To Cope.

I think I'm doing alright...I'm getting on with life as always. Then it suddenly hits me that she is gone. Reality can be a bitch and I cry..for myself..because I miss her so much.

Here some beautiful things my family and friends have written about Aatha in their blogs.

By my brother Rishik...
My grandmother lived the most amazing life, of any person I have ever known.No one gave as much as her. Without asking, demanding for anything in return.No one loved as much as her. So unconditionally, so sincerely, that genuine joy was planted in all those around her. She personified the spirit of loving. I have lost count of the number of people who gush over how she was like a mother to them. How they felt pampered by her mere presence. How lucky they were to have known her. She was amazing. beyond belief. I never saw her spread any negativity to anyone. She was headstrong in being the best Human Being there possibly could be. Every scolding, she took. Every time someone hurt her, she bore it. In a family so dystopically cracked, she weathered, and held us united. She forgave those whom others refused to forgive, (even when it was her who under went greater hurt than anyone else.) She was understanding. She was caring. She was determined to live independently and strong. She broke the rules and never looked back. She refused to let herself burden others. She was a fighter, who drew her strength from her love for everyone else. And we drew our strength from her. She would disregard caution and cook for the sake of her children and grandchildren. She threw tradition and custom aside for the sake of the happiness and joy of her loved ones. She knew when her actions would incite criticism. But it was her knowledge of how much, her actions would create a smile that drove her on. She gave her life for her family. And in doing so she fed us with that spark that made us special. She was our inspiration. She was the infallible. She was the most humble, un-hateful and peaceful being that I have ever know. She held my hand and walked with me. She massaged my legs when I was in pain. She remembered my favourite dishes for as long as I can remember. And her memory was equally good. Every simple story of the smallest favours we did for her, she kept to her heart. And she would remind us of how special we were, filling us with so much euphoria. Even though whatever it was that we did was probably nothing compared to the sacrifices she has made. She was feisty, yet she was mild and unassuming. She was the single cutest thing alive. Her smile was miraculous. Her laugh was heavenly. When she sang for us, that Christmas, I knew I blessed with an angel for a Grandmother. She was our guardian angel then, and she still is now. Every human being has their flaws. No one is perfect. But my attha is not just any human. She had turned her life into a symbol: of love, hope and sacrifice. She was the legend. She was our hero. She was our attha. And we will always love her. And never forget her. And there can be nothing more fulfilling in our short lives, than to try and emulate but a mere fraction of the goodwill that was my grandma. Our grandma. Atha.

By my friend G
Aathaa (Grandma in Tamil) passed away last Monday. She was 83 years old. Aathaa was the sweetest grandma anyone could ever have. She was loving, kind and always, always calm. She brought serenity everywhere she went. I have never seen her without a smile on her face.Since I lost all my grandparents many years ago, I kind of "adopted" Aathaa as my own grandma and showered my love on her. Likewise, she adored me. Aathaa and I used to catch up on the phone now and then and we sometimes giggled like little girls.I shall miss my Aathaa. She had a lovely soul and I know her soul is resting in peace now. She had a beautiful life and she was loved and cherished by all her children and grandchildren. She showed everyone by example how to live a peaceful and contented life.I am happy that I got to spend some quality time with her lately and I will always cherish my sweet memories of her.Aathaa I love you ...

By cousin Vicnan:
The conch was sounding, this booming foghorn like cry, except more plaintive and more musical; a foghorn I guess it was, parting the gloom into the afterlife, as we carried her body after the conch bearer.
Cries of “Govinda” filled the air, to be echoed by those of us carrying the body. I had no idea what it meant, have no idea what it means, but it felt like the most fitting thing to do. I cried out “Govinda”, my voice ringing with the others’ and echoing in the corridor we were in, and with my voice left anguish and pain and sorrow.
Tiles felt cold underfoot, and the airconditioning was freezing my bare body. Bare-bodied, I was wearing only the traditional Indian veshti, a length of unstitched cloth tied around my waist.
Or, in my case, around my hips. It was almost funny, for if I had wrapped it around my waist, it would have ended mid-calf. So around my waist it was, a cheap lavender thing provided by the casket company, which left cheap lavender smears on my legs after being ritually doused in water, and with holy thread slung around one shoulder. Sacred ash had been applied to me, three lines across my forehead, and on both forearms and both elbows and both pectorals and both ribs, holy ash that gleamed white grey against my brown flesh.
I was carrying an ornate silver pot of water, and with rosewater and flowers ornately added. Hoisted high above the heads of others, on my shoulder, and walking in a line with my cousins, also with their pots hoisted high above the head of others on their shoulders, our heads brushing the cloth we were supposed to walk under, the cloth that others were struggling and failing to lift high enough so that we could walk under it.
But now, hours and hours and hours and hours after we carried the pots on our shoulders, we carried out grandmother on those same shoulders.
I carried my grandmother in a cloth, to be ritually cleansed. I carried my grandmother in my arms, to be adorned with garlands. I carried my grandmother in a coffin, to be burnt.
She deserves an eulogy that is so much more articulate, she deserves the best writing I can write, but right now, I am dead. For she is.
I love you.