Grandson Venkat's observations...

Paati's purse Paati has become a common commercial phrase in the past couple of decades. There are numerous brands that leverage the idea or general image of a grandmother, to establish trust, familiarity and warmth. Paatis sell rasam, coffee and snacks. And sometimes, they dance in advertisements for wedding jewelry. But many of us have our own image of a paati, and our somewhat quirky, unique memories, drawing from a paati we know. For the most part, our paatis do not sell rasam, coffee and snacks. But Kamala paati did. She made stuff worth keeping, sometimes selling. And even if she did not sell them herself, there was a mini army of sorts that were her agents. Some time in the early 1990s, my mother, Kamala paati's daughter, definitely went to a neighbourhood store in Delhi, not far from our housing colony, and dropped off some seven (I'd like to think it was seven) purses at the shop. They were priced at something like Rs 20 each, but it might have also been Rs 200. Paati made the purses at her home in Egmore in Madras. She'd find soft foam and a stiff board, cut them to size, insert them between the sequined cloth, and stitch it all together, complete with a button or Velcro piece to open and close the purse. The cloth varied, sometimes coming from older saris. And the shiny round pieces of plastic came from a box of supplies she kept. The fancier purses had zips, and inner pockets. They all came together on her sewing machine, her feet paddling away while she moved the purse across the stitch line. I am not sure if she broke even, but I think she did have an accounts register for her supplies. She probably gave many away for free to members of the extended family. And even if you didn't warm up to the design or colour, you tended to value the purse. It was paati's purse. Paati made other things. Her Tanjore-style paintings found a home with members of the extended family, and she probably sold a few of these as well. For that and the other things she made, gave and sold, she was occasionally called modern paati, something that would make her beam in approval. But while the Tanjore paintings are often visible in people's houses, the purses usually stay tucked in somewhere. They may be the purse of coins inside someone's bag, the purse of keys for the bank locker, the purse of keys in the bank locker, and the worn-out purse in the family almirah kept together with a rubber-band, the Velcro having done its time. They didn't cost much, and people need purses. The purses were "armless", (harmless) Kamala paati might say, like she did for many food items that we were fed. The leading h is agonizingly silent in many English words, but not that one, even if that's how Paati rolled. In my current work, we have to weigh what historical objects and records can cause harm when made public. Paati's purses are vessels for stories; they'd definitely be "armless". Some of these purses are probably still the home for 'emergency' cash and random notes in family almirahs. Some of us probably dipped into paati's purses during the 2016 demonetization and fished out thousand rupee notes that left their last home before being re-valued simply as paper. I am not sure why she chose to make purses, but she was a smart cookie, Kamala paati. The purses will likely outlive us all.