Announcement: Stories from Ammamma
A new mini-series that will most likely land me in trouble with my grandma.
Dear reader,
My name is Kaavya Ranj.
My mother’s name is Saira Ranj. Before she became Saira Ranj, her name was Saira Raj.
My grandmother’s name is Sarala Raghuraj. Before she became Sarala Raghuraj, she was NP Sarala. She is, among many other things, a writer. And like most writers, she is a perfectionist - meaning there is nothing more paralysing than a blank page.
Over the next few issues, Poetry in Motion takes on a sneaky little challenge. After years of pleading with my grandmother to write a memoir, I’m going to ask her and document it myself. Her writing is a classic thing: think of gingham picnic mats, homemade pickles and Madhur Jaffrey-esque descriptions, but waiting for those perfectly worded essays will have to stop. So without further ado, an introduction.
My Ammamma was born early in December of 1946, one year before British India became less British, more India. My Ammamma looks upon her birthdate with disdain, wishing she was born a month later (so she could say she was a year younger than she actually is). Adding to her frustration is the hotch potchness of paperwork, which states her birthday is in May of 1946 - making her considerably older than she is.
My Ammamma will turn 77 years old in a few weeks. She spends her days doing yoga, keeping up with film industry gossip, reading nutrition science research, and enjoying dog videos on YouTube Shorts. I’d say she’s pretty balanced.
She’s also a chronic hoarder, stubborn enough to deny even a single fault, and uber dramatic. Sometimes my mum and I will listen to her talk and catch each other’s eyes - a silent conversation between the words.
If I tell her I’m writing this, let alone publishing it to over a hundred readers, I will be in for the scolding of a lifetime - so this is a bit of a secret project. The only people I know more fiery than me are the other women in my family.
It’s so wonderful living together. Like perennially being in the center of the Bermuda Triangle. But there’s some delightful little stories in between the eruptions.
I hope to bring some more your way soon.
Love,
Kaav.