"What a Christmas!"

“What a Christmas!”  Ashwathi exclaimed to all of us from the kitchen where she was fixing tea.

With a packed social schedule, it wasn't until  my last day in Mavelikara that I was able to visit Ashwathi and her family. 



A 2007 photo of Ashwathi, Adulia and Adira with their neighbors.


Ashwati, (above in the white puffy dress) who was in fourth standard when I left India, is the youngest of three sisters.  Her father is out of the picture and her mother has a heart condition. 

After school, I often tromped to her house for a rousing game of tag.  Afterwards, I would sit on one of two twin beds drinking a cup of tea adorned with ants and watch an episode of Mr. Bean.  Their hut had two rooms and a kitchen.  A latrine was outside, shared by a few houses.  The cow hut stood two feet from their house and the mooing was audible from within. 

Ashwathi was tiny.  It was hard for me not to pick her up and give her a good squeeze every time I saw her. 

Ashwathi and her grandmother in 2007.

She’d show me her cow on a near daily basis and, though it seemed to her like a pet, I knew it was part of her family’s livelihood.

Ashwathi and I in 2007.

Four years later, I tromped down the same path noticing small differences but not many.  The road leading to the dirt path to her house was now paved.  Instead of the patter of shoeless feet and screams of, “Cate Miss!” as I approached, there was a lasting silence.

Do they still live here?  Is everyone healthy?  Are there improvements to their house?  Has the father reappeared?

I turned the corner onto the dirt road and immediately saw Ashwathi’s aunt walking to the water spigot.  We both stopped when we saw each other.  I tilted my head and smiled, waiting to see if she recognized me. 

“Oh! Hello Miss!  Enda devame!  Evide poyo?!”

She did.

I followed her as she nearly ran back to the house, screaming out things as she approached.  I could tell she was saying things like, “Wait until Ashwathi sees you!  Sister!  The strange, severly-white lady has returned!”

Ashwati's Mom, Aunt and Grandmother.  A matriarchal household of three generations.

Ashwathi’s grandmother looked exactly the same.  She stood with a crouch, donned in a dirty saree blouse and colorful mundu wrapped around her waist.  She gave me a gaping smile and pinched my chin.

When I stepped into their house, I first noticed her mother, clapping her hands together and slapping her chest.  “Sandosham!  Sandosham!”  She yelled exuberantly.  This woman was really happy.  Tears welled up in my eyes, both in relief and happiness.

After settling down a bit, I looked around to find myself sitting in an entirely new room with a TV, simple sofa set, white-washed walls and a dining table.  They have a living room!  I glanced towards the kitchen and noticed a gleaming red refridgerator.  A fridge! 

“Ashwathi!!” Her mother screamed.  Ashwathi came out, not sure what to expect.  She saw me and smiled.  We clasped hands and looked at each other for a minute.

“Do you remember me?”  I asked.

“Yes, Miss” She smiled. 

“You’re so tall!”  I stood up and make a quick comparison, then sat right back down realizing that my seventh grade friend was nearly my height.

Adulia is in 9th grade and Ashwathi, on my right, is in 7th grade.

She looked beautiful.  Her hair was in long pigtails down her back.  She wore her green and white government-school uniform, looking much older than in the elementary school frocks she wore before.  Her shoulders slumped a bit as she walked, lumbering a bit now instead of frolicking as she did four years ago.

She always stood out to me among the kids in the elementary school.  Not only because she was the tiniest in her class, as I typically was, but because of her ability to exuberantly dance during recess while at the same time, her eyes spoke volumes to the depth of her life experience.  This was a kid who lived in poverty and didn’t know what to expect of her future.

I noticed now the weight of responsibility that hadn’t been there in fourth grade.  No more Mr. Bean and tag after school, she attended tuition classes and sold her cow’s milk around the neighborhood.

Though I had stopped by for a surprise visit, she took care of her responsibilities.  She ran to her tuition center to postpone her class and she did a quick run through her neighborhood to sell milk.  She returned in a flash and sat next to me, sifting through the earrings I brought for her and her sisters.

“Cow?”  She asked.

“Yes!”  I responded, and we trekked to the back of the house to see her cow, the same one I timidly petted four years ago.

We took a picture, just like one we had taken after tag one day back in 2007, of her standing by her cow’s head.  The cow now had strangely twisted horns and seemed enormous, and Ashwathi seemed to tower over it unlike before.

Ashwathi and her enormous cow.

We returned to the house and Ashwathi’s aunt presented me with her wedding album.  She was married in 2003, before I lived in India, but didn’t yet have the photo album probably because she didn’t have enough money for it.  She proudly brought out the saree that Ashwathi’s Mom had given her as a wedding present, it was cream colored with rich embroidery.  

I found myself staring at Ashwathi through out the presentation of tea and photos and exclamations of surprise and happiness.

I assume her life will always be hard.  Her shoulders are already slumped a bit, maybe with stress and self-consciousness.  Her smile a tad less exuberant and her childishness evaporated.  But, she was doing well in school and selling her cow’s milk.  Her smile held vestiges of her childish exuberance and her eyes were those of an adult.

I realized as I stared, that I felt proud of her.