Whispers of a Legend

 I always told myself that someday I would write a book with a first chapter titled “Whispers of a Legend”. It would be the south western wind that heralded that whisper, carrying it over the river to the leaves of the bamboo thickets who then rustled the prophecy to man and beast. The story of a little boy who would return to a magical place called Ottapalam. But this is not that story. This is about the real legend who weaved her magic into this little boy’s life and made him return. 

There are many early memories. But one, in particular, stands out - when a scared little boy, who just finished grade three was left with his grandmother for the summer holidays. I was excited and terrified, and I cried as my parents returned to the city. I didn’t really expect to live beyond that summer, convinced that if the snakes didn’t get to me first, the deep darkness would devour me whole. Instead that summer changed my life forever. I cried harder when that summer came to an end. And then I came back for nine other summers.   

Those were magical days. We grandkids called our grandmother “Muthi”. I didn’t know Gandalf then, but Muthi must have been a close cousin. She cast a spell on every day. My days were filled with delicious food, books, goats, neighbors, farming wisdom, evenings frolicking in the river, ancient stories at twilight and finally, tucked in between a sturdy wall and Muthi, deep blissful sleep. I quite didn’t grasp it then, but those experiences would leave me with a haven to turn to anytime life got too complicated. If my boat slipped her moorings, I would always find an anchor in the place, the people and the memories. And Muthi was my North Star.

Some people teach you life’s lessons and some people’s lives are the lessons. Muthi squarely fit the latter category. She was a self-made woman with a spirit whose determination was only matched by its generosity. She was ancient, progressive, liberal, a feminist, spiritual, pragmatic, flawed in parts and flawless in totality. Through those summers, in ways I hadn’t even quite fully understood, she surely but strongly laid the foundation for my life. Years later, as I sat with D at a coffee shop in Cincinnati and pondered over my life journey in preparation for a key work interview, Muthi and those summers filled most of the preparatory pages.

Even as the magical days of childhood stretched into the more complicated days of adulthood, she continued to be my Gandalf. When the rest of the world seemed to measure you by the level of material success, hers was the contrarian voice. Why do you need to earn so much money, why do you need more than one house, who do you need to be so far away from family; these questions were always a refreshing slap of cold water to my face. She was never too visibly impressed by what I accomplished, and I always was warned not to make the mistakes she saw others make. Just like the front view from the house in Ottapalam, which has fundamentally remained unchanged, the way she treated me fundamentally remained unchanged. And I’d like to believe I navigated adulthood a little better because of that. Through the many trials and tribulations of adulthood I’d like to think I also got one other thing right – making sure that at least, in my lifetime, Muthi’s house would remain a place we could always go to, to soak in the warmth and generosity of her spirit and to find the ground beneath our feet.

The wheel of time turns on and even a giant eventually falls. Before her days turned incoherent, I was grateful that she could meet S. The cycle of life goes on forever, but for those moments when they met and gazed into each other, it did seem to come full circle. And before she slipped into those days of coming full circle herself, becoming a baby again during those waning days, she had one last bit of advice for me – “take care of the kid(s)”. And then, after giving us almost a year to prepare ourselves, she moved on to whatever adventures lay ahead for her. Took that boat into the undying lands.    

And as I went back to Ottapalam, dreading for the first time being there, and stood in front of her for one last time, from the stillness I heard and felt it at the same time. That wind. That rustle of the bamboo leaves. That whisper from a Legend. Through the tears, I had to sneak in a smile. The words I heard in my head were appropriately from one of my favorite books “A Memory of Light”            

“This wind, it was not the ending. There are no endings, and never will be endings, to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was an ending.”

And to those words I added … It was also a beginning.