One sister got married to a local attorney in Sengottai. Not too long after that, she was diagnosed with one of the most dreaded diseases of those days: tuberculosis.
This was way back early in the 1940s and true to its other name of "consumption" the disease killed her.
The brother, who was in his early twenties, also fell ill. Yes, the same dreaded tuberculosis. Soon, he was also gone.
Grandfather was now left with only one sister.
Great-grandmother, Parvathy, was heartbroken from experiencing two consecutive deaths of her adult children.
She lost interest in living, and asked her husband to take her to Kashi (Varanasi,) while making it clear to the family that she was not coming back. It was goodbye forever.
The year was 1947. It took quite a few days of travel by train from Sengottai to Kashi.
The brother, who was in his early twenties, also fell ill. Yes, the same dreaded tuberculosis. Soon, he was also gone.
Grandfather was now left with only one sister.
Great-grandmother, Parvathy, was heartbroken from experiencing two consecutive deaths of her adult children.
The year was 1947. It took quite a few days of travel by train from Sengottai to Kashi.
They reached the holy city and rented a small place for themselves. Great-grandfather was an orthodox brahmin schooled in the traditional texts and easily adapted to the Vedic activities there.
One day in 1948, grandfather received a telegram from Kashi. His mother was sick, and was rapidly deteriorating. Somehow grandfather managed to reach Kashi.
Within a few days, great-grandmother Parvathy died.
It occurred to grandfather that the couple of hours before cremation were all he had to take a photograph of his mother for future generations to know about her. So, father and son draped a sari around her as best as they could, and hired a photographer before rigor set in.
That is how the family home in Sengottai always had this rather eerie photo of great-grandmother Parvathy, which always scared the heck out of us kids whenever we visited Sengottai.
Notice her mouth? Her hands look strange as well, right?
And a halo effect behind her?
Apparently, grandfather was behind the chair, holding his mother--after all, she wasn't alive to sit up. So, after the photo was taken, the print was airbrushed in order to hide the person behind!
After the cremation and other rites, grandfather returned home with his father. Together they updated grandfather's grandmother--yes, the matriarch, Meenakshi, my great-grandmother's mother, was alive.
Family stories are that Meenakshi cried every single day lamenting the loss of her only daughter, and the grandson and the granddaughter who died from TB. Tears ran down every single day for seven years until her very end.
One day in 1948, grandfather received a telegram from Kashi. His mother was sick, and was rapidly deteriorating. Somehow grandfather managed to reach Kashi.
It occurred to grandfather that the couple of hours before cremation were all he had to take a photograph of his mother for future generations to know about her. So, father and son draped a sari around her as best as they could, and hired a photographer before rigor set in.
That is how the family home in Sengottai always had this rather eerie photo of great-grandmother Parvathy, which always scared the heck out of us kids whenever we visited Sengottai.
Notice her mouth? Her hands look strange as well, right?
And a halo effect behind her?
Apparently, grandfather was behind the chair, holding his mother--after all, she wasn't alive to sit up. So, after the photo was taken, the print was airbrushed in order to hide the person behind!
After the cremation and other rites, grandfather returned home with his father. Together they updated grandfather's grandmother--yes, the matriarch, Meenakshi, my great-grandmother's mother, was alive.
Family stories are that Meenakshi cried every single day lamenting the loss of her only daughter, and the grandson and the granddaughter who died from TB. Tears ran down every single day for seven years until her very end.
If great-great-grandmother Meenakshi had lived for two additional years, she would have witnessed the regeneration of life in the form of her great-granddaughter's (my mother's) wedding in 1957.
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