In my mother’s family, there were eight sisters and one brother. They had charming names which ran like this – Honour, Lily, Maud, Vitty, Dainty, Dotty, Ann, Joy, and their brother Gifford. As is wont in many families, the only son is adored and thoroughly spoilt. They had a lovely cottage in the Niligiri hills named Rose cottage.

 I remember going there as a little girl and the mist surrounding that place was chill and heavenly. The winding road down the hill and the lovely fruit trees on either side made a mark in my memory.

 It was like the garden of Eden with a variety of peaches, guavas, mangoes,  jackfruit, and sapotas. All the children grew up consuming these fruits so naturally, they were beautiful women.

They found joy in each other’s company and their get-togethers; I happened to be there. My mental vacuum longs for that homely atmosphere where they join for a birthday bash or a wedding or even a funeral. They sit around at the dining table, peeling the garlic, onions, vegetables and exchanging news. In the midst of all this, the children play serenely and are at ease because this is what home is all about.  Here’s an amusing incident that took place in a restaurant in Tumkur. Three of the sisters went upstairs while my mother lagged behind. A flowering shrub had attracted her and she was desperate to have a cutting. She tugged and tugged with all her might and secured a tiny leaf before realizing it was a plastic plant. The sisters giggled their way through their meal.

A few relatives once visited a cousin of mine who worked at a posh hotel. Their autorickshaw landed at the front porch and out tumbled eight people. The lackey bowed to the first three people tumbling out but was flabbergasted when eight of them emerged. The cousin was mighty embarrassed that he asked them to come from the back entrance the next time.

These are my aunts always with anecdotes to cheer them up. Some were less than five feet so my six-foot husband called them the one-inch people. These one-inch people knew how to care for others and for their own families, and kept in touch with reality with a smile.

Sheila Ebenezer