A is for Amma
My cousin Manu and I often joke about how much of our gaaji (loosely translates to tharki-ness or lust) is a direct result of being related to my Amma — Minu, Meenu, Meenakshi.
When I was in Class 8, we moved to a fairly conservative neighbourhood where other households would play M S Subbulakshmi’s Hanuman Chalisa or the several other devotional hymns. At 6am, when amma would start cooking, she would instead blast this song to cook and subsequently wake us up:
https://youtu.be/zpF6VaXwRRk?si=9yQiqDW49SFXLe4o
Chanakya chanakya is a Tamil song featuring Simbu and Rakshitha (this is pretty much her only claim to fame in the industry) rolling about on beaches and evergreen vistas of a random foreign nation. There is one particular swimming pool scene where they are doing verbal foreplay. The actress is coy while Simbu is explicitly demanding some kisses and sex. Anuchu, my sister, and I have it seared in our memory and can repeat the lines “Vendaam”.. “Enaku venum” with the same sensual intonation. It is both a slightly disturbing and deeply joyful memory from my childhood.
Amma was and is an unconventional mother. She was among the first women in my life who told me that it was okay if the cleavage shows. “Boobs are just part of my body. What can I do if it is there?” she’d ask as I’d pull her salwar, shirt or saree up to cover it up.
When she began earning out of need for the first time since Appa’s death at 35, she spent the first four or five years buying herself a rare piece of clothing that she was disallowed to wear during her marriage as a result of living with her in-laws.
Suddenly, there was a small influx of shorts, spaghetti tops and low cut blouses that were part of the mix. This made me feel aghast as a youngling. All my friends’ mothers were disallowing them from wearing anything other than salwars but here was my mother, asking me to abandon my oversized t-shirts.
She also fought her brother who told her that she must not allow us to wear shorts to the nearby grocery store as the house no longer had a man. My mother asked him to politely fuck off. She continues to do so till date. “My 95-year-old father has no problem with me wearing what I want. Why should anyone else,” she’d ask. Look at my little Amma. Full of feminist questions.
Over the years, I’ve also seen Amma flirt with other uncles and discuss sex with her friends and family. I find it disgusting, but what can we do? It is what it is. She has lusted over Shah Rukh’s body for years now (We watched Dunki recently together. I, just like her, had not watched the film before. She asked me questions about the ending non-stop and kept saying ‘wow what a body’. Typical). She has also told me about her most memorable kisses till date.
Amma turns 52 today. So much about her has changed. She is sometimes shy now because her body has transformed. Menopause is a strange and frankly upsetting aspect of womanhood. Too many hot flashes, headaches and sudden pain in the joints. I’d like to think that my youthful mother is unfazed but she struggles just like the rest of us.
She was recently giving away a bunch of her clothes because she was not wearing them anymore. Among them were two short dresses and a low cut top that I hastily kept aside. “Why are you getting rid of this? You haven’t even worn this twice,” I asked amma, scornfully. “I am not too comfortable wearing short things anymore, Sanju. I am 50 now. I should cut down on drinking and doing all this tomfoolery,” she said.
This wasn’t Amma speaking. Was she.. Gasp.. growing up now? I launched into a long advice session about how we need more older women icons to embrace their bodies. Look at Zeenath, I told her, just like she once did to me, speaking about the topper of my class Shravan Kumar (I will never forget you). Amma ignored me and continued folding the clothes.
However, two weeks ago, when Anuchu was due to go to the doctor, Amma changed from her table tennis uniform (she is a national-level TT coach) into a sultry, short teal dress with a deep v-neck and a string along her waist. She wore green eyeliner, a pair of high-heeled white slippers and a lovely pair of earrings to finish the look. All this to go to Seethapathy clinic in Royapettah.
“The doctor in-charge of the ultra sound is very hot,” she said sheepishly, about a man who looked like a chimp. She laughed when we called her out and was upset that the doctor was not on duty.
Coy amma was a ruse. She had not gone anywhere. Under the glittery green liner, there was still a lot of chanakya chanakya in her.
