Mygrandmother, Kadayamma, lived with me from the time memorial. I spent so much time with her, at home, visiting relatives and attending school and church. I helped her in the kitchen making rotis and hoppers. And in the backyard, feeding her chickens and pigs. I learned to live with animals from her.
Kadayamma fed me rice, telling me stories as I gulped her rice balls. She fed me coconut water from the coconuts she cut open with a machete. She cut mangoes and guavas in a particular way. She gave me sweet lozenges and sweetmeats when I did a minor task for her. She washed my bum after toilet with her bare hands.
There was a metal chest with her unique things; silver bangles, jewellery and ten Rupee bills. She allowed me to touch the precious bangles and admire them. I was introduced to an outside world much bigger than my parents. Because of her involvement, I became connected to many relatives and neighbours. It provided extended mental sustenance in maternal care and safety before I knew what maternal care was about. Her oversight was my early foray into a wider world.
In Kadayamma’s presence, I felt emotionally safe. I could experiment with things, feeling confident. Kadayamma’s presence was kind, gentle and reassuring. It allowed me to navigate a huge, complex, and new world.
Kadayamma could not talk to me about science formulas or space travel. But she took me along to witness the first space traveller’s tour in Sri Lanka. She could weave mats and make hoppers as if nothing was special about them. She was deeply interested in whether I ate my vegetables and washed my feet before bedtime. She simply wanted me to be happy. It was nice to snuggle up to her and listen to her stories of foxes, cows and birds. Kadayamma embodied a species of raw wisdom; It was not about knowledge but understanding; and insight.
Absurdly, that goodness became irritating when I became a teenager. Kadayamma was delighted that I was becoming a man. But I sensed that she would be equally happy if I were her little boy instead, depending on her. Her love was unconditional.
Kadayamma would have been very different when she was a young damsel. The eldest in her family, she was a leading light to her younger sister and the three brothers. She had been through many life-riveting and challenging experiences. She had lived through World War I as a teenager and was a widowed mother during World War II. She supported her brother-in-law when her younger sister died giving childbirth. She adopted a nephew, allowing him to live with her, despite being financially challenged after the death of her husband.
My parents wanted me to grow up well; my teenage friends wanted to hang out with me; close friends wanted a companion. Kadayamma did not want anything from me except my presence in her life. Nothing was calculated or anticipated. She was just there, accepting as I was.
Kadayamma knew my friends, but she was not super impressed by them. But she talked to them kindly, knowing they were her grandson’s friends.
The pleasure I take in my grandmother is a way of recognising how much we all like tenderness. It is a happy encounter between an elderly lady and a child desperate to grow up. Kadayamma never wanted to be understood by me. It was enough to spend time with, feed, and tell stories to take me to school and teach me cooking — the art of interacting with others.
It took more than a few decades before I realised that Kadayamma showed me the purpose and meaning of life.
Strange to think that as I was getting bigger and stronger, Kadayamma was gradually becoming weaker. It was the opposite end of the spectrum of life. I was discovering the world, and her world was becoming smaller, bit by bit. Some fifty years later, I see that the grasp of her short life made her spend precious time with a grandson. Knowing her time in this world was limited, her attitude had a deep sentiment.
How was I to know that Kadayamma would pass away when I was neither a man nor a boy?
The longing and memories of a grandmother are how I learned the goodness and wisdom of ancestry.
Denzil as an infant with his grandmother and parents
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4 min read·Jan 8
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