“Mom, show me the photos from your trip,” came the earnest request after a 48-hours-girls trip to Goa, as my head sank into my pillow. My 26-year-old son lay next to me as we flipped through the photos clicked on my phone, introducing the 13 musketeers who seamlessly wove into my life, 35 years after graduating from high school.
“500 photographs in two days, Ma!! That too, only on your phone. Can’t imagine how many are on others’ phones.” It was a million memorable moments that couldn’t be captured on a mobile device or a blog, but I’ll try my best to give you a glimpse of our glorious Goa trip at 50+!
“I didn’t see you order these color beads on Amazon. Looks nice, Ma.” A few flicks later on the phone, “Wow, Mom, everyone is wearing it. Where did you all get these color bead necklaces? They are gorgeous!”
“This is Shilpa aunty,” I said, who bought two sets of colorful beads for the two days for each one of us. As I introduced Shilpa, I realized that back in school days, she was just another name on the school attendance register — never talked to her from Kindergarten to 12th grade in 14 years — and here she was, adding colors to a trip to India that started off on a grey note for me, with my only younger brother passing away at 51 years.
She was the epitome of “actions speak louder than words.” A quiet, constant smile with her tongue-rolling mannerisms — until she locks them between her lips — her squishy hugs, soft pecks planted on everyone’s cheeks, all came with an inherent humility that was outstanding. Her thoughtful gift of a bag of whole nut cashews seemed to bring the two parts of my before-and-after-50 split-cashew life into one whole piece. Just for the record, shunning her exuberant love would be an unremovable stain in your biography.
“Who is this aunty with the grey hair?”
“Oh, that is Manju aunty. We call her ‘Manjal’ Manju. Her husband is a big naval commanding officer. She is so bubbly and kind to everyone. I’ll play you one of her audio messages saved on my phone from WhatsApp. You can rewind and listen to it forever. I don’t know, but she is like this sweet manjal mango now — looks yummy also, and as you bite into her, positive mango juice just oozes out, da.” She is in Goa and went in person with her Commander to check out these villas and arrange a comfortable ride in a 14-seater tempo for us. Last minute, her husband did a web check-in for me, Rohit. How cute is that! I somehow grew up thinking army, navy, military guys don’t listen to wives. Sooooooooo wrong, Rohit!! Duh!”
“I like her already, Ma. She carries her greys with grace,” Rohit uttered, adding, “She seems to be the youngest of you all.” How true! I realized age is not in the grey hair or the sagging skin or the unwanted fat pads, but in the attitude and outlook on life — building and loving on people, igniting their lives with kind words and respect for the tempo driver, senior citizen neighbors, and kids on the street alike. Hats off to Manju! I uttered quietly under my breath as he flipped another photo. The only thing I couldn’t decipher is how you vibrate your vibes across the phone screen, Manju!
“Of course, you know Latha aunty, right? She has been in my life forever — being there on my mountain-top moments and ultra-low points, the only person who calls and checks on me at regular intervals. She thinks of everyone, Rohit — her family, her friends (more love for school friends than college, of course!), and downtrodden people who need a helping hand to educate their children, even though her calendar is full.
She can be in the USA and thinking of organizing a Goan trip with schoolmates, be in India and direct her office team in the USA, and in midair across two countries, think of nonprofit ‘shooting stars’ in the sky!” When there are empty slots in her calendar (if at all!!), she climbs Himalayas or some peak nearby San Jose, just because……she can do it all 😊
Fitness freak — but I did catch her eating Padu’s butter biscuits on the trip though!
Puli pasichal pullai thinnum pola 😊
“And this is K.R. Fatima. She lives in Bangalore, a big shot in a big bank, has three amazing kids — one is a doctor like you, and the other two are twins who rock the arts field at a world level.” Nothing of what I said went into Rohit’s head.
“Why do you call only this aunty with initials K.R., Ma?”
Hmmm… I couldn’t remember. That’s what she is — K.R. since UKG!
Titles don’t matter at 50, nor do first ranks or basketball petty fights in school, or who gets the math sum correct first or who won the 100 m dash or gold medal — initials do — the ones we were born with and groomed with matter!
The values ingrained in us by the previous generation and the influence our friends had at Fatima Convent, along with the values the selfless, gracious Salesian nuns infused — matter! “Kind and Resilient” is all I can say about the initials K.R.
“I know Rosy aunty!”
Recently, Rohit had his name called out in a crowded Coolie movie debut show in Skywalk Mall in Chennai. He didn’t know Rosy, but Rosy knew him by name.
“I am your mom’s schoolmate,” she had introduced, and they both sent me a selfie.
Getting to know the “Rowdy” Rosy from school was like putting ice in your mouth and waiting for it to melt.
Well, I did melt — to her ‘bindas’ attitude to life, living each day as if it was the only day she had, strong to not just be with her friends, but looking for the safety of everyone, meritifying to stay with the group and not linger alone, making us giggle with her impromptu moves! Diamond in the rough — or should I say hard around the edges but gooey in the centre, like a chocobar 😊
She taught me in 48 hours to be happy even when the greys of life surround you.
Rosy was just being ‘Rosy’. And this time around, I wasn’t afraid of this Rowdy!
I even let her kiss me 😊
“Okay, so this K.R. Fatima, Shilpa, Rosy aunty, Latha aunty…” Rohit started moving his finger across the phone, revising the names out loud.
“Why are you byhearting their names as if you are going to be tested on an exam?”
“What if they call me by name when I go out in public somewhere?! It would be embarrassing if I didn’t know their names,” was the answer.
Oh yeah! — these were names to be remembered for the next gen, not just for namesake, but for what they stand for — their values, their struggles, their influence, their grit, and their unique stories!
“This is Varsha aunty. She was our treasurer for the trip. She is so calm and composed. She has always remained thin and dainty, but this trip, she was ‘loaded’ with all our money. She was the most sought-after on this trip after every meal and dessert (to pay the bills!) — responsible, soft-spoken, and gracious.
What was surprising to me was on the first day I saw her step out of her room, fully covered with long-sleeved tops and full pants, and a few hours later, she was in a freaky frock along with Hema aunty. Minnal Manju, minnal vegathula minimized their outfits with some extra outfits she had preplanned and packed!
I pointed, “This is Hema aunty — she is our encyclopedia — we feed her info, and she remembers all our birthdays, our children’s, and soon she will remember all our grandkids’ birthdays when we forget ours!” Traditional homemaker, caring respectfully for her aged in-laws, silent — but can switch to non-stop mode if we press the right buttons.
And only we know where those buttons are… ssshhhh, secret!
Roopa and Karthi. They were the bus girls who used to run after the last bell to catch the school bus. They were the same beans in the pod, only this time on a tempo traveller in Goa. Only this time, there was nothing to run and catch — they were so laid back and daintily dressed.
Roopa was posing in an elegant embroidered cream dress with a big hat with a brown bow in front of a naval museum, with a bright sun making not only her but all of us steaming hot. She was having her ‘Titanic Kate Winslet’ moment with all naval officers gaping, wide-mouthed — let alone all of us! The same urge to pinch her until she turned red irked within me as it did in UKG under the bench without the teacher noticing, despite all the armed officers around. It was a treat to talk to her replicate Xerox-copy daughter over the phone — whom I plan to pinch and hug sometime in the future. It was a special moment with ‘Roopa’ — both outside and inside the phone at the same time!
Karthi immersed us in her eternal beauty and sweet melodies. Meeting her beautiful mattu ponnu on video call was like icing on the cake!
“This is Rajitha aunty and Padu. Both are Mallu chechi’s. They are always chic and beautiful.”
“You are beautiful too in these photos, ma” Rohit said.
“You gotta be, buddy, when you are around such beauties. No options.” I giggled at the compliment.
Elegant in her cotton frocks, Malayalam-tinted Tamizh, and black goggles, Rajitha stood out — unchanged with time and age.
Padu, short for Padmaja, though recently injured her knee and dragged her feet while walking, but didn’t miss a beat while dancing. She was a miracle in motion on the dance floor. Kuthu dance, ball room dance, Kathakali, ‘Silk Smitha’ sexy dance… it comes naturally to her. She bottled up, childhood memories in a bottle of gems that I dug into – with a personal note for everyone – that felt and made me “attractive.”
Butter biscuits, chappi sapidra yellow and orange mittai were topped by kamarkat kattalai…for kamarkat chewing.
“Kadichi sapida koodathu. Keep in your mouth and soak it slowly and then only eat, okay? Otherwise, pallu gillu ellam therichi poyidum.”
It came with clear instructions at a timely moment when I was about to fracture my teeth, trying to bite into one. Soon, the hard kamarkat soaked up the bland juice in my mouth and filled my mouth, heart and soul — with sweetness! Love your love, Padmaja. ‘Witty amidst the wincing’ attitude of Padu, encouraged me to tag along on our long walks on the beach with our knee injuries. Latha and Padu landed up loaded in Goa — despite their own luggage — with mini tiffins, Danish cookies, pori urundai, groundnuts, kamarkat, and potti kadai snacks. So thoughtful! Chance eh ellai!!!
Last but not least: my roomie, Portia. She had a Shakespearean class about her dressing, attitude, dance, grit, selfies, and life in general. Her mom and mine were friends in tailoring class when we were in elementary school. The friendship continues into our generation — and I hope onto the next.
When in doubt, ask your friends, they say (or perhaps I conjured it!). And I did.
“Portia, is this dress nice? What about this earring? This bracelet? This hairstyle? Can you tie the bow for me?” Graciously, she graced the favor.
I walked out of the shared bathroom one morning, guilty, wondering if I took too much time on the inside and made my roomie Portia wait. “What were you doing for so long?” came the stern voice as I stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom. I was taken aback, as it confirmed my fears. Then came the Hindi translation of the same sentence. Little did I realize that Portia was up at 6 a.m. for an online class — learning Hindi language— amidst a fun trip with her school friends in her 50s. I was almost giving up my zeal for learning new things this year. Portia also shared she wanted to learn to play an instrument other than learning a new language this year. Wow! Her zeal for life in general and passion for learning new things was infectious.
We shared pearl earrings and hair bows like school days as we caught up on stories of real-time life and yester years, eversince we last met. Our brothers were in the same class as well, in the nearby Loyola boys’ school, and our families went to the same church and lived on the same street. I realized (very late in life) that I shared more with Portia than I had imagined — and that I hadn’t talked to her in almost a decade. What a shame! Hopefully, it can be amended on the other side of the cashew nut after the Goa gap— post-50 decades (God willing!)
I was sad and exhausted as we boarded the flight home to Chennai after a 48 hours ‘carefree’ Goan expedition. The Bangalorean K.R. left early, and the Goan girls departed next, followed by the Mumbaikaars. I exchanged my seat to sit next to Sundari on the flight with a stranger who immediately consented, not knowing how precious the remaining moments were. She looked so soft and warm that I just wanted to lay down my head on her shoulder and hold her hands. A few minutes of stillness on her shoulders, holding her hand, calmed me down. Her strength was palpable underneath the calm demeanor. Looking into her eyes so close helped me see how beautiful (hence the name Sundari!) and strong she was. I sensed a rock under the surface. If she could rise up from the ashes like a Phoenix I could do. One day at a time. One step at a time!
It was like ‘the Spark‘ that ignited me for the rest of life’s journey ahead when I landed in Chennai and later when I head to the United States. It was ‘the Spark‘ that was long awaited….
Life is a million little moments strung together like beads on a string.
No one knows how long this string is. There are patches filled with just black and grey beads — sometimes stretching for miles. But then, just when you need them, God sends splashes of colors: vibrant color beads that brighten up your life!
They give you strength to go on. They remind you of the goodness of God and man, the unending love, laughter, and joy that were always there — just unnoticed in the hustle for success, the relentless striving, the skipped connections, missed calls and the overscheduled Monday mornings.
We fill our calendars but forget to carve out 48 hours or even minutes, with the people who truly matter — those who love us, spoil us, lift us up with their joy and zest for life.
Those precious hours remind us that even when life throws hard kamarkats at us, they’re bearable — even sweet — when we sit with childhood friends, let our guards down, and soak in the moment amidst our chaotic lives. The pain eases. Sorrows melt. Challenges feel lighter. And somehow, the sweetness in your heart lingers long after those 48 hours are over.
I faintly heard my own snoring as Rohit gently removed my glasses and pulled a blanket over me. Something from his mom’s childhood friends must have rubbed off on him — something genuine, authentic, human-to-human. The kind of connection this generation sometimes misses amidst social media, LED screens and seamless scrolling!
As he flipped through the photos, listening to my commentary a while ago, I could tell — that he felt it.
That ‘special something’ we shared as kids. That ‘special something’ that is missing in this generation. And maybe, just maybe, he will beginto search for it too… with his school and college friends.
I was already drifting back into deep sleep, to the sands of a Goan beach, dreaming of the fresh winds of life swirling around me — color beads dancing around my neck, kamarkats filling my mouth — sweetness returning for the next half of the cashew nut of life!