Lamp lit nights

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A frail, elderly woman entered the living room with a brass lamp in her hand, her face stunningly beautifully lit by the golden light from the lamp. She looked like that of an angel to me, a five year old then. The light flickered in the wind, it burned bright at times and dull at others depending on the direction of the wind. Either way she looked like bronze idol from the temple nearby which came to life and walked into our home.

Back in those day we visited our grandma who lived in a village in the deep South, every summer. This was our ancestral village and electricity wasn't always stable there. It would go off at the whiff of a strong wind, however during a thunderstorm it would go off for two or three days at a time. Electricity in the village seemed to have a mind of its own and we learned to live with it. For us children brought up in the city this was not just a different experience but also an adventurous one.

Mother and her sisters who lived in different cities came with their families to grandma's house during the summer holidays. It was a time of bonding for mom and her sisters and for us with our cousins. The month of May was a month of endless fun and games. Most of all it was time to enjoy freshly grown and cooked food at every meal.

At dusk grandma would always came into the large living area with a tall brass lamp in her hand, her face shone like burnished gold in the lamp light. She would smile as she placed the lamp on the high stool so the whole room could be lit up by the seven wick lamp. This lamp was our back up against the fickleness of electricity in the villages then.

Power shut downs always meant good food and long stories. One of the elders usually grandma or an aunt would tell us stories while grandma fed us mouthfuls of deliciously cooked, fresh food with her hands. The number of mouths she had to feed was huge yet she insisted that she alone fed the kids while her daughters had time to relax and enjoy each other's company.

The food was always cooked earlier in the evening before sundown by the women of the house under grandma's sharp eye so that the extended family could sit together and enjoy the meal. The tantalizing flavor of cooked fish, freshly caught in the oceans nearby, the mild smell of grated coconut or coconut cream in the curry heightened our hunger pangs and even the pickiest of children ate a hearty meal. However, it was the stories that were star of the evenings.

Grandma's voice was normally soft, but when she was telling us a story she would become the characters themselves. She would roar with boldness, quiver and shake with fright, laugh cheerfully like a child. Lit by the lamp light her face and her eyes mesmerized us listen to her with rapt attention. Her face was so expressive that we shivered with fright, or laughed with joy as we too became a part of the story. If one of us had been mean or picked up a fight with another during the day grandma's story would focus on how unity was our strength or patience not pride wins the day. She delivered tiny packages of wisdom through her stories, her stories were always about love not war.

Her face shone with love as she played with us kids, fed us or helped us with our chores. She was loving, gentle, but firm and just in the way she dealt with us. I think even as kids we saw her heart through her firmness and strictness, we knew that she had a heart of gold. We saw that in the lamp light of the evenings. All of us knew if we had anything from tooth ache to fear of darkness granny was there to soothe us with her voice, her gentle caress and hugs and her herbal medicine. We could go to granny at any time of day or night and she would show us the same kind of love. Granny was the panacea for all the troubles of the world.

All of us kids had one wish in our hearts every evening - let this story never end. Once grandma was done feeding us she would bring out the huge tray of desserts usually some kind of sweet treat made with cow's milk, ghee, sugar and cardamom. She would then proceed to give each one of us a share of the goodies. Then we could play board games or some kind of game in the living room before we went to sleep.

Granny would tuck each one of us into bed with a kiss on our forehead and a prayer of blessing over us. This nightly ritual had the magical power to make us all fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep. I guess this also had to do with the smell that emanated from her, a unique but soothing smell.

Granny died when I was twelve and with this ended our trips to our ancestral home. Summers were never the same again for any one of us children and adults. The adults squabbled over property and barely looked each other in the eye while we the children slowly forgot our childhood bonds. The love that bound us together was buried with grandma in her coffin.

Years have rolled on by yet memories don't fade. The picture of the frail elderly woman carrying the lamp, granny's beautiful voice, the smell and the taste of her home cooked food, her love and light stay fresh in my memory. These memories are a balm to my soul in times of deep trouble. The picture of granny's smiling face lit by the golden light of the lamp is etched deeply in my mind. It was not just the lamp light, it was her love too.