In memory of my grandmother, Jayalaxmi Karsandas Thakkar who passed away Monday(11/14/11) morning at 9:15am PST. While by English language she is my grandmother, I called her my Nani my entire life, literally meaning "my mother's mother".
You were amazing. I miss you and I will always love you. I am proud to have been yours.
This photo was taken during my last visit to India during March/April 2010, when cancer had already begun taking a significant toll on her. We had just received news that she was suffering from Stage 3B ovarian cancer. Doctors operated on her left ovary and had removed a tumor that was the size of a papaya. Yep. A friggin' PAPAYA. In case you're not familiar with the size of papayas, here is a reference:
I wish I was kidding. She complained for years that she was experiencing issues with serious frequent urination, stomach pressure and bloating. Every time she visited the doctor for literally two years, she would be sent off without a single urine culture, ultrasound or having any other relevant diagnostic method used on her. The doctor would write her a prescription for an even stronger dose of antibiotic and would send her on her way. Of course this did nothing to alleviate her symptoms, until finally, after TWO years of complaining, doctors performed an ultrasound and they found out the very obvious reason for my grandmother's supposed two-year urinary tract infection.
That's Indian medicine for you.
I would say that I have been close with my Nani ever since I was a child. My mother's parents both visited us in California, them living in Bombay, India their whole lives, when I was three years old. My Nani and I were two peas in a pod from that time on. During that visit, I remember we would snuggle on the couch, watch TV and she would give my chubby little legs massages. Although I was quite young, I actually remember that time, and I remember feeling an extreme sense of elation not common to most young children. Nani reminded me for many years after this that I would often march up to my mother during this visit and declare "Nani and I are friends!". And indeed we were. As I grew older, her and I would exchange many postal mail letters, as e-mail was not yet common at that time, and I would enjoy many visits to India where I would be greeted with one of her famous breathtaking, gripping bear hugs the second I walked through the door of her home. During these visits we would make fun of my mother endlessly (yet lovingly), and stay up late into the night as she told me stories of years past and how grand life was when my grandfather, her husband, was still healthy. My grasp on our family's dialect was weak at that time, so communication was quite difficult, but that seemed to matter not and we improvised when necessary.
Ever since I was a child, everybody would watch me walk and they would exclaim "you walk just like your Nani!", nobody seemed to look into why or how something as individual as a manner of walking could be passed down two generations. As I entered my late teens, I had several sports coached insist that I look into having my legs measured as it seemed that my right leg was longer than my left. I visited the doctor, and indeed this was true. It turns out that my grandmother and I were the only ones in the family that had one leg longer than the other. Early into college, I finally finished growing (a bit late considering I'm a female), and I realized that my Nani and I had yet another thing in common: I am 5'6" and she was 5'7". While this may not seem particularly remarkable, if you know that my mom is adorably stout in size at 5', and my father is 5'5", you will understand why I was excited to have yet another thing in common with my Nani. I loved that about her and me, we were both the taller, gimpy oddballs of the family.
During my last visit to India, for the first time she was too weak to greet me with one of her famous bear hugs. I remember feeling emotional when I realized this, as it was a clear indication of her digressing condition. But, never to allow an opportunity to show affection escape, she promptly grabbed my face when she saw me, shook my head around and gave me many wet, slobbery kisses. When we parted ways as I left to come back to the United States at the end of that visit, she held me tightly, gave me many kisses and asked me when she would be seeing me next. I immediately ran out of the house and turned away, as I was struggling to face the reality that I would never be seeing her again.
I cried many tears while saying goodbye to her then, and I am crying many tears now. My heart breaks knowing that never again will I be the recipient of her marvelous slobbery kisses. I miss you Nani.
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