I remember her visit to our newly constructed home at New Guwahati in the year 1990.
A no-nonsense woman that she was, she wrote a crisp letter in an inland card to my mother asking her to apply Medikar shampoo and neem leaves on my hair; she saw my lice-infested tresses and was horrified!
I remember her clay models. Raising a sizeable groups of kids and managing the household didn't deter her from engaging in her hobbies. She made clay birds, clay deer and clay toys. They adorned the wooden showcase in the long verandah of those days in Lahoal.
Full of wisdom, recipes and life lessons, Aita was a cute lady. While other grandmothers probably let you get away with things your parents wouldn’t, our Aita was the exact opposite; she was a task-maker. But grandparents and grandchildren, together they create a chain of love linking the past, with the future. The chain may lengthen, but it will never part.
Aita had 2 sandalwood jewel boxes. One had the exotic smell of sandalwood while the other was similar, but sans any fragrance. It was a summer evening in Lahoal, and I told Aita that I would like to have the fragrant box. She smiled and said that indeed I would have it, but it would be after her death. I think Lina ba got the other box. I still have that sandalwood box with me ( photo enclosed). It seems Arun Bortta had got those boxes from Shimla in the 1960s when he was posted there ( while he was in the army).
I remember Aita's stoic silence when we had reached Lahoal after my Deuta's horrific murder ( he was killed by Bodo militants in 1991, 1st November, in Kokrajhar).
She used to read a lot.
It was Aita who had narrated me the tale of the Tiwa King Jongal Bolohu.
Aita in her white sador, sitting on her chair outside the kitchen, cutting betel nuts - this image remains etched in my mind...
Young people need something stable to hang on to — a culture connection, a sense of their own past, a hope for their own future. Most of all, they need what grandparents can give them. Aita ensured that we remembered her for long, and here I am, middle-aged and greying , reminiscing about her...
