The day the music died. Grandmother's music.

Grandma (Paatti, பாட்டி) died on July 6th, in 1993.

Because she was the Paatti from Sengottai, we sometimes referred to her in conversations as SP, so that we didn't get confused with the Paatti from Pattamadai.

During my early childhood years, I suppose I was like all the grandkids--we were a tad afraid of SP.  She was strict. We dared not to go anywhere near the storeroom and grab the delightful snacks from there.  Not that she ever yelled; come to think of, I don't remember even once SP yelling at any of us.  But, she knew how to control the running-around-crazies that we were when on our school vacations. 

As we both grew older, I was able to talk with grandmother in my semi-adult status.  It was during those years that I understood how much she was alive with the memories of her husband--my grandfather--who died when I was barely four years old.  To grandmother, there was no better gent that ever walked on this planet than this man to whom she got married when she was about fourteen. 

Grandfather, who was about five years older, died when he was 51, which left grandmother living a much less enjoyable life of a brahiminical widow for the rest of her 25 years.

My breaks during the college days, and then when I was loafing around after completing my undergraduate studies, were then all about chatting up old stories with Paatti, and my great-aunt.  (More on her later.)  While playing "thaaya-kattam" and eating murukku, it was a pleasure to listen to these two women tell stories from their pasts. 

I left for the US in 1987. 

Grandmother's health conditions forced her to come live with my parents. The years that I went to India, I could see the rapidity of the decline.

I was in the US when she passed away. 

I suppose we could say her death was romantic. 

She had been ill for a while, and was not quite able to take care of herself--mom attended to her daily needs during the last few months of grandma's life.

It was grandfather's death anniversary, for which the traditional rituals were performed.  That day, apparently grandmother was full of life.  She was up on her bed. Chatting. And even suddenly regained her appetite.  And asked for more of her favorite foods.  A couple of hours later, she was convinced that her husband was calling her to join him. 

And she died.

That is how it happened--grandmother, who was absolutely devoted to her husband, died on the anniversary of her beloved husband's death.