Malabar Amachi

I had just lifted the eggs from the gas stove, when the phone rang. Mom in law was already on the phone looking worried and exasperated when I went to reach for it. She just pointed to the gate and mumbled something hurriedly in anxiety and there I could hear the crystal clear clang of our Malabar Amachi…

It isn’t that the thought of an UFO dropping Amachi here did not cross my mind. Else how would you explain the sudden appearance of Amachi, all the way from Malabar to Pune, all alone that too early morning, without any prior notice? Also I could not deny the possibility that Amachi’s chatter and babble in the language of Gods own Country could have triggered any life-loving alien to fling her out of the space craft.

Before my wild thoughts go there, let me tell you, Malabar Amachi is my Mom in law’s elder sister. Tall, lean, and bony frame, always clad in a cotton sari, a powerhouse of energy. Since she was married in Kottayam yet got settled in Malabar region of Kerala, we usually prefix Amachi with Malabar for her easy identification amidst numerous Amachis.

Amachi stays alone in a little house, atop a hill... Her sons left home quite early. After her husband’s demise, she stayed back at the hill that was their property. I did hear scary stories from Mom in law about the place that she lived, which was surveyed once in a while by wild elephants and panthers.

It may be destiny that my mom in law ended up as a Matron in one of the most reputed hospitals in Pune city and Amachi ended up working up the lush farms in Malabar. But nevertheless all that work in the farm is largely responsible for her good health where diabetes and blood pressures plague others of her age.

She takes her sabbaticals in Goa and Pune; at the homes of her Sons. And when in Pune a big chunk of her time is spent with her younger sister.

All events in the family does get a good coating of Malabar Amachi’s spicy Malabar comments.

When angry she can sing a string of native abuses in the course of which we religiously prefer to close our ears. I was relieved that the rickshaw driver who brought her here did not understand a word of that while she haggled around with the rick charges in Gods own language. My brother in law quickly brought in her luggage.. as the rickshaw driver sped away smiling and completely oblivious of all that infuriation that was hurled after him.

When I ran to meet her, still dumbstruck at her out of the blue emergence, she gave me her typical Malabar amachi hug. “Do you know Lizy how difficult it is to survive in a world whose language you do not speak”? My Mom in law, still at the phone, told Amachi that her Son is on line. Another string of abuses flew out and that actually explained her early morning arrival.

 

Amachi was on a quick trip from Goa to Pune in a bus. Her son who lives in Chakan was supposed to pick her from the bus stop at 5:30 am. Unfortunately he got delayed and Amachi got anxious. She went around asking people in her native language. Her tone must have definitely given in to her intentions. Since many good hearted people took the hint and bundled her into a rickshaw that was instructed to head straight to any house that is near a big church in our area.

I handed Amachi a huge cup of steaming tea and hoped that would calm her nerves while she thanked God mercilessly for helping her reach here. After much bantering and a soothing cup of tea amachi relented. I pondered on those lines of her face that had taken in so much of hardship and loneliness.

 

In a jiffy she was up and about, opening her compact bag of goodies. I could catch up with the many aromas that were stifled together in her bag.

Amachi brought the first of the goodies, some home made rice fryums. Next packet smelled pungent and I could sense the abundance of the kodumpulli (Fish tamarind) which she painstakingly prepared. De-seeding them, spreading, and then drying them accurately in the sun.  Another was a fruity fragrance, which was a fresh tooty fruity Palakkad Halawa.

A red oily Sachet that tickled taste buds with tantalizing whiff was amachi’s hand made Irumbapulli or Bilimbi pickle. My eyes brimmed with tears; Malabar Amachi makes it a point to get pickles for me during all her trips. A sack of Tapioca completed her quota of goodies. But I suspect there would be definitely some Ayurvedic oils and medicines, not to mention, chips and mangoes that would come to us with  her second visit that would follow in a few days.

Her son waited silently in the drawing room to take her to his house although she did not have much to say to anyone who is not punctual and anyone who made her battle her way from the bus stop.

As she left we reminded her, which was not very necessary though, to come again in a few days for the church feast. She readily agreed with a toothy smile and twinkling eyes and gloriously waved away into the morning mist.