Time lapses, tides recede yet the footprints left on the sands of time are sometimes so surprisingly intact that they rush to our minds the moment someone pulls the trigger to that memory. And once the trigger is pulled, the memory descends on us like a cascade tracing its origins in the most obscure crannies of one's consciousness. The experience of drenching oneself in this cascade hands us many revelations - some which we accept willy-nilly, and some others which we soak in with greed to change ourselves and think beyond the confines that the society hands us. Meenakchi amma for me was one such memory. I must admit that I was unaware of the existence of this memory, leave alone its intensity, until it struck me lately.
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My neighbour and I were on our way to the local store when we saw her at the bus stop. She was clad in an old cotton saree and could not have been more than thirty-years old. But there was something about her that made her look older than her age. A child of around five was tugging at her saree, demanding her attention. I didn't see any familiarity in the woman till my neighbour asked me if I remembered her. I was puzzled and did not seem to have any recollection of having seen the woman before. It was then that my neighbour reminded me of Meenakchi amma and as soon as that name came up, some other memories too tagged along. Among these I vividly placed the woman, or at least a resemblance thereof. But neither her present appearance nor the context in which I had seen her last seemed to merge. I could complete the jigsaw in my mind only when my neighbour began telling me the story.