Sakuntala Devi Kadirgamar A lady who negotiated life’s journey with fortitude and perseverance

• After graduating from Peradeniya Aunty committed her life to teaching
• Aunty’s relationship with her husband, Silan or ‘Uncle’ as I call him, was very special

My mother-in-law, Sakuntala Kadirgamar or ‘Aunty’ as I called her, passed away at the age of 83 in Nallur, Jaffna, a month ago. Since her passing, many have spoken of her kindness, courage, forbearance, and the profound role she played in the lives of those near and dear to her. In this tribute, I share my experiences of living with Aunty, including in her later years when she battled ill health.
Born in Nallur in 1940, Aunty grew up in a family that prized education. She was at Chundikuli Girls’ College where she excelled in drama and the arts, before she entered the University of Peradeniya. She spoke fondly of her times at Peradeniya and her network of friends who would later belong to the ‘Autumn Leaves,’ a collective she grouped together during her retirement in Colombo. After graduating from Peradeniya, Aunty committed her life to teaching, first at Chundikuli, then Ladies’ College, Jaffna College and the University of Jaffna, before moving to Japan where she joined the Aoyama Gakkuin University.

Aunty’s relationship with her husband, Silan or ‘Uncle’ as I call him, was very special. From the very first day I was introduced to the family, I observed the constant banter between them. I recall Uncle saying, much to Aunty’s annoyance, that he had been mostly interested in her land in Nallur when he proposed to her. But the story I heard from Aunty was quite different, of a young man in love who delivered a letter concealed in a book that was stealthily handed over when she left Jaffna College after work. Their relationship blossomed and they married in 1965 and had two children, Ajayan and Ahilan. 
In Jaffna, she lived next door to her mother and sister, Indra, and her family. Their children grew up together as one family. Her memories of this time were happy despite the trouble brewing that would affect all of them for decades to come. Around this time, Aunty was involved in a nationally-acclaimed theatrical production, Oru Palai Veedu, a translation of The House of Bernarda Alba by Garcia Lorca (translated by her niece Nirmala) in which she played Magdalena. 
With the civil war raging, Uncle had to leave the country for a while with Aunty and the children and they lived in exile in Japan for almost two decades. In Japan, Aunty was preoccupied with her children’s education. Her sons attribute their various successes to her fortitude and perseverance during those difficult years. As I gather, those times were tough for her personally because she felt alone and missed her close-knit community in Nallur. Once she joined the staff of Aoyama Gakkuin University, however, she became friends with her colleagues, who kept in touch with her on her return to Colombo.
Aunty and Uncle made Lotus Grove, Dehiwela, their new home in 2000. In their old age, Aunty and Uncle had very different schedules. Aunty would wake up very early in the morning, often before 5 am, read, paint and potter around the house until lunch time. Uncle would rarely be up before 10. This meant that lunch was when they spent time together. The table was always laden with delicious Jaffna curries, cooked by Thangam, at the time I became part of the family. Whiskey or what Uncle called his ‘medicine’ was always present and a prickly subject. Apart from the subject of alcohol, Aunty had many interesting opinions about the Kadirgamars, especially their tendency to speak at great length—an aptitude that seems to have passed down to Ahilan. 
At Aunty’s memorial service earlier this month, Aunty Naveena and Aunty Selvy, spoke of the monthly meetings of the Autumn Leaves where they discussed articles and contemporary issues. I can now understand how important these meetings must have been for Aunty, especially after dementia began to take its toll in 2012. After Uncle’s passing away in 2015, however, Aunty had to move back to her Nallur home to live with Ahilan. Over thirty years after she left Jaffna, she had one niece, Vasuki,who lived next door; the others had all moved abroad during the war years.
When I arrived in Jaffna after my graduate studies, I joined Aunty and Ahilan in Jaffna. During this time, she shared many stories about her times in Jaffna, which she related as though they had happened just the other day. Among her favourites were stories about her sons, especially Ajayan for whom she had a soft corner and whom Ahilan called “aasa mahan.” She often spoke of “poor Ajayan” who had to do all the work and Ahilan who could do nothing for himself.
When Aunty returned from a visit with her niece Nirmini in Australia, she brought back several colouring books. Ajayan would sustain the supplies for what became her chief occupation in the next few years. On some days, she would wake up in the morning and declare that she was concerned she would not be able to complete her work. As time passed, Aunty lost her cognitive abilities one by one. I remember how both of us spent Thai Pongal in the kitchen with all the lights out because she thought the crackers were gunshots. Over the years, Ahilan, whom she saw as her guardian, became Silan, Jaya Anna (her deceased brother) and eventually she did not know him at all, although at times there would be a flicker of recognition. Despite this decline, she did enjoy good food, music and singing, and remained steadfast in her faith.

It was very distressing to see an individual we knew so well become another person. When we remember Aunty, we tend to speak about the person she was before dementia set in. I believe we, as families and communities, should accept and embrace illness, in the same way that people affected by illness must do. Aunty lived with dementia for well over a decade and the last five years, after multiple mini strokes, were especially difficult. Thinking back, I never once heard her complain, which may have partly been due to the nature of her illness. Whether it was dementia or loneliness, she came to terms with her situation and lived with forbearance. Frequent visits from family, especially Ajayan and her niece Niyanthini, were changes to her routine in Jaffna she enjoyed. She was also elated to have her brother Darmaseelan back from India.
These times were eased by the many women who entered our home to care for Aunty. Starting with Leela, then Hema, Bhavani, Ahila, Vathana and Rosy, these women took care of Aunty’s every need and their contribution is deeply appreciated. I cannot help but think about the countless number of elderly persons who do not receive this kind of care because they simply cannot afford it. I also express my gratitude for the palliative care services delivered by Base Hospital Tellippalai under the coordination of Dr. Nisahan, Consultant Physician. The weekly visits by the palliative care team to our home were such a relief during the last two months of Aunty’s life. This form of home care allows for a peaceful and dignified passing that everyone deserves.  

I end with a song that Aunty composed for Autumn Leaves (translated from Tamil by her niece Sumathy):
It is time for the leaves’ fall, 
away from the trees, Amma
It is  time for us to rest and retire.
It is the crowning glory  of our life’s journey.
A time to gather, a time to celebrate.
A time of joy,
This time of joy.
Across hills and vales we have gone
Overcoming hurdles lying on the way.
Crossed the seas – turbulent,
and come a long way. 
Spring’s gone, 
Along with its blossoming buds. 
It’s now time to pluck the ripe fruit 
that hang from the boughs. 
May you rest in peace, Aunty.
(Ramya)