TALE OF AKKA, MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER

Sundarabai Karmarkar or AKKA as she was called by us That was my grand mother from maternal side, mother of the mother of my mother. I vaguely remember her small frame. I recall two old ladies staying together in our rented home at Kamat wada, Thane in fifties. One was my Aaji Late Laxmibai Khare mother of my father and other was Akka mentioned above. A generation gap strictly speaking but both looked too old that to notice it at that time, a time when my age was not in double figure. Soon ( 1960 ) my father constructed our own home PUSHPAK as a small ground floor bungalow of two bed rooms. No. One bed room and other Prayer room doubling as bed room of Aaji. Akka did not move in with us. We all four siblings used to sleep in hall which was certainly big enough for couple of more beds. Yet she was not part of our home.

The fact did not come to my notice till my mother decided to tell her story. My mother has suddenly telling her childhood stories these days. Not as if she has nothing left to say about present. She is very much alive to the present world. But her mind is now wandering more into past. We are told many untold stories. That is how I came to know about rather pathetic and sad life of Akka.

Born as Kale she was married in Karmarkar family at tender age according to tradition of the time, gave birth to only girl child as soon as coming to age, became widow when the child was still breast fed. No. I don’t know the name of my great grand father and not missing it. It is great-great grand mother whom I wish I had seen. I can not bring before my eyes a woman who evicted young widowed daughter-in-law along with a baby grand child from her house and probably her holding responsible for death of her son. How can I call it as home ? Home is where heart is. This structure did not seem to have a heart.

Such a complete was the cut off she was not ready to cast even a look at her grand daughter ( which happens to be and my grand mother). She would visit a neighbor in Mahajan Chawl at Nagpur where my grand mother was staying after her marriage. Funnily my mother remembers her grand mother as a lady bent to knees with old age. A legacy she is inheriting now in some degree even if great grand mother had cut her mother off totally. Genes probably do not have emotions.

But I am now telling tale of Akka and neither of my grand mother of maternal side nor her mother-in-law. Akka came back to Kale family who gave her shelter. Her in laws refused to contribute even a token for her living let alone share in the property. A woman of extra ordinary courage Akka did not let herself become burden on brothers. As told by my mother she would sell bangles to earn a livelihood. Such a meager earning that she would have to go hungry for days. But she would not ask for money from brothers. A shelter given by them was good enough. Enough was enough by her standard. She brought up my grand mother who was reportedly a beautiful lady and married it to Mr. Narayan Gondhalekar, my grand father from maternal side. Akka could see five grand children, my mother and four maternal uncles or Mamas. One died of Sun stroke. I don’t remember face of my grand mother because she died before I was born. Died of cancer. The house of my grand father was once again in shambles. The elder Uncles were married and living separately. No body was ready to take care of the youngest Raja mama in his adolescent age. It was Akka who offered him care of the mother. I still remember a small room in Kale property where Akka lived with Raja mama, both suffering from ill fate that brought them together.

I don’t remember what circumstances brought her to our rented home in Thane before constructing Pushpak. I don’t know why she did not move in Pushpak and went back to Nagpur. I came to know only recently from my mother that she wanted a room added in our bungalow where she wanted to live along with us but separately. My mother did not muster courage to tell it to my father and the room never came along. Many relatives lived with us for months and years later on, many rooms were added later on as our families grew, unfortunately not one for an old and lonely lady in her last days.

She was a woman of courage as I have said earlier. She would tell my mother often that she will decide how and when to die. Well she did. She immolated herself in the dingy room of her brother’s property soon after Pushpak was ready and occupied. My mother did not say so in so many words but I suspect there is guilt prompting her to tell this so late to me. I too am writing this to ease the burden of that unknown and unseen guilt. All characters are real and my blood relatives. I do not mean to make any one either hero or villain. We are all ordinary pawns in the hand of destiny. Even our hates and loves are not our own. Part of grand design of some unknown principle filling us up with hate and love, joy and sorrow; making us move with timeless merry go round in this birth and next.

I don’t know if such suicide can be called as cowardly act. If it is cowardice then I will be proud to be coward. No wrong. I am not coward enough to do what Akka did. May her soul rest in peace.

Arvind Khare
Khare_am@yahoo.com