Thursday, February 22, 2007
Achi
1997
A seven year old sits on the floor, staring up wide-eyed at the short, sturdy matriarch. She opens her mouth obediently and, inexpertly and inelegantly, accepts the rice with a bit of meat in the centre that the old lady has rolled into a ball.
She was really, really tired from school, and she'd fallen over in the playground. Her knee had a bruise on it and it hurt, real bad. But somehow, getting fed the rice, yoghurt and that special bit of meat in the centre, calmed her.
Her grandma finished the meal as she always did: by scooping the last of the now curry-flavoured yoghurt, her favourite part and skimming her fingers on the side of the plate. In a final move, she would run two fingers along the side of the plate and drop the yoghurt into her grandchild's mouth. Then, she'd say, "Thank god!"
As she watched the great wrinkly face, she knew this ritual would last forever.
2007
An almost 17-year old sits on the floor, staring up wide-eyed at the short, sturdy matriarch, who's height she's managed to surpass, finally, after 10 years. She opens her mouth obediently, this time a seasoned pro at deftly catching and chewing the bolus (a word she knows, now), still with the surprisingly tender bit of beef in the centre, like a present wrapped in curd rice.
She was really, really tired from school, and she'd just gotten braces. They really hurt, and her mouth was tender and sore from where the metal had bruised and cut. But somehow, getting fed the rice, yoghurt and that special bit of meat in the centre, calmed her.
The special time ended the same way it always did, with the little old lady, now 83, scooping up the yoghurt and feeding it to the child, only the child was a child no longer. And with a great huff, she got up off the bed and said, "Thank God!"
And as she looked up at the great wrinkly face, she knew this ritual would last forever.
I love you, Achi.
A seven year old sits on the floor, staring up wide-eyed at the short, sturdy matriarch. She opens her mouth obediently and, inexpertly and inelegantly, accepts the rice with a bit of meat in the centre that the old lady has rolled into a ball.
She was really, really tired from school, and she'd fallen over in the playground. Her knee had a bruise on it and it hurt, real bad. But somehow, getting fed the rice, yoghurt and that special bit of meat in the centre, calmed her.
Her grandma finished the meal as she always did: by scooping the last of the now curry-flavoured yoghurt, her favourite part and skimming her fingers on the side of the plate. In a final move, she would run two fingers along the side of the plate and drop the yoghurt into her grandchild's mouth. Then, she'd say, "Thank god!"
As she watched the great wrinkly face, she knew this ritual would last forever.
2007
An almost 17-year old sits on the floor, staring up wide-eyed at the short, sturdy matriarch, who's height she's managed to surpass, finally, after 10 years. She opens her mouth obediently, this time a seasoned pro at deftly catching and chewing the bolus (a word she knows, now), still with the surprisingly tender bit of beef in the centre, like a present wrapped in curd rice.
She was really, really tired from school, and she'd just gotten braces. They really hurt, and her mouth was tender and sore from where the metal had bruised and cut. But somehow, getting fed the rice, yoghurt and that special bit of meat in the centre, calmed her.
The special time ended the same way it always did, with the little old lady, now 83, scooping up the yoghurt and feeding it to the child, only the child was a child no longer. And with a great huff, she got up off the bed and said, "Thank God!"
And as she looked up at the great wrinkly face, she knew this ritual would last forever.
I love you, Achi.
Queen Sana at 8:32 PM
