The Lady Across the Street...Silver Hair and a Heart of Gold

We first met one hot day in Madras (I really can't get myself to say Chennai). I must have been about eight years old and we had just moved into our new home in Annanagar West extension. My older brother and I were bored that afternoon and deciding to be a little adventurous, we climbed up onto the parapet of our roof. It was exciting; we could see far and wide, a whole new view of our new neighborhood.  Suddenly we heard an unfamiliar but pleasant voice call out to us asking us to come down immediately. We peered down and were startled to see a lady we had never seen before looking up at us with amusement and fear. She asked us our names but before we could answer, she once again asked us to please come down before we fell and broke our heads, and laughing, we reluctantly climbed down and went to introduce ourselves.

And thus our relationship began with the lady from the house across the street. She had silver hair tied up in a bun and eyes that twinkled. She introduced herself as Aunty Saroj and showed us where she lived and told us that we were welcome to come visit anytime we wanted. And we did. 

Very soon her home became our second home. It was a home that radiated warmth and love. Several times a week, I would cross the street, ring their bell and wait to see her face at the little window she would peek out off, to see who was at the door. She would welcome me with warmth and I would spend the next hour chatting to her husband and her about anything and everything. She would make me buttermilk or her famous scrambled eggs and regale me with fascinating stories of their travels across the globe. I in turn would tell them about my day and ask to borrow books from their bookshelf. Being a voracious reader, I devoured their books (rather their daughter's books. She was then studying far away in Delhi and whom I must add they were very proud of).

And so the years passed and our families became very close. Aunty Saroj and Uncle VK watched us grow… from primary, to high school, from cheeky pre-teens to cheekier teenagers. They kept an eye on us when our parents traveled and were just always there for us. We were always made to feel welcome and so we continued to knock at their door, to talk, share a laugh and a snack.

More years passed….and their daughter got married. I still remember the day her to be husband first came to their house. I had parked myself near the window eager not to miss a glimpse of the bridegroom to be. And soon after he left I raced there to get a firsthand account of the afternoon.

Soon it was time for me to leave home for college in Bangalore. I think it was around that same time that they too moved away to go live with their daughter, but we continued to stay in touch and remain close. In a few years I got married, had kids and moved a continent away, but Aunty Saroj was never far away. She would always tell me that she prayed for me every night and I am sure that her prayers got me through many an uphill road.

I am happy I got to her see her every now and then on my trips to India and though she got frailer, her enthusiasm and humor never waned. She was always overjoyed to see us and after giving me a tight hug, would begin to tell my kids stories of me growing up.

Amidst all that cheer she always radiated, we knew that she had suffered her share of pain. She lost her husband and soul mate and a few years later her son in law. But she remained strong, a block of support to her daughter and grandchildren, and she never lost that twinkle, that sparkle in her eye.

A few months ago my dad celebrated his 70th birthday in Mangalore and we were so thrilled when we got a call saying that Aunty Saroj and Janu her daughter had arrived in town all the way from Chennai to share that happy day with us (now for a lady almost 90 that was one long journey to undertake). As she got out of the car, she was the frailest we had ever seen, but nevertheless there she was, regally dressed in a lovely Kerala mundu, stretching out to give us the tightest of hugs. The tears flowed freely, tears of joy, as we welcomed her. Most touching was this...after settling down, she called all our children (my brothers and mine) around her and gave them presents, little tokens of her love. 

That is our last memory of her...so poignant, so fitting. 

Today my dad called to tell me that she had passed away and as the call ended and a flood of memories swamped me, I felt pain, not just my own, but that of Janu, Gayathri and Siddharth. But I also felt a richness and a pride, because, of all the many lives she touched, I am so so lucky that she touched mine. 

Aunty Saroj! A woman of substance. Funny, beautiful, gracious and gentle. Your legacy is etched into our hearts and your love has left us memories no one can steal.