Reflecting on the life of Natraj Mama, a man whose kindness, wisdom, and love left an everlasting impression on family and community. A nostalgic journey through memories of joy, resilience, and the bonds that connect us.

The smell of freshly tilled earth always brings back memories of Natraj Mama. He was more than just my cousin; he was a beacon of warmth and generosity in our lives. As my dad’s elder sister’s son, he lived just a few kilometers away, in a beautiful village nestled at the foot of Kodaikanal. Despite the 20-year age gap between us, he was one of the most important people in my world. His recent, sudden passing from a heart attack has left a void not just in our family, but in all the nearby villages where he was so deeply loved.

Mama had a heart overflowing with kindness. I remember one scorching summer day when I was about eight years old; he found a stray puppy whimpering by the roadside, its fur matted and dusty. Without a second thought, he scooped it up, brought it home, and nursed it back to health. That was Mama—always ready to lend a helping hand, whether it was to a lost animal or a person in need. Whether it was a wedding celebration, a birthday gathering, or even a somber funeral, he was always there, offering support, a kind word, or simply his comforting presence. He had a way of making everyone feel seen and valued.

One of my most cherished childhood memories is the sound of his TVS 50. It was a rare sight in those days, and long before he arrived, we’d hear the distinct puttering of his moped echoing down the dusty road. My heart would leap with excitement, and I’d race out to greet him. He’d always let me hop on for a ride, even if he was in a hurry. The wind whipping through my hair as we zoomed along made me feel like I was flying. I’d burst with pride, bragging to all my school friends about my adventurous uncle and his magical moped.

That TVS 50 wasn’t just a mode of transport; it was a symbol of Mama’s love for his family. He’d use it to visit his sisters, first stopping at his middle sister’s village, nestled between his and ours, before finally arriving at our doorstep, his face beaming with affection.

Growing up surrounded by cousins and with our farmlands intertwined, we were a close-knit community. During festivals like Pongal or Diwali, Mama would arrive bearing gifts—new clothes that made us feel special, boxes overflowing with delicious sweets, and those magical firecrackers that lit up the night sky with a thousand sparks. The smell of those firecrackers, mingled with the aroma of freshly cooked feasts, still lingers in my memory, a sweet reminder of those joyous times.

Our family’s roots run deep in the rich soil of our land. Our homes were surrounded by fields bursting with life—cotton, maize, and vegetables of all kinds. We raised cows, goats, and sheep, their bleating and mooing a constant symphony in the background. Over the years, though, farming became harder. The rains grew scarce, the cost of labor soared, and the prices we received for our crops dwindled. It was a struggle that hit our entire community hard, and life became a test of resilience. Yet, through it all, Mama never lost his spirit. He faced every challenge with unwavering determination, his strength a source of inspiration for us all.

Mama, with his deep connection to the land and his unwavering commitment to his community, embodied the values of hard work, family, and generosity. Even before I was born, Mama had begun his schooling. Though I don’t know much about his formal education, his natural intelligence shone through in everything he did. He had an innate understanding of life sciences and a remarkable ability to connect with people. He was a leader, a voice of reason, always speaking his mind with a gentle firmness that commanded respect. And his laughter! It was like sunshine on a cloudy day, infectious and uplifting, a sure sign that Mama was nearby. Above all, he was a trusting soul, his faith in others unwavering till the very end.

During school holidays, visiting Mama’s home was a treat. He’d take me and my cousins to the movies in Chatrapatty, at the Kalavathi theater. The thrill of watching films like Madurai Veeran and Aattakara Alamelu with him, sharing popcorn and whispered jokes in the darkened hall, are golden moments forever etched in my memory. It saddens me that Kalavathi is now just a banquet hall, its silver screen replaced with chandeliers and tables. But in my mind, it will always be that magical place where we shared laughter and joy.

As he grew older, so did his responsibilities. He married when I was in grade 8, and his wife, whom I affectionately called Akka, became his rock, his constant companion through life’s journey. They were blessed with two wonderful children who have now built families of their own, carrying forward Mama’s legacy of love and kindness.

While I moved away from the village, chasing my dreams abroad, Mama remained a constant in my heart. When I saw him years later, during a visit home, time had woven its tapestry on his face. His hair was streaked with silver, and the lines etched around his eyes spoke of a life well-lived, a life filled with both challenges and wisdom. He looked a little more tired, but his smile was just as warm, his eyes just as bright. He arrived on a TVS Suzuki this time, a newer model that reflected the changing times, but his love for his family remained unchanged.

Over the years, staying connected became harder. Our calls became less frequent, but I always made it a point to visit him whenever I returned to India. The last time I saw him was in December 2018. Two years later, we had one final phone call, our voices connecting across continents. I didn’t know then that it would be our last conversation. Life, in its relentless rush, swept me away, and then, one day, the news arrived—Mama was gone. The grief hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for air. It felt as if a part of me had been ripped away, leaving a hollow ache in its place.

Even though he is no longer here, his memories are woven into the fabric of my being. His kindness, his laughter, his wisdom—they continue to guide me, to shape the person I am today. Mama understood that life was a journey, a tapestry woven with threads of joy and sorrow, and he embraced it all with open arms.

Sometimes, I find myself thinking about life as a long queue, each of us waiting for our turn to depart. Mama was simply a little ahead of me in that line. It’s a sobering thought, a reminder to cherish every moment, every connection.

Mama, your life was a melody that touched countless hearts. Your legacy of love, laughter, and generosity will forever echo in our lives. You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten.