and my sister had been brought up as ‘indoor’ kind of children, never allowed to go on school trips with friends, never allowed to join dance class or a school sports team. Mom made us sit in front of her every evening after school and watched us do our homework. Sister used to get the scolding and beatings first, seeing which, I would get alerted and open the big trunk allotted to me for my books, and start scribbling something, quietly. This had continued from Hassan, where I was born and did my lower primary, till my entire schooling at Mandya. So, Mysore, which was only 1 hour away from Mandya, was a place I didn’t remember seeing too many times. May be we went there once, long back, when my always busy parents had decided to holiday for a change, one nice day.
It was a holiday time again, after so many years, and I was looking forward for it all excited. This time it was more for Siddamma and her little wish than for myself. We spent our time at home with her playing games together and listening to granny and her talking about their village and their stories.
Three days passed, but my parents could not make time out of their busy schedule. Siddamma waited patiently. May be after that, she felt she was disturbing dad and mom, and decided to head back to Adagur. But she was as happy as she was when she came. She politely told all of us that we could surely go some other time. I and sis were sad, but had to say goodbye to her. Dad and mom dropped her back at the bus stand.
We returned to our usual routine of homework and studies.
May be it was a month after she left. We got a call from Adagur saying that she passed away the last night while asleep in her bed. She was living alone in her small house at Adagur and had no one from our family around her. Dad and mom left to Adagur to perform the last rites. I and sis were sad and wanted to go, but were not allowed, as we had no holidays at school then.
Parents returned from there after a day or two. Me and my sister quietly continued our studies. As days passed, we forgot her and the pain.
It has been more than 15 years. But, even this day, it hurts me when I remember her small wish of a picnic to the Mysore palace, and that we could not fulfil it. As I grew up at Hassan, I was not as close to her as I am to my granny. But her memories and her small unfulfilled wish bring me tears, even this day, even now.
*************
