ECHOES OF MEMORY AN EPIC OF UNFATHOMABLE
ECHOES OF MEMORY
AN EPIC OF UNFATHOMABLE LOVE
The River in Search of the Ocean
A HUMBLE PRELUDE OF GRATITUDE AND DEDICATION
Before I step into the sanctuary of these memories, I must first offer a heartfelt note of gratitude from the deepest recesses of my soul.
Among the countless souls who have crossed my path, some merely touched my existence, while others altered its course. But there was one individual who gently, almost imperceptibly, sculpted the very essence of who I am today.
That person was Aravind.
I grew up as a woman largely sheltered from the intricacies of the outside world. From handling financial affairs to managing the ordinary logistics of everyday life, my father took care of everything. It was a secure, serene, sheltered existence. I knew the world was vast, yet I never felt a compelling need to confront it alone or find my way through it independently.
That changed when Aravind entered my life.
It was not that he took me by the hand and managed every aspect of my journey. Quite the opposite. More often than not, he would place me at the forefront and gently tell me,
“Do it yourself.”
In those early days, his words occasionally filled me with hesitation and even frustration. But gradually, a profound realization dawned upon me.
He was not abandoning me to stand alone.
He was teaching me to stand tall.
He was preparing me to remain unyielding, even when the tide turned against me.
Today, I travel across the world independently. I design my journeys, plan my travels, and execute them on my own. I manage my finances. I am learning more than nine foreign languages. Even when circumstances frighten me, I try to remain resilient and move forward.
Somewhere along the way, I transformed from a hesitant, sheltered young woman into Meera, a woman who lives on her own terms.
My own perseverance undoubtedly played its part. But behind every step was the unconditional love of one man.
Aravind was the first person who planted that foundational belief within me.
He was my sanctuary.
He was my pillar of strength.
When he was physically present, he stood beside me and guided me directly. Today, although he is no longer physically present, he continues to walk beside me through his memory, his teachings, and the principles he embedded within my soul.
As I step into unfamiliar territories, I try to walk with the poise, direct gaze, and unyielding posture envisioned by Bharatiyar. Yet beneath that outward strength lies the enduring devotion of Aravind.
When he was here, he guided my path.
Now, in his absence, he continues to guide its direction from beyond.
His devotion occupies the grandest place in this narrative.
Even today, I navigate my world according to the very principles he taught me.
This narrative is therefore my tribute to him.
But at the same time, it is also the story of the woman he helped create.
MARITIME EXISTENCE
THE FLOATING WORLD
Before entering the heart of my story, it is important to understand the extraordinary world in which much of our married life unfolded.
A ship is not merely a massive vessel floating upon the sea.
It is a floating universe.
It is a workplace, a home, a community, and, for months at a time, an entire world unto itself.
Vessels are broadly divided into different categories. Passenger ships carry people across vast stretches of water. Bulk carriers transport dry cargo such as coal, grain, and other commodities. Container ships carry the enormous machinery of global trade within their colossal steel structures. Tankers transport oil and other liquid cargo.
On board, the Captain holds ultimate authority. The Deck Officers assist in navigation and maritime safety, while the engineering department, led by the Chief Engineer, ensures that the relentless rhythm of the engine room never falters.
To an outsider, foreign shores, foreign currencies, distant countries, and life upon the high seas may appear glamorous.
But beneath that glamour lies an existence demanding enormous sacrifice.
Six to eight months away from family.
Long periods of isolation.
Unpredictable seas.
Responsibility without respite.
Having witnessed and lived within that world, I know its reality far more intimately than an outsider ever could.
And my story unfolded within this floating world.
In many ways, marriage itself resembles a ship's voyage.
There is a ship.
There is a Captain.
There is a Chief Officer standing beside him.
There are calm seas and there are violent storms.
Neither partner is a superhero.
Neither is necessarily a victim.
Both must learn to trust one another, understand one another, and possess the courage to steer their shared vessel safely towards the horizon.
PROLOGUE
THE OCEAN AND THE RIVER
Hi. I am Meera.
This is my story.
There is a lyric that has remained deeply intertwined with my life:
“On a tranquil river floats a little boat...
Should a sudden deluge surge, it wavers and floats...
Amidst winds, rain, and thunder that shake the shore...
It survives only if it grounds itself once more...”
My life began much like a small boat drifting peacefully upon a tranquil river.
Then, unexpectedly, storms arrived.
Thunderous rain descended.
The waters rose.
And the little vessel that had once floated peacefully found itself struggling against a sudden and overwhelming current.
But this is not a tragic tale.
Nor is it the story of a woman whose journey ended when the tempest arrived.
It is the story of a river that refused to remain stranded upon the bank.
It is the story of a river that chose to keep flowing towards its ultimate destination.
The ocean.
It is an epic of love, but not merely romantic love.
Relationships are an ongoing saga.
Emotions are brief chapters.
And even when a chapter ends, the essence beneath it does not necessarily perish.
Certain memories remain permanently etched within us.
My Kannan was not a fictional character.
He was Aravind.
The man who shaped my reality.
The very name Aravind translates to Kannan.
Perhaps that is why the man I had awaited in my life bore that sacred name.
Whatever others questioned and whatever the world whispered, the foundation of our relationship remained unwavering mutual trust and a life untouched by betrayal.
That absolute trust revealed itself in countless small moments.
Whenever he returned from sea and my childhood friends or neighbours came to visit, he would greet them warmly and courteously.
He would say,
“Meera, make sure they have coffee or tea.”
He would spend a few pleasant moments speaking with them and then simply excuse himself.
“Alright, you all carry on.”
The dignity and unwavering faith he placed in me, and in my friendships, became some of the strongest pillars of our marriage.
CHAPTER 1
THE GATHERING WAVES
When discussions about my marriage began, my family had very modest expectations.
Our household consisted of my father, mother, myself, my younger brother, and my grandmother.
Aravind’s family made only one elegant request from my family: a pair of diamond earrings for the bride.
When my father learned that the prospective groom worked overseas on ocean-going vessels, he was delighted.
“You always wanted to see foreign countries. Now you are getting a groom who earns in dollars. Your life will be wonderful!”
Aravind came from a deeply traditional family.
Accordingly, his family firmly believed that the bride and groom should neither meet nor speak before marriage.
But my father adored me.
He had always been protective of me. He worried that if I ventured out alone, I might lose my way or find myself in difficulty. I had rarely been sent anywhere completely unaccompanied.
Therefore, if I wanted to meet Aravind without his family's knowledge, I would first ask my father's permission.
My father would take me to the railway station and see me safely onto the train.
Aravind would receive me at my destination.
He had assured my father,
“I will pick up your daughter here. I will inform you once I drop her back at the train.”
From there, we might go to a theatre or meet friends.
Afterwards, he would escort me safely back to the station, and I would take an auto from my local station to reach home.
At that time, my entire universe revolved around two people.
My father.
And Aravind.
I was an innocent and somewhat naïve young woman. I simply did not possess the confidence to handle the world independently.
My younger brother was still a college student.
He was thrilled about my upcoming wedding.
“My sister is getting married! Guests are going to come! There will be grand feasts and new clothes! I can invite all my friends!”
For him, the wedding was an enormous celebration.
Yet beneath his youthful excitement, he shouldered responsibilities with surprising maturity. He helped with preparations, errands, and household arrangements.
After meeting Aravind, my brother developed enormous admiration for him.
To a young boy who knew very little about the wider world, Aravind’s stories of foreign countries, enormous ships, distant shores, and international travel seemed almost magical.
He was not merely a brother-in-law.
To my brother, Aravind became a hero.
Aravind’s home was a traditional joint family.
His father was disciplined.
His mother was deeply religious.
His elder brother, sister-in-law, sister, second brother, second sister-in-law, and younger brother all lived within that bustling household.
The house was always alive with people, conversations, movement, and activity.
When guests arrived, my sleeping place was naturally in the main hall.
Aravind was away at sea.
That was simply how life was.
Whenever my father came to visit me, week after week, tears would well up in my eyes.
My father would worry and tell my mother,
“The child's eyes seemed tearful...”
My mother would ask,
“Isn't she happy there?”
But I was not crying merely because I missed my father.
I was crying from a deeper loneliness.
I was living in a new environment without my husband beside me.
From the wedding altar onwards, I had developed the habit of addressing him formally as Sir.
When he was cheerful, he would call me Chellamma, Kuttima, Meera, or Hello Madam.
When he was irritated or simply being playful, he would tease me:
“You little donkey.”
“You little buffalo.”
“The ordeal I have to go through with you...”
But the moment I called him affectionately,
“Aravind...”
or
“Baby...”
or
“Kanna...”
his anger would disappear instantly, melting away like morning dew.
Resentment never lingered between us.
Even if we quarrelled in the morning, by evening we would somehow find our way back to one another.
CHAPTER 2
THE JOINT-FAMILY KITCHEN AND LESSONS IN HOSPITALITY
During the early years of our marriage, we lived within the joint family.
Relatives and guests came constantly to see the newly married couple.
As everyone else left for work and their daily responsibilities, I, the young bride, often found myself in the kitchen.
Whoever arrived, I served.
I made coffee.
I cooked.
I prepared meals late into the night.
And I did it without resentment.
But sometimes, exhausted beyond words, I would call Aravind and complain,
“I am exhausted, Sir. I just want to get out of this kitchen.”
He would gently tell me,
“You shouldn't say that, Meera. Atithi Devo Bhava. Serving guests is our sacred duty. Tomorrow, nobody should ever say that Aravind's wife did not honour them. Endure a little for my sake. After my parents' time, the entire realm will be yours.”
For those reassuring words, I endured everything with a smile.
Whenever he was home on leave from the ship, he would take me out for evening walks.
He knew exactly what I loved.
Chaat.
Samosas.
Ice cream.
We would return home around 7:30 in the evening.
If my mother-in-law invited us to dinner, I would say,
“I haven't digested my snacks yet. I am going to skip dinner.”
Aravind would immediately laugh and tell his mother,
“Yes, Mother. She has just eaten an entire feast! How can she digest it so quickly? Please serve me some rice.”
That playful banter was one of the signatures of our love.
Whenever Aravind’s cousins visited as couples, he would unhesitatingly offer them our private room while the two of us slept in the living area.
He came from an orthodox background.
Respect for elders and the belief that guests were to be treated as divine beings had been woven into his very character.
Yet human beings, like coins, have two sides.
Someone who is deeply loved by many may still be misunderstood by a few.
I witnessed that truth in both my own life and Aravind’s.
While many people loved him deeply, there were relatives within his extended family who carried their own grievances.
Certain friction involving his eldest sister-in-law had occurred before my marriage.
I was not part of the family at that time, so I had no right to judge those events.
I knew only what Aravind and others later chose to tell me.
In the early years of our marriage, however, I personally witnessed certain incidents involving his second sister-in-law and his younger brother's wife.
At times, Aravind felt that they treated him disrespectfully or spoke words that hurt him.
But I never intervened.
These were internal family matters.
I did not believe I had the right to interfere.
I maintained a dignified distance.
And, in truth, that was exactly what Aravind preferred.
Whatever friction existed remained between them.
I never allowed it to enter our marriage.
Similarly, Aravind himself never expected to dine at their homes when he visited. At times, he would consume nothing more than a glass of water.
People simply possess different temperaments.
Complete harmony is rare in any family ecosystem.
Amidst those differences, I kept my boundaries very clear.
I was his wife.
I believed it was better not to interfere where I had not been invited.
At the same time, Aravind supported his family in every possible way, physically as well as financially.
I never questioned his generosity.
He had every right to support his family as he believed appropriate.
Just as I wanted to care for my own parents, I never obstructed his desire to care for his.
Aravind was a perfectionist.
From tailoring to plumbing, electrical work, mechanical repairs, and countless other practical matters, he seemed to understand everything down to the smallest detail.
He was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, and a commanding presence.
His complexion was neither particularly dark nor particularly fair.
But more than anything else, it was his eyes that commanded attention.
Those piercing, soulful eyes.
Looking into those eyes, one could hardly tell a lie.
He had a sharp nose, lips that seemed to reveal a hint of stubbornness, and an aura that appeared capable of scanning a person standing before him in a single glance.
He would sometimes reminisce about his days abroad.
“Even abroad, foreign women pursued me. But I left everyone behind and married you.”
I would immediately retort,
“Oh really? People have told me similar stories about their charm too!”
A small quarrel would follow.
He would ask,
“Is that so? Don't you trust me?”
And I would reply,
“I trust you completely. I am only wondering how many people have heard this legendary story!”
That was enough.
A few minutes of teasing.
A little laughter.
And the quarrel would dissolve.
Beneath all that banter was one simple truth.
He never regretted choosing me.
And I never regretted choosing him.
Whatever the world might question, the foundation of our marriage was absolute trust and integrity.
My younger brother and his wife loved and respected Aravind enormously.
In fact, Aravind became a bridge connecting my mother's family, my father's family, and my own family through affection.
My brother's children adored him.
Whenever he saw them, his affection overflowed.
They returned it with equal intensity.
It was not a passing affection.
Even today, those children remember Aravind.
They speak about him.
They wonder what he might have advised them if he were still here.
I am not exaggerating when I say that he became an indispensable pillar of our family.
What attracted me most strongly to Aravind was not merely his intelligence or his earning capacity.
It was the grace with which he treated other human beings.
If he could help someone, he helped.
He did not make a spectacle of it.
For him, relationships were not merely obligations.
They were part of his very existence.
That is why, even after his passing, people continue to speak about him.
Family.
Relatives.
Friends.
Acquaintances from the different places where we lived.
Hardly a day passes without someone remembering his kindness.
We were not blessed with children.
But neither of us ever treated that absence as a defect.
Nor did we blame one another.
As Kahlil Gibran expressed so beautifully, children come through us, but they do not belong to us.
Children are a beautiful part of life.
But they are not the entirety of life.
That understanding belonged to both of us.
And therefore, the absence of children never cast a shadow over our hearts.
As long as he lived, he loved me completely.
And I loved him equally.
I still love him.
CHAPTER 3
AIRPORT BLUNDERS AND THE SINGAPORE JOURNEY
Four or five months after our marriage, Aravind took me aboard a ship for the first time.
It was also my very first international flight.
At the airport, instead of taking the designated route to board Singapore Airlines, I somehow lost my way.
I wandered into another terminal.
I took an elevator.
And somehow found myself in the international section serving flights to Australia and New Zealand!
Eventually, with assistance, I found my way out.
The representative from the ship's company was visibly flustered.
I apologized immediately.
“I am so sorry, sir. This is my very first flight.”
