Ramani mama
I've hardly spoken to him. Actually, he didn't seem the chatty type. I met him for the first time when his son-in-law introduced me to him, rather formally. His reaction - a glance, a nod, then back to work. I was just that little bit annoyed. But why should I expect an elderly gentlement retired from a busy life as an executive pay any attention to a kid less than half his age. I let it be.
My encounter with Ramani mama continued, however, in the third person. I knew both of his daughters, and I heard stories from them involving him once in a while. The fuzzy picture of Ramani mama I had in my mind was getting more detail by the day. Ramani mama's reactions to everyday things that happen in every Indian middle class family were often contradictory to what I'm used to hearing about people his age. He was not ostentatious, his pride in his achievements were legendary, and he was idealistic to the point where some would percieve him to be headstrong, but he seemed to have a heart of gold. Somehow, the image of the person I had met did not merge with the image of the person in my head. How can a short-tempered person seemingly so full of himself be kind-hearted and soft inside?
It was, however, when I heard the story of his childhood that the picture of Ramani mama took shape. Ramani mama was born into an affluent rural family in TamilNadu. His father was a farmer who wanted to venture into business, which apparently he was not very good at. Slowly his ventures eroded the family wealth. So much so that, at one point, they had to sell the family properties and move to the city of Madras, now Chennai. His father's attempts at establishing a stable income for the family were not fruitful. Somehow a decision was made by the family that one of the seven children should be sent to an orphanage. And Ramani mama was the chosen child. As a pre-teen, Ramani mama was sent to an orphanage run by the Ramakrishna Mission. I can only imagine what the poor child would have felt at the time. To be sent to an orphanage when both parents were alive and well. To be separated from family and siblings at a tender age. To get accustomed to being an orphan without really being one.
I know where his kindness comes from. And his anger. The picture is complete in my mind's eye.
My encounter with Ramani mama continued, however, in the third person. I knew both of his daughters, and I heard stories from them involving him once in a while. The fuzzy picture of Ramani mama I had in my mind was getting more detail by the day. Ramani mama's reactions to everyday things that happen in every Indian middle class family were often contradictory to what I'm used to hearing about people his age. He was not ostentatious, his pride in his achievements were legendary, and he was idealistic to the point where some would percieve him to be headstrong, but he seemed to have a heart of gold. Somehow, the image of the person I had met did not merge with the image of the person in my head. How can a short-tempered person seemingly so full of himself be kind-hearted and soft inside?
It was, however, when I heard the story of his childhood that the picture of Ramani mama took shape. Ramani mama was born into an affluent rural family in TamilNadu. His father was a farmer who wanted to venture into business, which apparently he was not very good at. Slowly his ventures eroded the family wealth. So much so that, at one point, they had to sell the family properties and move to the city of Madras, now Chennai. His father's attempts at establishing a stable income for the family were not fruitful. Somehow a decision was made by the family that one of the seven children should be sent to an orphanage. And Ramani mama was the chosen child. As a pre-teen, Ramani mama was sent to an orphanage run by the Ramakrishna Mission. I can only imagine what the poor child would have felt at the time. To be sent to an orphanage when both parents were alive and well. To be separated from family and siblings at a tender age. To get accustomed to being an orphan without really being one.
I know where his kindness comes from. And his anger. The picture is complete in my mind's eye.
posted by bigsur at 11:49 AM
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