A Quiet Strength
I landed in Dubai, unaware of the turmoil on the ground in Chennai that Srikanth, my husband, was going through. He had texted a poignant 4 words “Amma just passed away”. Words that felt so heavy. I called immediately. It was true, and we tried consoling each other as best as we could over the impersonal cell phone.
I keep a Google Sheet of the Moolangudi family names, relationships, little notes that help me keep track of a sprawling, beloved clan. Lately, I’ve found myself shading more and more names in gray, marking those who’ve left this earth for their next heavenly journey. Each one stings. But this last one… my mother-in-law… this one was tough in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My aunt used to tell me that my in-laws treated me like a princess. She would know she was my mother-in-law’s best friend, confidante, and partner-in-crime for decades. When I first met my mother-in-law, she seemed so quiet, almost shy. Very unassuming. I thought she was simply gentle.
Little did I know that over the last 37 years, I would come to understand the depth of her strength a strength that didn’t need volume. She had a quiet assertiveness, a way of making things happen without ever raising her voice or drawing attention to herself. She was the kind of woman who anchored a family simply by being who she was.
The Daughter Who Craved Her Mother’s Approval
For all her strength, she carried one tender longing throughout her life: her mother’s affection. Rajam Pati, “Big Pati,” as my kids called her, was as stoic as they came. Compliments were rare, emotions even rarer. She was a woman of nods, and rare encouraging words.
I’ll never forget the day we were tying flowers together to make a garland for my father-in-law’s sadabhishekam. My mother-in-law sat beside me, fingers moving with practiced precision, weaving jasmine and kanakambaram into a perfect strand. Pati walked by, paused, looked at the garland, and gave the smallest head nod. Then she said one single phrase: “Nanna vandurukku.”
The smile that burst across my mother-in-law’s face… it was radiant. Pure joy. Childlike, even. It was the kind of smile that lit up a room and made you feel lucky just to witness it. That one phrase from her mother meant more to her than any elaborate praise ever could. It was a glimpse into her heart - a heart that loved deeply, quietly, and with unwavering loyalty.
The Broken Toe and the Endless Dosais
Another memory that refuses to fade is from one of our trips to India. She was running around the house, making sure everything was perfect for our visit. The smallest of details was given meticulous attention. Beds made, snacks stocked, meals planned, every detail thought through. In the middle of all that rushing, she stubbed her toe. Hard. So hard she broke it and ended up in a cast.
Most people would have taken that as a sign to rest. Not her.
One evening, my brothers and the entire clan from my side of the family landed to visit. The house was buzzing with chatter, laughter, and the usual chaos that comes with a big family gathering. And there she was, sitting on the ground, cast and all, having commandeered a little stove. She made dosai after dosai after dosai, an endless stream of crisp, golden perfection.
We ate them with the kind of shameless gusto only family can get away with. She watched us with that quiet satisfaction she always had when feeding people she loved. A broken toe didn’t slow her down. Love was her fuel, and feeding others was her language.
The Hug I’ll Never Forget
There are so many memories swirling in my mind that it’s hard to catch them long enough to put them into meaningful words. But a few shine brighter than the rest.
One of them is from Sundar and Manka’s wedding in Houston. After the Indian ceremony, she made her way straight to me. She wrapped me in a big, tight hug. The kind that says everything without needing a single sentence, and then she kissed me on the cheek. She told me, with that unmistakable sincerity of hers, that this ceremony wouldn’t have happened without me.
It wasn’t just gratitude. It was her way of acknowledging effort, love, and presence. She noticed things. She valued people. And she made sure they knew it.
A Legacy That Lives in the Quiet Moments
As I shade her name in gray on the sheet, I feel the weight of what that color means. It’s not just a mark of loss. It’s a mark of legacy. Of a woman who shaped me, supported me, and quietly taught me what strength looks like when it’s wrapped in gentleness.
She may have left this earth, but she hasn’t left my life. Not really. She’s there in the memories, in the lessons, in the hugs I still feel if I close my eyes. She’s there in the family she nurtured, the traditions she upheld, and the love she gave so generously. It’s there in her sons who imbue her loving nature.
And she’s there in me, in the woman I became because she welcomed me, guided me, and treated me, as my aunt always said, like a princess.
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