Mixed Masala

The masala is an essential spice in Indian cuisine.Mixed w/other flavors,it creates that extra zing in one's palette that awakens your senses&allows you to stop,savor&remember the moment.That moment becomes a memory which tells a story,like a recipe carried on through generations.Sometimes fresh mixtures are added giving birth to culinary masterpieces that hold stories w/in herstories,cultures w/in multicultures&new lines w/in ancestries.Mixed Masala is the unique blend of all these&much more.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Freedom

Three nights ago I dreamt of Lachmibai and Jianbai...they were together Lachmi guiding Jian, showing her the way...Lachmi was my paternal grandmother who passed away when I was a young girl, but I still remember her face...and it was so clear in that dream. I call her Amma.

Jian was my grandmother's younger sister, whom my dad calls Masi. When my Amma died, it was Jianbai whom we all call Amma Assan (Amma means Grandmother, Assan was the name of her only son, my uncle), who remained... and we all looked up to her as our family's grandmother... others called her the Godmother of the Menghrajanis. And she truly was...

Married at the age of 9 to a 12 year old boy named Bheroomal, they took a ship to the Philippines and set-up a store in Baguio with Bheroomal's family. From the age of 13 to 18, Amma Assan had several miscarriages and bore one son, my Uncle Assanmal. At 18, she was widowed as Dada Bheroomal was killed by a Japanese soldier with a bayonet right after the war. In 1986, my Uncle Assan, her only child, died due to a lingering illness. He left a wife, three daughters, a son and a mother whose greatest grief was to have her only child die ahead of her. My own Amma was married at 12 to Bheroomal's brother, my Dada Chuharmal Menghrajani. Two daughters married two sons--those were the days of arranged marriages and the India-Pakistan partition. And Amma Assan is the reason why everyone else in my dad's family moved to the Philippines through the years.

Back to that dream, I woke up early the next morning with so many text messages--I told myself no, I was to visit her still...but she was gone...the final, fatal stroke...and I was sobbing uncontrollably...her face kept flashing in my mind...and her last words to me on my last visit as happy tears rolled down her cheeks, as she was cupping mine, "You are always happy, always smiling, good...good girl." I replied, "I love you, Amma, God bless you." She said, "God bless..." with such strength while her right hand was flailing a blessing, her eyes, focused on me, tears still rolling down her cheeks. I guess she knew it was the last time she'd see me--physically that is.

In Hindu tradition, the body is cremated within 24 hours, embalming is not needed. Amma Assan was peacefully resting with tulsi leaves around her face and a golden seed of some sort on her lips when we had the wake that evening and waited for my cousins who were flying in from HK and Canada...they were her direct grandchildren...I could only imagine their tears...and they did flow freely as each of us made our way, all in white, to pay our respects to the last living ancestor of their generation.

The prayers and rituals began and it was all new to me as I was always just a spectator. This time, I understood. The men played a major role in performing the final ceremonies and each one, son, brother, cousin, grandson, nephew, friend, had to wrap a piece of colorful cloth around her, spray some perfume on it, offer flowers and a coconut. It was a very long line...as the Queen was well-loved and respected.

The 4 great grandsons were chosen to carry out the significant task of playing the role of the son...they shared responsibilities, but Ryan, 16, the eldest was the main participant. Traditionally, he had to shave his head after and bring Amma's ashes to India to be thrown into the Ganges River. My nieces were asking me how come only the boys get to participate. My cousin behind me quickly replied, "In their time, they thought we were so weak, we could not do anything, our roles were different then." So to make them feel better, I had them collect the coconuts that were being offered to Amma for safekeeping as they will be used in the crematory rites later. At the same time, I was thinking to myself that later that day they will feel worse as traditionally, women are not allowed to go to the cremation.

And then it was time to carry Amma into the funeral car to make her way to the Hindu Temple in Manila...the fire which is called diya, had to be placed in that car and cannot be put out for the next 12 days. For the same length of time, all of us relatives especially the families of the sons, had to be pure vegetarian as part of our mourning, wearing white and attending prayers daily. It was said that the soul goes through 12 stages and prayers and stories were told throughout.

As our convoy approached the Temple, a huge crowd was waiting for to see her off...My Dad did the final rites of respect for his beloved Masi and the tears began to flow once more. I took one last look and kissed her forehead before my Dad, uncles, cousins and friends lifted her coffin while chanting a victorious mantra--loud--invigorating--to acknowledge and give reverence to this mother, wife, teacher, friend, sister, aunt, cousin, grandmother, great grandmother, devotee, woman...source of life and miracles.

I got into my dad's car with my sister and brother, and joined the procession to the South for the cremation. The rain started to pour and while in the car, Daddy shared with us how he wanted his funeral to be...morbid, yes...but valid and definitely, one of the most important conversations we ever had.

As we arrived, my dad and the rest of the men in our family carried her coffin once again, chanting in the rain, into the crematory...We knew it was taboo for women to be present but as we got out of our cars, and waited...we were given a signal, to enter the holiest of holies, so to speak. This was groundbreaking.

So I proceeded to go in with my sister, my cousin's wife, and our three cousins--Amma's grandchildren. They proceeded to cover her in white, with just her face seen, honey was poured all over her, and ghee (pure butter) was poured in the same way...flowers surrounded her and coconuts, and every man present had to bow at her feet...before finally putting her body in the crematory.

We were led out after, we were no longer allowed to witness the burning of her remains but at that moment I remembered a line from a prayer my friend sent me the day before..."Embrace her, O Lord, into your Eternal Light and Love."

You're finally free, Amma...thank you for inspiring all of us with your courage, unconditional love and undying faith in the human spirit. We love you and we will forever carry you in our hearts.