Dear reader, you absolutely need to know about my Chinna Paati, whom I have referred to as CP for as long as I can remember. Before I get to the why, let’s briefly meet Sushila Paati. She was born in 1940. She completed a bachelor’s degree in Sanskrit – this detail would play a rather key role in my life, as you will learn! At the age of 21, she married my maternal grandpa’s younger brother. There is a rather adorable picture of my mother seated next to the newly married couple. Even at 21, CP’s instinctively maternal nature leaps out of the picture. I don’t have the picture to upload here but take my word for that.
CP & her husband- my creativity truly overflowed in my childhood, so I christened him CT, short for Chinna Thatha! – were a lovely couple. As you entered their beautiful ranch home in T Nagar, their smiles opened the door to you even before they physically opened the gate. Without them ever stating it, you could tell that they had much mutual respect. He pronounced her name as though the ‘i’ was silent. His dependence on her was as striking as it was adorable. He depended on her but never took her for granted. CP respected him but not in a subservient way. They were very much equals in their relationship, which I am not sure was an assumed norm for Indian couples from that generation. CT ensured that her responsibilities as wife and mother did not define her. Her likes, dislikes and preferences all mattered to him. For instance, CP’s reading habit was never a casualty amidst her household responsibilities. CP reciprocated that respect, and how.
.jpg "All Smiles - CT, CP and Geetha")
I was always fond of CP since I was very young. But two things – one positive and one tragic – happened in the early 1990s which cemented my bond with her indelibly. I developed a love for cricket in the early 1990s. CP is not just a fan of cricket; she is a knowledgeable critic of the game. Before the 1992 world cup, I spent hours talking to CP and CT on the phone, learning about the game and developing a passion for it. Cricket is an important part of my life. The seeds for that were sown in the sprawling garden of their house!
I vividly remember an incident from the 1992 world cup. I had watched India’s final game versus South Africa at our house. India had already been knocked out of the WC. But when India lost the game which I felt they could have won – in retrospect, I was wrong; they never stood a chance! – I created a big ruckus in the house. Without wasting an extra microsecond, my Mom dialled CT’s number and said, “Chithappa, speak to your grandson. I can’t handle him!” It took CT’s power of persuasion to calm me down! I do not remember what CP said to me, but I am sure she consoled me with her trademark kindness sans any judgment. That is the thing about her that I recollect with gratitude – even when I was young, she spoke with me, never talked down to me.
The second reason why my bond with her was cemented for life was that when my grandpa died, I had a week to go for my eighth standard final exam. My parents, my grandma and my Aunt were all in a state of shock but also had to take care of a lot of rituals and procedures following Thatha’s sudden death. It was CP that took me under her wing and ensured that my preparations for the exam were not unduly affected by the tragedy. She would take me to a quiet corner of the house and made me focus and study, while never failing to acknowledge the gravity of the tragedy and its impact on me. A couple of years later, when I was in serious danger of flunking my Hindi board exam, she used her proficiency in the language to help me tide over my struggles. She did it in her usual unassuming manner. But the phone bills from those months will narrate a story of their own!
Even after I moved to the US, I never failed to keep in touch with them. CT’s sudden demise in 2005 had an impact on her that lasts till this day. She is still the same kind person and over time, she has had to reconcile to the loss. But those who know her from before know that there was never an iota of sadness in her eyes when he was alive, which you can sometimes detect now. But the largehearted person that she is, she continues to accept all my Aunt’s (the renowned writer and activist Va Geetha, whom I have written about in my piece on CT) friends as her own, just like she accepted her husband’s brother’s grandson as her own.
As an 83-year-old, CP might not have the vim and vigor of her younger days. Her movements might be a little more circumspect than before. (Then again, her steps have always been measured.) Her mind has not lost its unfussy sharpness. And her heart continues to beat for her loved ones. As someone who is grateful for all the things that I have learned from her about cricket and many things beyond, let me use this opportunity to convey my wish that CP at 83*, scores a century.
