She would sit at the corner chair near the window, with her legs up on a stool. Wearing a loose blouse and a cheeththa redda she would gaze intently at the road while sitting there. On occasion she’d say something to one of her daughters or grandchildren, who whoever is seated close by. This is how I remember my Sudu Achchi, my maternal grandmother.
Sudu Achchi was the only grandparent I got to know during my life as the others had passed away long before I saw the light of this world. She was called Sudu Achchi by us, her grandchildren as she was fair in complexion as well as having a head of long white hair. She was chubby and had a rough voice. What I mean to say is her voice wasn’t high pitched. Her chubbiness has been passed down from generation to generation and some of her children and even grandchildren have the luxury of been the genetic inheritors of this! [Yes, me too] She liked wearing the cheeththe, “it is comfortable” she used to say. This is how I remember her, with her chubbiness and fair complexion. That was her identity.
I remember Achchi sitting at her ‘spot’ or achchige putuwa as we used to call it and gaze at the road in the evenings. Sometimes, watching us grandchildren play in the garden in the evening; be it hide and seek or running games. Being the tomboy I was back then [ok, I guess I still am], I use to join her sometimes, sitting at ‘my spot’ on the parapet wall near the gate. She used to scold me then, saying that I will fall, and from that height, injure myself. But I never listened. I liked that spot and she knew it! So together we’d sit and look at the road, it was a people watching experience, which even now I continue to do unconsciously. [Not sitting on the parapet wall though.] We’d laugh at something funny or even watch together waiting for ammi (my mother) to come home from work. I remember having conversations with her while sitting there on the wall, legs swinging in the air and achchi seated at her spot near the window. I miss those times. Later achchi’s house underwent renovations and the structure changed completely, up front. The one thing I still yearn for is my spot on the wall, where I can sit and reconnect with her. Even to-date, when visiting achchi’s place [I still haven’t got use to calling it anything else besides achchi’s house] I look at the window where she used to sit and feel like she’s still there watching the road. I miss her presence. For me, it will always be ‘her spot’.
Achchi was a little old when I was small, so I always knew her as the white haired, soft skinned, wrinkled lady. She could be stern when she wanted to be, especially with us grandchildren. I particularly remember this one recurring incident. Achchi loved to have a nap in the afternoon, a little while after having her lunch. It energized her she use to say. Me, being the little girl and tomboy that I was, full of energy felt otherwise! For me, this was the time to play and have fun after school. Of course, there was a conflict of interest here; Achchi wanted peace and quiet at home while she slept and I wanted to play! So the result was always her running around the house behind me with a cane, trying to catch me. She was never able to catch me [of course!], but I liked running around the house with achchi at my heels, because this was also the only time I got to run inside the house. However, at some point or the other, one of my aunt’s would intervene and relieve achchi of the chase and make us have our nap. Needless to say the nap was needed and gave us [both my brother and I] the energy to get through the rest of the day. Sadly, I was too small to realize that.
I don’t remember much about Achchi, and I am sad about that. It’s the little things that I remember. Her smell, that lingering smell of her which I don’t-unfortunately- have a comparison to and her voice. I remember sharing her bed at night when I use to stay over and her telling me that kicked her in my sleep but she never complained about it.
I remember even today that she wanted me to toughen up and face the real world, even when I was a little child of 7 or 8 years old. Those who know me know that I am not fond of spicy food. Even as a child that was the case. However, achchi thought differently. She believed that I should get use to the spicy food, because most Sri Lankans eat spicy food, and I would find it difficult to eat out if I didn’t get use to it. Unfortunately, even today, I am still unable to digest too much spice.
I remember her letting me play till it got too dark to play outside, something ammi didn’t allow much. She let us mess the garden, as long as we tidied up afterwards. I remember she was very caring towards her plants and wouldn’t let us harm them or pluck their leaves. I remember cycling on our road, with the ‘kalu mallis’ [three brothers who were dark in complexion] and once falling over, which ended up with me being right under the bicycle. To this day, I have no idea how I managed to be in that weird position. I was scratched and bruised. I remember achchi coming to my aid quickly, having seen the incident from her ‘spot’ by the window. She was so terrified that I had injured my head. I was so cool about it and wanted to get back to playing but she wouldn’t hear of it. Sometimes achchi was cool. She used to defend me when I was falsely accused. I remember once my neighbour [a girl from my school who’s a year younger than me who was living across the road] and I were running up and down the little hill in our achchi’s garage and my friend fell on her face, badly injuring her chin. Achchi was angry that we were being careless, but she knew it as that girl’s fault for tripping over her own feet. Her parents were furious too and scolded me, but achchi came to my rescue. Thereafter achchi told me not to play with her as I would get in to more trouble. However, I was allowed to go to her house and play, as she wasn’t allowed to come out till she was cured. Now I realize what achchi said at that time is true. Over the years, due to various reasons, I lost touch with her, even though she still lives across the street from achchi’s. I am happy I am not in touch because I too would have ended up being messed up as she is, had I been friends with her.
I still don’t know much about achchi, because I never knew her as an adult. I only saw her in my child’s eyes. She will always be my Sudu Achchi, with white hair and fair, soft skin. I will never know what had her ticking or why she loved to sit by the window, all I will have with me are the little memories I will carry with me and the thought that I wished I spent more time with her.