Sometime back I received a video on one of my family Whatsapp groups. This was a small documentary about Sanskrit scholars who had settled down in the villages on the banks of the Tamarabarani River in Tirunelveli district in Tamil Nadu a few centuries back. They were fleeing muslim invaders, most likely the Mughals and fled to preserve their culture and way of life. These scholars are today most likely known as the Tamil Brahmins who are my ancestors. When I saw this video, I was instantly taken back to a conversation I had with my paternal grandmother a few weeks before she passed away.
We were travelling back to Bangalore from Sringeri, after a wonderful trip to celebrate my cousin’s thread ceremony and we stopped at a place, whose name escapes me now for a break. That was when she told me, possibly in passing, that her ancestors originally came from either or someplace close to Nagpur in Maharashtra and then moved to someplace in Karnataka, where they settled down for a few centuries before finally moving down south to settle on the banks of the Tamarabarani in Tirunelveli district. So when I saw that video, I immediately thought of my ammama and was very sad that she passed away before I really got to know her as an adult. I did some research on this and this is probably true. I also found writings which said that Tamil brahmins probably came down to the south from either coastal Andhra Pradesh from the Godavari basin or coastal Karnataka. This ties in to what my ammama told me.
I was very close to her and I was her favourite, maybe necause I was her first grandchild and was named after her. I am also told I resemble her a lot, both in looks as well as in temperament and in the way we look at things. I have only seen her in the traditional tambram saree called the Madisar and when I wore one at my wedding, pretty much everyone in the room, including my parents and extended family said they felt I looked like her. She loved reading and was interested in history. I really wish we had some more time with her so I could get to know her as a person, speak with her as an adult and learn more about my family.
Unfortunately, we don’t have any written family history, and those who knew the oral history have passed away. This is a very sad thing and I wish I was interested in this a lot earlier, when I could have perhaps gotten to know my own ancestral history a bit more.
While this is not really memories of my grandmother, when I read about things like this, I remember her a at that point in time and have a happy smile the rest of the day.
Childhood memories are the dreams that stay with you after you wake up
As I grow older, I start remembering old memories, so I thought I will start putting it down here just as a way to preserve these memories.
As I look back, my first memory is that of my grandmother. I have written about her before and she is someone who has really shaped me. I was the first born grandchild on both sides of the family (maternal and paternal) and was quite pampered until my sister came along a couple of years later.
I miust have been around 3-4 years old and one afternoon was with my mother who was buy vegetables from a vendor on the road outside our building. I now can’t remember why, but while she was busy haggling with the vendor, I quickly darted across the road. Those days not many people owned cars in India but somehow at that very exact time, a car drove on the road and I was probably knocked down. My mum was frantic and someone quickly went up to my home and got my grandmother. There was a doctor’s clinic just opposite our building and just where I was probably knocked down. I was quickly taken to the doctor who advised that the wound which was superficial and just below my left eyebrow be stitched up. My grandmother flatly refused saying what if something happened and my eye got hurt. Even today when my eyebrows are shaped, you can see the faint scar that remained from my accident when I was a toddler. Nothing really happened to me and I was ok within a day or two.
Another memory I have is of my sister. She must have been around 2-3 years old and I was about 4-5 years old. She was and has been incredibly bold as a person. On a Sunday evening, my parents had taken us to Dadar for shopping. This was in Dadar which has this bridge which spans the train stations of the Western and Central railways and the corresponding Dadar stations and which connects what is called Dadar TT (called because a long time ago the trams used to terminate here and so TT stands for Tram Terminus. The trams have gone for a long long time, but even today that circle is called Dadar TT) and Dadar BB (I didn’t know why Dadar BB was called that until I did a Google search. It seems that since the western line which it lies on was part of the Bombay & Baroda & Central India (BB&CI) Railway, hence the BB. You learn something new every day).
This incident happened either on the bridge or just after we crossed the bridge to the western side. The road and market was quite crowded and my parents had a tight grip on us. But while walking, we suddenly realised that my sister was missing. My parents went crazy looking for her and starting looking frantically. After a while they saw a police chowky (a police box which is usually there in crowded locales so that the police from the local police station can do crowd control and keep an eye) and went to ask the policeman stationed there if he could help. He promised to check and told us to come back to him in a while. After searching unsuccessfully for another 10-15 minutes, we went back to the chowky to see my sister there waiting for us!
What happened was she suddenly found herself alone in the crowd and wanted to use her brain. She went to the nearest adult she could find and told him that her parents were lost and that if they could help her. She was lucky that the person who found her was a decent man and he took her to the police chowky and handed her over to the beat policeman who knowing my parents were looking for her decided to keep her while waiting for them to come back. My parents were so relieved to find her and found her ingenuity brave that she pretty much got away with slipping from my mother in the first place.
This story has now gone down in my family lore and my parents and grandparents (when they were alive) used to dish it out so many time! I am sure her children have also heard parts, if not this story in its entity. If not, I am going to tell them the next time I meet them.
I am not sure if I have ever shared this, but I finally bit the bullet and became naturalised as a Singapore Citizen a couple of years back. Since today is Singapore’s 54th National Day, here’s my story.
I became a citizen after having lived here for more than 15 years and it was a decision that I didn’t take lightly. Of course, having the strong red passport which means easy travel was a big draw, but if that was the only consideration, I could have done as soon as I completed my two years as a permanent resident. Given that S is a natural citizen, and having children who are also citizens by birth, my application could not really be rejected unless it raises some serious red flags. But I waited and when the time was right, I decided to take the plunge.
There are many blogs which have the whole process documented, so I won’t document the process, but I would like to say that it really takes time. It took me six months after applying online to get a slot to meet an officer who would check my documentation, including my educational transcripts, marriage certificate and my children’s birth certificates and passports. Then, after a waiting another six months, I got the letter confirming that my application was accepted. I had to go through a three process orientation which included an online quiz, a visit to some Singapore places of interest and lastly a session at my nearest community centre.
I chose the National Museum plus the NeWater Plant for my visit. Here, I realised that for many people, this citizenship is just a means to an end. At the museum, after going through with the guide provided, we were grouped into groups according to age. I was in the second oldest age group and within our group, we were asked to finish a questionnaire which had questions about the history of Singapore, the answers to which were found in the museum. I knew the answers to almost all the questions, but when I started consulting the others in my group, I was met with shrugs. They indicated to me to answer as I see fit as they were not interested. Out of around 4-5 people in the group (excluding me), almost everyone was from a particular ethinicity and from a single country. I don’t want to take names, but most minorities in Singapore would instantly know which ethinicity and country I am referring to. I was really saddened by this as it didn’t seem to me that they are becoming Singaporean because they believe in this country, but because they just want to live in a better country and have a passport which takes them places. No emotion is involved in this decision of theirs at all. Of course this is true for people across the spectrum of ethnicities and old nationalities (including India), but at least those people can converse in English!
Anyway, back to my motivation to get naturalised. I used to tell anyone who asked when I planned on becoming a citizen (including once an immigration officer when I went to get my permanent residency extended) I used to tell it will probably happen when I stayed longer in Singapore than in India. I had been mulling over this for a few years prior to actually clicking on the application form and for me it when I realised that Singapore is now home for me! When the sight of Changi airport’s iconic tower brings relief that I am now home and most important for me is when I no longer have the deep sadness I used to have when the flight takes off in the initial days of shuttling between Mumbai and Singapore, I knew that my definition of home had changed from Mumbai to Singapore and that was when I decided that to formalise what I felt internally. I had already felt Singaporean and even spoke with the lilt associated with the local lingo and could spew Singlish like a local, so it was just natural that I also decided to call myself a Singaporean officially.
After my orientation, I had to renounce my Indian citizenship for which all I needed to do was submit a form to the Indian High Commission and then a week or so later go down and get the letter of renunciation and my old, now invalid passport. I then booked an appointment with the Immigration and Checkpoints Authority to go and formalise the process and officially become a citizen. This meant going down there and after documents were checked and after fingerprinting for the identity card is done and S signs some documents as my sponsor saying he is doing this of his own free will and not being forced, I had to take my oath of citizenship in front of a Justice of Peace. Then I got a temporary identity card and also dropped off my passport application at the same time. After around 3 months, I got a letter asking me to head down to a community centre in my constituency whose turn it was to host the citizenship ceremony where I got my citizenship certificate and pink identity card.
That was my journey in becoming a Singaporean! I think BB & GG were the most thrilled as now all of us have the same passport. I just think it was the right time to do, since I already feel Singaporean, so it’s nice to have my identity validated in the form of my pink IC and red passport! I also have the Overseas Indian Card which allows me visa-free entry to India for a lifetime (or until the policy changes) so I can travel to India on the drop of a hat!
Happy 54th birthday Singapore! May you prosper and flourish for centuries to come!
To end this post, here’s one of my favourite national day songs and the one which inspired the title of this post and one I actually used as a reference when I applied to become a Singaporean.
I am the first grandchild in both my paternal and maternal families and hence have been quite pampered, atleast until my sister was born, around 18 months later.
They say children don’t really have memories until they are around 2 years old, and I am also not very sure if this is a genuine memory or the following memory is something that is there because it was told to me by people. This memory is of the time when my sister was born. I had an aunt who used to stay in New Delhi at that point in time as her husband was in the armed services and lived in a defence colony. My paternal grandparents took me with them when they went to visit her. I was, as I mentioned, around 18 months old at that time. I was extremely close to my paternal grandmother so it should not have been an issue for me to be away from my parents for a couple of months. My grandparents took me with them so my mother who was recruperating the birth of my sister at her mum’s place need not have the hassle of looking after an active toddler too.
It’s important in this story to note that the then Indian Prime Minister had declared a state of emergancy in the country during that period. Since we were living in a defence area, that place was highly regulated and strict. I have memories of Indira Gandhi coming on television nightly, probably talking about the situation in the country. For some reason I was very scared of her and this was excabated by them telling me that if I did something naughty, she will come and take me away! Imagine how terrified I was then, an 18-month old toddler, away from my parents for the very first time in my life. And I was in a situation where I could not even get to my mum if I wanted to until and unless I was taken back to Bombay.
This aunt of mine did not have any children and perhaps the way things worked back then was like this. But if something like this happened today, all hell would have broken loose. I also think women at that time were more conditioned to just accept what their elders tell them. I don’t condemn anyone in a similar situation, but it has to be a very excruciating situation before I would allow something like that to happen with me and my children.
My relationship with my paternal grandmother was very special. In tamil families, the oldest grandchild is given the paternal parent’s name (depending on gender), the next oldest, the maternal grandparents name, if of the same gender and so on. So by this naming convention, my grandmother’s name was bestowed upon me. But so that the younger generation don’t call a child by the same name as that of an elder, this was usually the formal name with another name being used at home and in casual settings. In mine and my sister’s case, though our grandmother’s names are mentioned in our birth certificates, it also includes our other name, which then became our formal name.
So in the light of the above paragraph, like I said, I had a very special connection with my paternal grandmother. She lived with us till I was around 6-7 years old, then moved to be with my paternal uncle who moved to another state for work as he was still unmarried then. I still remember all the stories she used to tell us and the yummy dishes she made for us. And when they would visit us during holidays, or we visited them when they decided to make Bangalore their retirement home, I would snuggle with her at night, because I missed her so much!
She passed away suddenly when I was 16 and I think I cried almost a week thinking about her. In fact, I had made plans to go alone to Bangalore after my grade 12 exams to stay an extra month with her before the rest of the family came, but that plan just remained that.
I really enjoyed writing this post, so much that I will share more childhood memories in the coming months. I should do this before I forget them, after all, oral memories much be written down before they are forgotten.
In case you want to know more about my paternal grandmother, here’s another post I wrote a few years back.
What are your memories about your grandmother? Do you have a favourite one?
Memories and Such 