This post is dedicated to an integral part of the family which was lost eight years back. Till this date, our family has not come over the loss and maybe, would never do.
Here I am referring to my maternal Uncle. Jacob was his name, Teaching was his passion. Mathematics was his subject. “Karadi”(bear) was his nickname. His students called him so, hope you have watched the Mohanlal starrer “Sphadikam” in which the father character donned by Thilakan was called the "Kaduva". So it was a similar nickname from his students.
I loved him. He loved me. I was his first niece. When I was born and he got the news from someone other than family, he did not talk to anyone and refused to have dinner. The lady who came for bathing the baby (me), went and kept me near him. That was the first meeting between us. I don’t remember exactly what happened that day, but I wish I did. When I grew up, I was taken to my maternal home by him during the vacations. I used to vomit throughout the journey in the bus from Trivandrum to Valakom. I used to fight over trivial things and run behind to hit him. All aside, comes vacation again, he’ll be there asking permission from my parents to take me to his home.
I remember fighting with him for pronouncing ‘Add’ as’ Aad’, for teasing me for writing Malayalam poems and inserting words like “kudmalam” which meant flower bud. He came and cleared all my doubts regarding Maths before my 10th standard exams.
We lost him to a bike accident on 23rd March 2008. The newspaper report said that he was returning from his sister’s house(my home) in Trivandrum which was not true. My mother could not bear to loss him, she was crying outside the house late night. Since my father was working away from home, my neighbour dropped us in our car at my mother’s house. The whole street was empty and looking eerie in the darkness when we reached. My father came with my mother’s sisters from Thiruvalla. No one had the courage to go in to the house to which he would never return again.
My younger uncle had to be called from the India-Bangladesh border. He was heartbroken, sitting in a corner, he did not cry, he did not move…he could not believe. Five days after his death, we buried him. All his relatives from abroad had to reach. His body was kept for “pothudharshanam” in his school and later in his house. That is when I realised he was not what I saw, he was much more than that.
How I wish he was among us today…to be there with me on my wedding, to watch me and my husband live as a family, to see my daughter and pinch her like how he did to me.He must be watching us from the heavens and smiling at us.
It is a big loss for my little plum, I wish she had him. Nevertheless she has Renimummy (his wife) to mother her. We owe our lives to her for being there always, for all of us.
Our salutes to him for the salutes we receive when people realise we are part of his family