By Sowmya Alagarsamy
Photo Credits: Etsy/ Artist George E. Miller
As far as I remember, it was Dhanama (that's what I fondly call her) who raised me, fed me and whatnot till my kindergarten.
Dhanama, who stayed behind our house, was my Ayya's cousin. In case you are wondering, Ayya is my father. I am closer to Dhanama than my paternal aunt. Not just me, but my parents also cherish Dhanama for her and gentle nature. This might be one of the reasons why my aunt hates Dhanama.
Amma used to tell me that as a child, when I woke up in the morning, Dhanama used to take me away from her, care for me throughout the day and leave me back with Amma only in the evening. I've eaten from the hands of Dhanama more than my Amma. Ayya often tells me, “Dhanama laage maatlaadave” (English: You talk a lot like Dhanama).
Dhanama not only fought with my parents for me but also with the young working women in our factory. As we had our factory just opposite our home, women working there often came around to coo over me to the extent that it gave me rashes on my cheeks. Dhanama didn't like them cooing over me. She used to argue with Amma that the women might have chemical residues in their hands, which might harm me. But little did I know, that was an excuse!
Dhanama got married and moved to Sivakasi soon after. Now, she owns a mess and sends me my favourite food whenever Ayya visits Sivakasi for business purposes. But I miss being fed by Dhanama.
When I recently visited my village to visit a temple, I roamed around the village and reminisced about how I grew up and how well I had it there. Almost everyone there loved me because they had immense respect for Ayya and our family. As Ayya was born and brought up there, nearly everyone in the village was related to Ayya either in one way or the other.
I know!
You must be thinking that I am exaggerating. But, No! Wait, I forgot to talk about him. He is Sholaiappan Uncle, one of my Ayya's cousins. How funny is it that everyone I have mentioned here is related to my Ayya in some way?
Sholaiappan Uncle was working as a driver for our factory. Every time he went to Ettayapuram, a panchayat town with the main market, he took me with him. He used to let me sit in the driver's seat, which would make me happy. To be brutally honest, I liked the van in which he drove around more than him. It might also be because the van had my name engraved on it.
Whenever I rethink my existence in the village, it’s the people who come to my mind. Though I remember only a few, my time there is unforgettable. Some of them have truly raised me and still hold a part of me. People say that it takes a village to raise a child. And in my case, it's very true. Grateful for those people in my life, forever.
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