The Seed (2017)

 When Ashraya Became Home

Some intentions don't arrive with a plan. They arrive as a feeling — quiet at first, easy to set aside. For me, 2017 was the year that feeling took root.

That was the year Appa and Amma moved from Dosti to Ashraya. From an independent home they had built their life around, to a community setting — a different rhythm, different neighbours, a different kind of daily life. It took some adjustment, not just for them but for all of us. The Ashraya family didn't come pre-fitted into our world; they had to become part of it, and we had to become part of theirs. Slowly, they did. That extended family is now simply family.

And with that came something else — the address of celebrations shifted. Appa's 80th birthday. An anniversary. Family get-togethers. The place for all of it was now Ashraya. A specific, named place where they were, where we gathered, where the texture of family life was now rooted.

Before Ashraya, "being close to my parents" was an idea spread across many spaces and memories. After Ashraya, it had an address.

I don't think I said it out loud then — not clearly, not as a plan. But somewhere in watching them settle in, in learning to belong to Ashraya the way they were learning to belong to it, I started asking myself a question I couldn't quite shake: what would it look like to actually be close at hand to my makers? Not just visiting. Not just calling. Present. Available. Close enough to matter on an ordinary Tuesday, not just at a milestone.

That question has followed me for eight years now. It has survived a pandemic, a profound loss, two near-misses with internship plans, and the quiet accumulation of life's reasons to defer. But it started here — in 2017, when Appa and Amma made Ashraya their home, and something in me decided I wanted to find my way back.

Appa’s pillars are no more

 

Both of them would be 83 years old this year. They were Appa's (my Dad's) closest support system that worried for his well-being and he knew that.

My Mom(Amma) would chide Appa all the time, even for the littlest things, like his forgetfulness. When she wasn't chiding him, or he wasn't responding, it felt like a gloomy day at our home. I think Appa believed Amma was doing it for his good, and he'd always follow her advice though sometimes begrudgingly. An unexpected delay from his outing would have her concerned and on the phone.

My Appa's younger brother, "MSP" as Appa referred to him in 3rd person, or Purushottama in first-person, was Appa's life-breath. In his weakest moments Purushottama always on Appa's lips, first thing waking up.  When Purushottama hurt, Appa was in pain, and he'd not sit around. He’d strive to do something about it, finding solutions that Purushottama would follow. Since April 2022, Appa's been on a mission to find a way to help MSP recover from his illness. He found a new purpose when Purushottama moved close to him in Nerul.

Between Amma’s care, concern for Purushottama, our Appa has had a purpose; especially these last year. In their passing this purpose has been taken away, it’s a void. All of them taught me a lot. I have 2 jousting emotions - on the one hand sad on Appa's new loneliness; and the other side of me is waiting for new lessons from Appa. Lifelong Appa's found ways through a variety of issues; this is not limited to my adult life with him - others include Chittappa, Amma, my Paati (Grandmother) have recounted various situations that Appa's navigated the family to safety. Appa, counting on your positivity and the village around us to get through this phase.