For grandpa’s 100th birthday, his 10 kids, their kids and a village in Kerala came together
Acouple of months ago, in a coastal village in Kerala, India, my maternal grandfather turned 100. We all call him Appa, and we had no doubt he would live to be a 100. His own father, my great-grandpa, had lived to be 104-years-old.
Nonetheless, the taken-as-token factor did nothing to dull our excitement about the approaching celebrations. A bunch of us — uncles, aunts (they are 10 siblings), cousins — communicated frenetically on a WhatsApp family group called ‘Centenary Committee’. The display picture? Our brisk walking, sharp-talking modern-day Gandhian grandpa, of course.
Throughout early 2018, we discussed the programme for Appa’s 100th, going back and forth. Who would make a speech? The celebrations would unfold in Koovappally, a small village under Kanjirappally Taluk in Kottayam district.
We were also putting the final touches on a slim booklet with our best stories and memories of him. This was the highlight, a mini-biography of Appa, penned by his daughter and fifth child, my mother. A lot of this information, I gathered from her.
“A son is born to me today”, wrote my great grandfather, then aged 19, in his trademark calligraphic style in his diary on April 17, 1918.
The boy arrived during the auspicious Vishu festival, Kerala’s new year. Named after his paternal grandfather, as is custom, Abraham (“Avirachan” in Malayalam) was the oldest of nine siblings, with the typical firstborn abilities of leadership and organisation. He was also his mother’s pet.
Appa learnt to write on palm leaves using a stylus and was a good at swimming and rowing. Those were the days when India was embroiled in the freedom struggle. Even as a teenager, Appa was drawn to the Gandhian ideology and took an active role in the freedom struggle. He participated in meetings and protest rallies, including the famous 1938 Vattiyoorkavu meeting.
He met his match on the stage. Fond of music and drama — and being tall, slim and good looking — Appa landed the lead roles in most school plays, or the “Raja part” as he called it. He was also a good singer, trained in Indian classical music and could play the harmonium. At one such performance, he caught the eye of my maternal great-grandfather, who decided this was a suitable boy for his favourite daughter”.
So, at 17, wedding bells pealed for Appa, while he was still studying in the fourth form. My grandma was 13. But it was a child marriage only in ceremony. My great-grandparents were progressive enough in their thinking and the young couple did not live together until grandma turned 18.
By 1954, well after India’s independence, my grandmother had given birth to six girls, and the number of heads in the house necessitated moving into their own home, away from the joint family system. When he moved out of his ancestral home to a then-remote hamlet, Appa’s public activities also increased. In the ’60s, he was head of the local cooperative society, spearheading everything from road and church building to ensuring the village water supply.
An incident narrated by a public works department (PWD) engineer, went like this: Appa used to supervise the road laying work. Once, dissatisfied with the condition of the road-roller brought in, he battled it out until it was replaced with a proper one. Under his watchful eyes, only the best materials in the right proportion were used for road laying and tarring. So much so that the PWD men and contractors could not get their usual cuts.
Before cars became common in India, Appa walked long distances to take care of family, friends and public affairs. That, probably, is one reason for his longevity.
He is still a devoted father to his children — nine daughters and a son— teaching by example and guidance. Their formal education ended in school, but my grandparents compensated by reading everything they could find, staying abreast of the latest news. Forward thinking for his generation, he made sure all his daughters to pursued a higher education.
In our minds, Appa’s always been a one-man army, methodical and disciplined in his daily affairs. He got his daughters married, weathered economic downturns that affected his agricultural interests, and looked out for the local communities.
They say, it takes a village to raise a child. In the family, we believe it took our grandpa to raise a village.
My memories of him are rather few, having gone over only during school summer vacations and even then, seeing little of him as he went around on his daily business. Appa would always catch me sprawled around the house, buried head first in books pulled out from his neatly-stacked shelves: “How can you read five books at the same time?” he would reprimand me.
Years later, the same discussions around books turned into more insightful ones after I moved to the Middle East. During my visits home, Appa was always curious to know about life in the region, its geopolitical and economic situation. A 100-year-old or not, Appa was always the most informed and updated person around.
His 100th birthday celebrations in April 2018 — at the very home he moved into with his young family 64 years ago — proceeded in a somber fashion, much like the man we were celebrating. No fuss or drama, no song and dance, just a few heartfelt speeches from family members recalling memories, and talking about the role Appa played in their lives.
Members of the community who attended attributed their welfare to him. ‘Here’s a living embodiment of Gandhi, a true son of the soil and godfather to us all’, they said. An uncle pulled out a harmonica and played For he’s a jolly good fellow on it. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren sang along.
At Appa’s 100th birthday in — at the very home he moved into with his young family 64 years ago — there were speeches, members of the community attributed their welfare to him, and an uncle pulled out a harmonica and played...