Channeling Grandma

This past week, I visited my extended family in the Southwestern U.S. - namely, my maternal grandfather, uncle, aunt, and two cousins.  The last time I had visited their home was in 2009 to attend my grandmother's funeral.  Needless to say, walking into their house was a charged event for me, namely because I could feel my grandmother's presence everywhere.  When she was dying from uterine cancer, I had the opportunity to visit her and say goodbye as she sat on the recliner in the living room.  Years prior, I had come out to her over chai at the kitchen counter.  In visits prior to that, she had taught me to cook mung dal and bhindi masala, watched old Hindi films with me, allowed me to record her life stories on a tape recorder, massaged coconut oil into my scalp and channa flour with turmeric and yogurt into my skin, and lectured me about the importance of praying regularly and attending services at the mosque.  Her spirit still nests in the house.

While we always lived quite a distance apart, the impact my grandmother had on me as a fierce, opinionated, wise female role model was significant.  One of the many things I loved about her was her extensive knowledge of home remedies.  She regularly read Gujarati newspapers and would store away the anecdotes she found like a squirrel.  Then she would offer frequent suggestions for even the smallest of ailments - apply breast milk on the face for acne, drink a few drops of peppermint oil in water for a stomach ache, a little of this for mosquito bites and some of that to make your skin glow.  I remember being annoyed by (and sometimes grossed out by) her directions as a kid, and yet loving the fact that she was caring for me and my wellness by spreading egg whites all over my face.

It was the absence of this wisdom that I was feeling so deeply during this visit.  I had always wanted her to be a part of my pregnancy experience.  Even though my coming out as queer created an emotional wedge between us, she still loved me and I trust she would have shared her advice, prepared concoctions, and pampered me in her stern, tough-love kind of way. 

One night, I asked my aunt if she remembered any of the tips my grandmother had shared while she was pregnant with my cousins.  She gave it some thought but couldn't remember much.  Then she pulled out a notebook.  "I forgot I had written some things down," she said.  We pored over the notes together:

• Kesar, badam and pista in warm milk 
• Papaya 
• During the third trimester methi paak to prepare the body for delivery; also after delivery to cleanse the body   

The notes went on.  With her memory jogged, my aunt eagerly began to share with me her recollections, and even stories about her own pregnancy and deliveries.  The next day, she ran some errands and showed up back at the house with bags of almonds, cashews, pistachios, dates, apricots and raisins for me to take home.  "Just eat a few nuts and dried fruits every day," she said.  "It's good for you and the baby."  Later she ground up a badam-pista mixture.  "You can add this to your soymilk," she said.  It felt so good to be taken care of, to be nurtured and supported.

It was significant to me that the first time I returned to my grandmother's house after her death was while carrying her great-grandchild.  I felt her energy surround me.  While I missed her, I was grateful for the opportunity to spend a few days remembering what a remarkable person she was.  Hopefully, our little one will reap the benefits of her wisdom in spirit.