Photo Caption: Anjani Devi Saxena [29.11.1933 -17.07.2020]
I was three when I was shocked to know that Mummy (my paternal grandmother) had-a-name. We never called her Dadi, she was always, Mummy. She was born in a Kayastha household on November 29, 1933 as Anjani Johri in Bareilly. As a XIIth standard school drop out, she was married off to my grandfather, Late. Awadh Narayan Saxena at the age of 17. He was the son of an affluent zameendar and a postgraduate. She first saw him the night they were married. He was tall, dark and handsome with a deep seated voice. He loved his meat, liquor, nicotine and tea.
Mummy, was a vegetarian woman who was fair, beautiful and 4 ft 4 inches. The grey eyed lady with long curly hair. She loved her shringar, her liquid bindi, her sindoor (she called it ‘sendur’), her dark red bangles, her emerald nose pin and toe rings. As a child I always made a weird geometric shape with the liquid on her forehead and believed it was round. She never erased it, but rather fixed it and made it round.
She taught me how to fold clothes - from crease to crease. She taught me how to avoid lumps while making ready to eat soup. I would sit on the kitchen counter and she lured me into liking karela (bitter gourd) with her interesting recipe. She was my milk-maid. She always got the temperature of the milk right, the exact amount of Bournivta and sugar. I did not have the concept of using a towel. No matter where she was in the ten bedroom home she and my granddad made together, I’d find her and wipe my face with her cotton saree.
She had a strong voice, and a stronger - independent mind with a dash of dominance in it, but extremely feminine in her ways. She could read-write in Hindi and English. I wrote letters to her while we both were in separate cities and later when I moved to London for higher studies, I called her every single day at 10 pm IST.She taught me the power of prayer. While many kids of my generation learnt the Gayatri mantra and Twameva mata shlok from K3G, I learned it from her. Her recital echoes in my head till date. She read out every possible mythological story to me. She died of multiple organ failure in Kolkata on July 17, 2020. She was cremated in her cotton dhoti, red bangles, bichhue (toe rings), and Tulsi (she called it Tulsa Ji).
Incidentally, she passed away, exactly a day after my grandfather's 22nd death anniversary. I couldn’t see her one last time. If you have grandparents who are still alive, tell them how much you love them, while they’re around. Give them a thousand hugs before the light dies.
