When we were children, our family used to go for a month-long vacation down south once every two years. My parents used to meet all their relatives and friends during the summer vacations. We, a set of six children, just tagged along wherever my parents went. In many cases, my parents would keep their luggage in a common place at Madras (now Chennai), Madurai or Thootukudi (or Tuticorin) and make short one-day trips to nearby places to meet friends and relatives residing there. Sometimes to optimise time and logistics, my father and mother go separately to visit their respective relatives and friends. In such cases, we children remained with our mother.
Rani Esther, my cousin at Madurai narrated an episode about my mother that she still remembers. It was the time when my mother visited them in Tiruchendur. Rani’s mother, Grace Annapurnam was my mother’s elder sister. My aunt and her husband Sundararaj were government high school teachers at that time and posted at Tiruchendur. We referred to our aunt and uncle respectfully as ‘Petham’ (derived from Peddamma meaning ‘big mother’) and ‘Periappa’. While staying with them, one day my mother decided to take all the children to meet another relative staying a few hours away by train. At that time, I was still an infant and generally consigned to the ‘thottil’ (a Tamil word which means cradle made by tying a cloth at two opposite endpoints and hung by a rope from the roof). Early in the morning, while I was sleeping soundly on the thottil, my mother got the remaining children dressed and ready for the train journey. She reached the Tiruchendur railway station with her children and luggage. Then she suddenly realised that her last child was left behind. The train was yet to reach the station. My mother was still wondering how she could go back and fetch her baby in time. Fortunately for her, Petham who was at home saw the child still sleeping after her sister had left and brought the child with her to the railway station. Petham had reached just in time. My mother was delighted to see her child but felt sad on having forgotten him in the first place. My mother learnt a life lesson to count not just her luggage items but also her children each time she left home.
There is yet another “forgetful” episode that my father told me many years ago. On one of our vacations down south, my parents were staying in Thootukudi. It was a vacant house that belonged to some friend who was no longer staying there. My father planned to meet his relatives while my mother decided to meet her childhood friend Devaki who stayed a few hours away from Thootukudi. Both decided to come back after two days. My mother took the luggage and left along with all the children. My father thought that there was enough money in his pant pocket and did not bother to check it. Later, when my father was about to leave the house, he realised that there was no money in his pant pocket. He simply forgot to check it before my mother left the house. Moreover, there was no money in the house as his wallet was left in the luggage which my mother had taken along with her. It was impossible to contact my mother immediately as there were no telephones then. My father stayed hungry for two days till my mother came back home. My father knew no one at Thootukudi from whom he could borrow some money. Moreover, he probably could not muster enough courage to request someone for some financial help. It was extremely difficult time for my father but not an unusual one. He remembered the time he would sleep off hungry as a child. This incident reminded him not to be overconfident and always check his wallet and also his house keys each time he left home.