Monsoon Histories II

(Continued from here)

My maternal great-grandfather Augustus was a farmer, and he gradually grew to be quite rich (by the standards of that little out of the way village). He married my great-grandmother Mary when they were both 13, or thereabouts, and they had eight children, of whom six survived to adulthood. A boy and a girl died in infancy, infant mortality rates being somewhat of an issue back then. Of the surviving six, my granddad Joseph is the third, and he and the eldest daughter (Mary Jr.) are the only ones to have gotten married. Considering how many children they each went on to have, the fact that the other four girls joined the convent probably did the Indian population rates a favour. 

A year after Mary Jr. was married, she came home to have her first baby. Baby Treasa was born a month after Mary Sr.'s last child, Clare. Mary Jr.'s younger sister Anna was so horrified by the spectacle of childbirth that she swore off the whole concept of marriage, and promptly declared her intention to join the convent. Her younger sisters Elizabeth and Rose followed suit, and the three are now called Sisters Augustine, Patricia and Florence. (Apparently you used to be given a new name upon completion of your novitiate in Catholic convents.) 

Augustine, Patricia and Florence were the great-aunts I met this time, and in the course of after-dinner conversation, I casually mentioned what my mother had said to me about Sr. Augustine choosing the convent because she'd been put off the idea of having babies. My mother was horrified to learn of this, but the sisters were actually quite delighted, and it set them off on an entire train of conversation that I doubt even my mother was previously privy to. 

They told me how Great-grandfather Augustus was, in addition to being a distinguished pillar of the community, a fairly doting father. When he married his eldest daughter off, he insisted that her husband's family build him a house within sight of Augustus' own house, so that he could look out the window and call his daughter home if he so wished. Unfortunately, soon after the birth of Mary Jr.'s first daughter, her husband died. This shook Augustus so much that he decided he would henceforth allow the rest of his children to pick their futures. And that was how the Sisters Augustine, Patricia and Florence were allowed to become nuns. 

Mary Jr. was married again, to a nice widower who already had two children of his own. Her eldest daughter Treasa grew up in the parental home of Augustus and Mary Sr. With only a month's age difference between them, Treasa and Clare grew up to be best friends, like sisters rather than aunt and niece. 

As the only boy among five sisters (and a niece), my grandfather Joseph grew up fairly spoilt. The others would dote on him, fulfil his every need. And that really shows, because my granddad is, till date, fairly selfish and rather given to tantrums. A brilliant student, he wanted to do his postgraduation in Trichi, Tamil Nadu (very far away at the time; probably like, a night's train journey away today.) Augustus was worried that he'd lose his son to the corrupting influences of the big town, and so agreed to the Trichi thing as long as Joseph got married first. And that was pretty much the end of Joseph's Trichi dreams. A fairly sensitive young man, he was apparently super embarrassed about the fact that he wrote his graduation finals as a married man. Studying further was out of the question, so he got a job at a bank, and eventually became a bank manager (very prestigious position indeed.) 

By the time Clare grew to college going age, Augustus was sick of losing daughters to the church, and determined that his youngest would get the best college education, and be married. Unfortunately, he was also a bit of a skinflint, and was reluctant to extend the same privileges to his granddaughter, Treasa. Treasa therefore decided to join the convent, and Clare, unwilling to be separated from her, allegedly followed suit. 

Mary Sr. had many more kids after Treasa, and I frequently lose track and count of all the cousins I have in that branch of the family. Joseph and his wife Mary had four kids, including my mother. They live quite happily in the house that Augustus built, and take a great deal of pleasure in doling out advice to errant grandchildren on how they ought to be living their lives. 

My great-grandmother, Mary Sr., passed away in 1999. She was in her nineties at the time. Augustus lived to be a 105, and passed away in 2004 or 2005. (I forget which year exactly.) I remember her as a very wrinkled old lady with huge gold hoops in her ears, dressed in the white blouse and lungi that used to be the traditional clothing of Christian women of her time. I remember him as a very tall, very bald, bare chested old man who would sit in a chair on the porch, staring out at the landscape and humming prayers. Every now and then he'd get bored and come inside the house, people (especially little children) scattering before the slow tap of his cane in terror and panic. He'd find something in disarray (a fan left switched on, perhaps, or something left untidily on the floor) and start shouting. He'd go back outside once he found everyone to be sufficiently cowed. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I was very young when I knew him, but I suspect that Augustus was just always very intimidating, and found the habit hard to shake.

The sisters were all pleasantly surprised upon meeting me. They repeatedly remarked on how very sensible and stable I came across. I suppose that after all the things my mom and grandmother have said, they half expected a meth addict or something. 

My great-aunt Augustine, who has always been my favourite, is now very ill. When I met her this time, she'd just come out of a long hospitalization, and kept wondering why she felt so weak and so ill all the time. I guess everyone felt it would be better she didn't know just how ill she is.

I probably won't get a chance to meet her again, so I'm really quite glad I went home this time. For ever more, my memories of her will be inextricably linked to her explaining her decision to join the convent, and wistfully remarking that that was the only option open to them at the time. If you didn't want a family, a husband and kids, then you became a nun. Our conversation left me with little doubt that, had Anna Augustus Thomas been born into my generation, she would have been me - career driven, with little interest in marriage or family. A strong willed, intelligent, beautiful woman - I've no doubt that she's shone brighter than her contemporaries all her life, and would have been a powerful mover and shaker, had she been me.