Dear Amma,
You came into this world having already lost your mother and were raised by your father alone. Life could not have been easy, but you lived it—fretted, cursed, and loved through it all.
You studied only up to the 10th standard, yet through sheer hard work, courage, and instinct, you built a successful saree business. Long before people spoke about women’s empowerment, you were living it every day. You would probably never have thought yourself a feminist but you taught through the life you lived, to be capable, to be self-reliant, earn your own money, make your own decisions, and never surrender your self-respect.
When Appa was making his film and money was scarce, you stepped in without a second thought. You cooked and catered for the entire shoot, feeding what felt like a small army. You never sought recognition for it, simply doing what needed to be done.
But your greatest achievement was not your successful work or even the home you built by yourself. It was the values you gave Gauri and me.
You drilled into our heads—sometimes gently, but more often not—that we had to be independent, financially and emotionally. Having lived life on your own terms, you understood how important it was for women to have their own money, their own voice, and their own sense of self. You taught us that true independence is about dignity: the freedom to choose, the freedom to walk away when necessary, and the ability to stand tall without relying on anyone else to define our worth.
And then there was Esha.
You absolutely adored your granddaughter. After Gauri passed away, then thirteen-year-old Esha became your anchor. In your eyes, she could do no wrong—which, to be fair, she rarely did. And in her eyes, you could do no wrong either.
The bond the two of you shared was something else. Through your influence, and through the example that you, Gauri, and I tried to set, Esha has grown into a mature, caring, and fiercely independent young woman.
But you were not perfect.
Perhaps all the hardships you endured left their mark. You could be suspicious, a little feudal in your thinking, and often inclined to see the worst before the best. Living with you was not always easy. In fact, Gauri used to joke that she wanted to start a group called “Amma Andre Nange Kashta” and appoint herself its founding chairperson.
I had my own joke. I used to say that even if you made it to heaven, it wouldn’t be long before you found fault with something there. You would complain about the food, the arrangements, or how things were being run. Before long, the gods would throw up their hands in defeat and send you right back.
You could be demanding, stubborn, censorious and exhausting in ways that only a mother can be. But I guess the same experiences that made you cautious also made you resilient. The same stubbornness that frustrated us was the stubbornness that helped you survive, persevere, and build a life against difficult odds.
Today, I don’t remember you as a perfect person. I remember you as my Amma.
Strong. Tough. Loving. Generous. Infuriating. Impossible. Irritating. Unforgettable.
And somehow, all of those things together are exactly what made you beautiful.
And, I hope you feel that you lived your life to the fullest. At 83 years old, in just the last month, you came all the way to Delhi to see Esha graduate; you watched the beautiful play” Love Letters “and fell in love with actor Kishore. On your birthday, June 2nd, you celebrated relishing rose cake and a Whiskey Old Fashioned Esha made you.
Thank you for everything you gave us. Thank you for the strength you passed on to us. Thank you for loving us in the way you knew how.
For all the arguments, all the exasperation, all the laughter, and all the love—thank you.
I will miss you.
Every day.
Yours
Baby
(Kavitha Lankesh)
Editor’ Note: A year after the brute assassination of Gauri Lankesh on September 5, 2017, Teesta Setalvad Secretary CJP had brought out this small anthology of Kavitha’s poems to her sister: all written in one year. They were published in a booklet Akka. The booklet may be accessed here.
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My Sister, My Soul Mate: A Poem for Gauri by Kavita Lankesh