Persona in Progress

The family that stepped out of the wings

Image: [golden_SUN] / iStock

I often speak about my family (the one I married into), not because I love them more. I suppose it’s because I see them more. At least once every two weeks, because I want to. However, my core family (the one I was born into) is absolutely splendid. It’s just unfortunate that they live a few time zones away from me.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t always feel this way. Growing up in the Northern Province of South Africa, while they were all the way in Kerala, India, meant I had only a handful of opportunities to connect with them. International phone calls were ridiculously expensive, so my cousins and I barely spoke.

My mother’s side of the family made a concerted effort. This could be attributed to the fact that my older cousin, Leizel, and her parents (Lillykutty Aunty and Tomichen Uncle) cared for me as a baby. My mom had travelled with my older brother to Bangalore for a psychiatric assessment, which later resulted in an Autism diagnosis.

Since I was a baby, I don’t remember those moments….but I know I was adored. As I grew older, Leizel Chechi reached out to me through snail mail, and later we’d share special conversations on the phone. I always knew I was loved by this Chechi (Malayalam word that translates to older sister).

The few times we travelled to India, we tried to spend as much time as possible with both my father’s and mother’s sides of the family. Sometimes we only managed a few days with each, but those moments were special.

As the years went on, the distance between us became something I quietly accepted. I loved my family, but our connection always felt a little fragile — like a thread stretched too thin across continents.

That changed when my mom passed away. Grief has a strange way of rearranging the heart — softening some parts, hardening others, and making space for things you didn’t even realise you needed. In my case, it created space for family.

Helping my father relocate back to the homestead in Kerala meant that I wasn’t just saying goodbye to my mother; I was also walking closer to the family I thought I’d always be a little apart from. Unfortunately, it took such a painful event to bring us together, but I’m grateful that it happened at all. Later is better than never. My father’s side of the family stepped up, Vinitha Chechi, Stella Aunty and Thankamma Aunty opened their arms and heart to me. Whether it was making my favourite breakfast (Paalappam with stew), bringing me Tapioca crisps while I was quarantined, delivering Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolates for my brother Nishan all while helping Daddy and I through our devastating heartbreak – the love I felt was immeasurable.

Now, when I think of my family in India, I don’t think of the years we missed. I think of the love that found its way to me anyway — through snail mail, through fleeting visits, through cousins who remembered me, and now, through a stronger bond than I ever imagined possible.

Even across continents and years, love kept its promise — and I finally feel it wrapping around me now. What matters most isn’t how much time we lost, but how much love we’ve chosen to carry forward.