Here's the back story. My aunt Shivakamy Iyer died while I was competing my Masters in another city. She lived with my grandparents who moved in with us after her demise. This was written about my first few days of moving back home.
Extra info you need to understand this: My mom's name is Lakshmy Iyer, the only Iyer in my house until my grandfather Dr. S. S. Iyer moved in.
_______________________________________________________________
I didn't know what I was coming home to.
My
brother and my mom had sent me pictures and long, detailed letters of all that had
changed.
They
told me what was kept where
They
told me who slept where
They
told me how they now felt
They
even told me how I would feel
“It’s
different but good”
They
said.
I
still wondered what I was coming home to.
My
family structure had changed –
I
had never lived in a joint family before
I
had never lived away from that family before
I
had never seen the still, lifeless body of someone with whom I had had such
vivid, lively memories before
Memories
of playing rummy, of painting napkins, of story-telling in the dead of the
night
Of
singing.
I
had never done a lot of things before –
Until
I had done them.
It
took a while to readjust.
But
they HAD prepared me. It was OK.
So,
when the postman said “Iyer” – I knew that it’s not just my mom, this letter
could be for my grandfather too.
I
didn’t know what I was coming home to
“Shivakamy
Iyer” the letter said.
