My Favourite'st' person: Aaboo

A narrative picture of my dearly beloved maternal grandmother - Aaboo. Although she passed away in 2015 - she was, is, and always will be my biggest mentor, influencer and champion!

“Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed,

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud,

I say...

It’s the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

Cause I’m a woman, phenomenally.

Phenomenal Woman. That’s me”

- An excerpt from Maya Angelou’s poem "Phenomenal Woman".

If you are familiar with this empowering poem, then you would have surmised that I have paraphrased it a bit, and only chosen some of its lines that best describe her.

Honestly though, the entire poem holds true when I think of my Aaboo. My beloved maternal grandmother.

Last week, this blog hit a milestone. The Wondering Goddess now has over 100 dedicated subscribers! In a time of trending 6-second video content, am ever-so-indebted to this little community that chooses to dedicatedly read my <3000 word fortnightly ramblings. Am truly so grateful to all of you. I celebrated this by doing what I do best – wondering a whole lot more!

Thus far, in my writing, I know that I have mentioned the word “Aaboo” quite a few times and explained the vernacular term. But I realise that for the many of you who do not know me personally, I ought to formally “introduce you” to her because Aaboo for me is not just a familial relative, but a whole concept.

She will keep appearing in my stories, whether it is today or even a decade from now. It is only fitting that I try my best to articulate my feelings about her -- although a part of me knows that nothing could be enough of a tribute to the wonder-woman that she was!

My travelling companion all through my childhood, Aaboo was intrepid and always full of stories!

When I was 6 years old, my English teacher in school once asked us to write a few lines about ‘Your Best Friend’. I remember starting my essay with a line that read something like - “My favouritest person in the whole world is Aaboo.” I remember the teacher’s red ink cancelling the “st” followed by a small question mark near the word “Aaboo”. But as she read on, she did leave a few remarks in praise and a request to translate the familial relation in brackets, for someone who did not speak my ‘mother tongue’.

As the years passed by, growing up I continued to regard Aaboo to be my best friend and only constant companion. Even today, aged at 30-something and despite the many years since she passed away, my favourite person in the whole wide world remains my Aaboo.

You see, I could explain to you that Aaboo means grandmother in Assamese, and is what I called my maternal grandmother, even though we are a Gujarati family.

I could tell you that Aaboo is someone who raised me through my formative years of early childhood and the many different schools I attended, often had her coming to my Parent -Teacher meetings.

I can add here that if there is one person who left the strongest imprint on me - it was her.

But I cannot explain what she really meant to me. The bond that we shared is indescribable. It wasn’t just a bond between a grandparent and grandchild or even parent and child.

We were often telepathic; our emotions so intertwined - that my teachers and peers were often left shocked, when either of us could predict the other’s next move.

I was an only child, but never lonely - as Aaboo was my constant bestie!

Aaboo. Her full legal name was Geeta Shrimukhrao Mehta. As far as I can remember, she had a distinct ‘look’. She had waist-length, salt-and-pepper hair that she usually wore in a tight bun, held together by a U-shaped black pin. In her 60s and early 70s, she would often add flowers to her bun as she loved the South Indian head of jasmine (Mallige hua).

Aaboo loved earrings, especially crystals, but disliked those that would sit too dangly or heavy on her ears. She always wore a Rudraksha around her neck, with whatever semi-precious stones that were her flavour of the season (rubies, coral or jade) and always had a few gold or copper bangles around her wrists (“Haath Khali naa raakhvanu”- ‘Your hands should never be empty’ she would say).

When she stepped out of the house, she would always wear a red chandlo - or Kumkum powder between her brows. She loathed plastic bindis. There was a day when I finally learned what the practice meant - the science behind the myth - about the hypothalamus connecting to the pituitary gland in your brain, and why your ‘third eye’ must remain cool and anointed. I remember her smug declaration “Ha, Who has the last laugh now, Chitsa!”

The other distinct item that was part of her look, was the Assamese magenta and white gamcha that she wore around her neck. When I finally visited Assam as a 12-year old, that was the first time I saw other people wear a gamcha as an everyday accessory. It is a valuable addition in humid weather - but for the longest time I assumed it was only Aaboo who made and wore these ‘scarves’ for herself!

Found this picture of Aaboo's typical look - and a more grouchy me as am being schooled about something here!

Another unique look that was Aaboo, was that she loved to wear a sleeveless blouse - much to my mother’s dismay who prefers long sleeves and dislikes even short or cap sleeves. Over time, I think both ladies came to a silent truce, for the sake of a good day. While they respected the other’s personal styles, they never hesitated to offer an opinion on the sleeves vs. no-sleeves debate, to me.

When I would tell my friends that my grandmother loved sleeveless clothing and my mother loved full-sleeves and mostly loose clothing - it would leave them bemused at the role reversal!

Aaboo wore sarees effortlessly. She also loved the Assamese Mekhala Chador, but I rarely saw her wear her saree in the Gujarati -seedha pallu style. She loved bandhnis, patolas, traditional prints in mostly reds, yellows, off-white, softer pinks and blues and dark green. Those were her chosen colours. She knew which colours and styles she could pull off and really looked like a lovely little grandmother - regal, strict and traditional.

But when Aaboo opened her mouth to speak - it would take all of 5 seconds for people’s faces to morph into that of shock and awe.

For she was anything but traditional. Anything but conventional. She was a woman way ahead of her time in thought, perspective and demeanour.

She spoke impeccable English, flawless Gujarati and Assamese, broken Hindi and French, a smattering of other eastern Indian dialects, but could never pick up the South Indian languages. Not for the lack of trying though - so when she would throw in some Kannada and Tamil phrases in her speech, during the many years that we lived in Karnataka, it was always received with much delight!

Aaboo could speak to anyone. Literally anyone. Young people, tiny children, people much older to her - language, culture, race or religion hardly seemed a barrier. She was so uniquely empathetic when she wanted to be, that people were left mesmerised by her.

Her life was rich with experiences that were multicultural and intergenerational, and she seemed to have this inherent ability to absorb it all and bring out the best in herself and others as she grew.

If I try to think of someone like her personality-wise, perhaps the closest to have come in wit and charm is Lady Olenna Tyrell (for all the GoT fans out there!) and then I remember that Lady Olenna Tyrell is a fictional character. Aaboo was as real as they come. Whomsoever Aaboo met, would remember her the next time and always want to meet her again.

There was just some sort of magic, some ethereal quality in her that made her unforgettable.

My bedroom decor: I wake up to this everyday!

Let me share an anecdote here.

One of my happiest later memories of Aaboo was in 2008, when Aaboo was 82 years old, and I was studying in my 4th year of law school at Pune. This was Aaboo post a knee surgery that had had a devastating impact on her movement. Yet, after months of physiotherapy and sheer will-power, she announced to my mother that she wants to visit me in Pune, on her own time.

Back then, I lived in an outhouse that was a long single room with an attached bathroom. A cute and happy place for a young student. Not for someone who is recovering from knee surgery, aged 82.

But it was Aaboo - so my mother caved, despite the panic, and arranged for her to travel by a good overnight train that would arrive at Pune at 4.30 am. This caused a fresh wave of panic as my mother tried to arrange for safe transport for me to pick her up from Pune’s station. But I assured my mother that it was a Friday night/Saturday morning so I could ask my friend Karan, who had his own car and another friend to accompany me right onto the platform and we would manage to bring her home safely.

That day my mother texted me three times to remind me of two things:

a). I have to be at the platform by 4.25 am and

b). The train would stop only for two minutes at Pune station - so I must get to the right part of the platform to be able to assist and collect Aaboo easily.

Those were the days of paid SMSes, so three messages with repeated instructions - is quite telling of the panic that this impending journey caused my mother!

D-day arrived and we were ready. Karan and I asked another friend of ours, Azmat to come and assist. We planned it all carefully - which compartment to look for, who would carry the luggage and who would assist my grandmother. I even carried a torch as back-up, in case the platform lights were poor!

We ended up at the platform by 4.15 am and then I began laughing because I told my friends that this is my Aaboo we are talking about. We need not have worried so much. She will deboard the train in style and would have plenty of people assisting her too. Yet Karan was happy that we had Azmat as a ride-along because there we could not see anyone else on the platform. He was convinced, no soul - however well-meaning and kind- would be up at this ungodly hour to assist an elderly lady.

The train arrived on time. And both the guys immediately rushed towards one end of the compartment. Out of the corner of my eye, in the darkness, I could see activity at the other compartment door, so I hollered to the both of them to turn back and come to this end, and just stay on the platform.

What happened next was like a slow-motion scene in a movie, although all of it was perhaps, 60 seconds!

First there was a young man carrying a bag that held two potted plants and secateurs and some compost.

Then there was another young man who came out carrying this misshapen bag that I knew had two pillows, her trustee blanket and her own bedding for the train.

Then followed another young man carrying a small suitcase. He quickly alighted and put the suitcase down and then offered his hand to someone as if to help someone with that tricky step, all Indian trains have. And with her stick in her right hand and in two elegant steps - there she was!

She took a quick glance at all her luggage to check it was all there and then waved out to all the young men who helped her. The guy who had her suitcase touched her feet and she gave him something, but I noticed it was not money but I never ended up finding out what it was! Those three guys were still waving at her at the door, as the train whistled and chugged on, and she was smiling and waving back vigorously.

Then she turned around and finally noticed me on the platform. She took a good look at me and said - “Well, Hello Chitsa! This is quite a welcome party for me!” She then greeted Karan and Azmat - “Hello, Hello. I’m Geeta. Chitei’s grandma. And who are you strapping young lads?” she asked with a big, open smile.

And in that very moment, I could see it all happen. My two guy-friends had equally big smiles and heart eyes - and I remember rolling my eyes and thinking “Well, here we go!” Aaboo was just an inevitable force of charm. It always took only minutes for my friends to fall in love with her, and then forever more - they would always ask after her when they met me again. After my friends met Aaboo, they might as well have forgotten me!

Think about it - she was 82 and my guy-friends were 22 and she still had that effect on them!

She was bright and excited at that hour and thanked my friends so warmly for their assistance that day. In the days that followed - she met my larger group of friends, accompanied me to all my haunts - Barista, Wadeshwar, ILS Tekdi, Osho Gardens - and even got my only Marathi-speaking help, Ashabai to do some odd jobs for her! My landlady and her husband - the Gokhales, who were in their 60s, came along for all the walking activities after meeting her because they felt ashamed to grumble about ‘old-age’ again!

I knew what they meant - Aaboo was essentially 82 years young, never old!

Our last picture together! (Taken in June 2015 - she passed away in September that year.)

For that unflagging faith that she had in me - I miss that one true champion who genuinely believed that any screw-ups on my part would make me fiercer, better, and above all, an empathetic person.

I miss that magic in the air that always accompanied her. Like some kind of energy that buzzed around like a bee, but was bizarrely peaceful too. The most refreshing quality about Aaboo was that despite all the trouble and conflict she had encountered in her life - she was never cynical or jaded about it. There was this wonderful innocence and belief in her that despite everything that could go wrong, there was always good in the world and that she could access it.

I pray that she has found peace, love and happiness in a garden of her own - her love for Nature and the Earth is something I have inherited - and continues to weave that magical spell on whoever she meets.

Actually, I know she is - cause "she is a woman, phenomenally, A phenomenal woman, that is she".

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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed reading this, and have something that you would like share/add about your own mentors/grandparents/family - am all ears in the comments below.

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