Maama and I frequently called each other funny names, and anyone who had even momentarily been in our presence knew that Maama and I had this quirk about us. Sometimes I’d call her ‘Maama Gandu’ and she’ll respond with ‘Hidhaya Kolhu’ and proceed to tell me that I was the silliest girl she’s ever met. In her words, I was a Moyagandu. To be exact I was ‘Migey Moyagandu’.  Sometimes, just to make her laugh while going out, I’d stand at the doorway of the apartment and yell, ‘Dhanee Maama. Dhanee ingey? Dhanee Maama Gandaa!’ over and over again until she laughed loudly and exclaimed ‘Thi dhaathaakah dheveyne baa?’. We would often made funny faces and silly hand gestures at each other too. These exchanges were often made while she stood on the 2nd floor balcony and I downstairs. I think our neighbours, at one point, eventually got used to the idea that this was merely our thing, and we were absolutely shameless about it.

For the past few years, our routine had been to refer to each other with names of vegetables.

‘Maama Kattala!’, I’d say.

‘Hidhaya Tholhi!’, she’d respond, right on cue.

Oftentimes, whenever she’d see me rummaging around the house she’d call out to me as such and we’d fire away at each other, ending up with both of us in a laughing fit. To reflect on it, I’d say Maama absolutely loved this and it cheered her up every time. I remember vividly how her eyes lit up when she grinned.

During Maama’s hospital stay, I usually stayed with her from the morning until the afternoon, and I remember very clearly how her condition progressively deteriorated because I was able compare how well she was able to speak on a day to day basis. Initially, I was able to make conversation with her but the last two days before she was shifted to the ICU, she was incomprehensible and only able to say ‘Aan’ in a struggle to exhale. Sometimes her Oxygen Saturation would drop because she falls asleep and in a sorry attempt to keep her awake I’d try to make conversation, prop her bed up and switch on the TV and set to a Bollywood Drama channel. Of course, during those few days she was too unwell and my attempts were in vain.

What I missed most during those last few days was how we called each other silly names and how she laughed with her eyes. My heart ached. I knew Maama was slowly being taken away from me.

The day before she was shifted to the ICU, I was just finishing my shift with her and got up to leave. That day Maama was too weak to even utter a word to me and I remember having spent 6 hours next to her unable to make her say a word. While leaving I whispered to my husband how Maama wasn’t able to speak to me and he prompted me to make one more attempt.

I caressed her forehead, kissed her face and prompted, ‘Thee Kokkoge Maama Kattala tha?’.

‘Aan! Thee Hidhaya Tholhi’, she lifted her eyebrows, opened her eyes and responded.

Unknowingly, I clutched my chest. I stood frozen for a second or two and felt a sense of warmth in my heart. I glanced at my husband and saw him smile.

Little did I know, at that time, that that was the last thing she’d ever say to me.

A day later, Maama was in the High Priority Ward being shifted to the ICU. I remember the additional efforts I made that day too to keep her awake and to make her say something … anything. A minute or two before the doors to the ICU closed behind Maama I prompted her one more time.

‘Maama Kattala?’, I asked.

‘Aan!’, she exhaled.

I am unsure of whether she said this in a struggle to breathe or whether I was even comprehensible to her. But recalling how she responded to me the day before,  I was sure of one thing. That even in the state that she was in, she was able to recall our silly and happy memories and put an insumountable amount of effort to respond to me to make me smile.

How could I not be content knowing that?