The 'grinding' lady

My childhood days revolved around a plethora of gentle souls popping in and out of our home everyday. Their regular visits were interrupted only during the most intense cyclone, that would promptly render all roads virtually impassable.

We never really needed to look at a clock to check out the time. The paalkari's (milk lady) early morning cry meant that only 30 more minutes of blessed sleep remained before we had to face another grueling day at school. At 9:00 am, it was Sakunthala's turn, feeding my mom with the day's gossip along with menu ideas when supplying the day's veggies. The 'poo' kari (flower lady) would show up just as the evening lamps were being lit, with a face as cheerful as the blooms in her basket. My mom would passionately swear that she was robbing us by gradually reducing the number of jasmine flowers per foot of twine, and the pookari would defend her trade like her family's honor depended on it and magnanimously give us a 'free' 2 inches of threaded jasmine.

The lady who fascinated me the most was our 'araikara mami' ('the aunty who grinds' being a literal and rather weird translation). Impossibly tall and skinny, she would show up every week. After patiently making small talk with my paati, she would sprinkle a few drops of water on our old fashioned grinding stone. Then, she would magically transform soaked rice and dhal into fluffy dosa and idli batter. I would sit next to her, utterly fascinated. Somehow, I could never comprehend how, in the abscence of sharp blades, just a dull stone appliance could work so effectively. I would often playfully drag my fingers along the batter's surface, and mami would never say a word; smilingly, she would simply maneouver the grinding stone away from my fingers.

I took her presence for granted. Now looking back, I can only remember the haunting sadness in her eyes, even as she quietly smiled at me. Was she unwell? What financial troubles prompted a lady like her to take up such physically intense work for a livelihood? In this day of instant dosa and idli batter, what does she now do for a living? Or, has God been kind to her...maybe her son now earns a good paycheck and takes care of her?

After I moved to the USA (its now exactly eight years since), I miss all of them immensely - the milk lady, the watchman, the flower lady, and the grinding lady. I really do. They have always been there for us - even spending many hours with my ailing grandmother, giving her the company that she yearned for. I am now too far away to return their affection - I can only thank them with all my heart.