Sayonara, mother!

Year on year, I brushed off celebrations like Mother's day thinking why single out one day for something as boundless as a mother’s love. I was of the honest opinion that if something is truly foundational, reducing it to one commercialized day can feel inadequate or performative. But today, it feels very different. It has been a little over 2 months without her and the Mother’s Day arrives quietly for me. I am very happy that the world still moves in familiar ways — flowers wrapped in pastel paper, WhatsApp statuses with messages of gratitude; many true, some cliché. Beneath all of that celebration sits a silence I cannot escape this time. My mother is gone, and I least expected that the void her absence has created feels larger on days like this. 

She did not leave suddenly. Dementia took her slowly. That is one of the cruelest things about the disease. It does not simply end a life; it gradually alters it, piece by piece. Post the diagnosis, it created a strange kind of mourning — one where the person is physically present, yet slipping further away with every passing day. I remember the early signs we tried to dismiss. Unable to operate the TV remote. Repeated questions. Small confusions explained away as fatigue or aging. There were funny moments too: Forgotten names. The caretaker lady’s names changed to a Pan India name every time - Nalinabai Kanitkar, Noida Bhanu, Kedareshwari and many more :). Then came the moments that could no longer be ignored: the hesitation in her eyes when she looked at familiar faces, the growing uncertainty in ordinary tasks, the painful realization that memory — the invisible thread connecting a person to their world — was beginning to fray. 

And yet, even as memory faded, something essential about my mother remained. There were flashes — a smile at the sound of a familiar Dasara Pada, the episodes of Mayamurga that she recalled, moments when her eyes briefly carried the same comfort they had throughout my childhood. Those moments became precious because they were unpredictable. They reminded me that beneath the confusion and forgetfulness was still the woman who raised me, loved me, and shaped my understanding of care itself. And then, there were days where she longed to spend time with people she loved, who never visited when she could still comprehend things, and my wife and son did all that they can to subdue that. 

This Mother’s Day, what I miss most is not only her presence, but the certainty of it. I never thought I would miss my Mother so much that I’ve been realizing only of late, that she was the emotional architect of my life. She did so much with whatever little she possessed! Parents are the people we unconsciously expect to remain — the steady voice we imagine we can always call; the reassurance we assume will exist somewhere in the background of our hardest days. When that presence disappears, the world does not collapse dramatically. Instead, it changes quietly. Ordinary moments become emptier than they used to be. There are many ways grief after dementia carries its own peculiar exhaustion because the loss happens twice. First comes the gradual disappearance of the person you knew. Then comes death itself — final, undeniable, absolute. 

Dementia stole many things from her. It stole memories, independence, recognition. But it could not erase the impact of her life. It could not undo the years of her sacrifice, guidance, affection, and strength she poured into me, the people she taught at school and people around her. This is the paradox of grief: absence can become its own form of presence. 

I certainly do not miss her everywhere anymore. But, in conversations I wish I could have with her; in moments where my instinct is still to do with two cups of coffee, one for her and one for me; songs, recipes, and small habits I inherited without realizing it; when people complement my good Hindi vocab in spite of being a south Indian and even in the room freshener aroma that we used in her room during her last days; The void her death created is real, and with all the frenzy around Mother’s Day, it becomes impossible to ignore. So here I am! Writing this piece before all this memory fades away and I get busy with life...again! 

But alongside that emptiness is gratitude that I must not forget. Gratitude that I knew her before the illness. Gratitude my wife shared the burden of this journey on her shoulders too, Gratitude that my spiritual guru HH Sri Satyatma Tirtharu constantly reminded me of my responsibilities by means of his discourses; Gratitude that even dementia — relentless as it was — could not completely extinguish the humanity within her. 

Watching both parents disappear in fragments to this dreaded disease is a heartbreak difficult to describe. There is only helplessness in it. You want to protect them, to pull them back into clarity, to remind them of everything they once knew effortlessly. But here is the hard truth - Dementia does not negotiate with love. It keeps moving forward, indifferent to devotion, patience, or prayers. The journey has been of a profound learning. Immersed in memory’s ocean, I reach for the strands of wisdom my parents taught. The past hasn’t merely slipped away; it has refined me. From the depths of this reckoning, I hope this leads me to a new awakening

Sayonara, mother — With your blessings, I’m off to chase the horizon. Happy mother's day to you!

In the heart of Mungaravalli - The Havyaka hospitality

 Before talking about this Malnad trip, I should give you an idea of its origins. S.O.C – The Strategic Observation Center – Our area buddies’ own christened hangout spot! SOC isn’t anything grand, just a corner we claimed as our own, a compound we sat on; but it is the beating heart of our little world. SOC is where time seems to slow down. Even to this day, we gather mostly after dinner or on lazy evenings, taking a stroll around the area, come back to SOC and talk about everything under the sun. The laughter, the debates, the teasing… it all blended into a rhythm that only we understand. Decade old codenames like Exhibit A, huLi (Tiger), Dr. Vitthal Rao, Stacy’s mom, 3rd PUC boys are encrypted even to this day. Our visit to Abhi’s century old ancestral home in Mungaravalli, Sagara was a plan conceived right there at SOC somewhere during pre-covid era. But thanks to the busy lives and schedules of all of us; And of course, Anil's moving to Nashik; Abhi's own startup, Alu's ABC diet and Swaroop & Chaitra's babysitting priorities; The trip was executed probably a decade after!

The expectation was simple enough — just a few quiet days in that century-old home, savoring authentic Malnad cuisine, soaking in the rustic charm and be back to our chores. We thought it would be a short retreat, nothing more. But what awaited us was far beyond what we had imagined. The warmth of the hosts, the little gestures of care turned those days into something unforgettable. Every meal felt like it was cooked with love, every conversation carried the ease of belonging, and every corner of that house seemed to whisper stories of the past. What was meant to be a brief getaway became a memory etched deep. The Havyaka hospitality truly bowled us over.

About the place

Mungaravalli is tucked in the lush green folds of the Western Ghats, a 6 km drive from the town of Sagara. The Malnad region of Karnataka is a land that smells of rain-soaked earth, freshly ground spices, and tender areca leaves swaying in the monsoon breeze. But beyond its scenic charm, what truly defines Malnad is its people — and among them, the Havyakas stand out for their deep-rooted culture and unmatched warmth.

Who Are the Havyakas?

They are a Brahmin community with origins tracing back several centuries, known for their traditional values, distinctive dialect of Kannada (Havyaka Kannada), and reverence for knowledge and simplicity. Primarily spread across Uttara Kannada, Shivamogga, and parts of Dakshina Kannada, they have long been stewards of the region’s cultural and ecological heritage. But more than their scholarship or cuisine, it’s their hospitality — gentle, genuine, and unpretentious — that leaves the most lasting impression.

A Home in Harmony with Nature

Abhi's century old ancestral home at Mungaravalli

The house was a world unto itself — A century old home with a red-oxide flooring, open verandahs, wooden beams polished by decades of care, and a courtyard with pillars that make way for a makeshift attic to dry the arecanuts in summers and a kitchen garden fragrant with basil and curry leaves. Right opposite the house, it stretched endless green: areca nut trees swaying gently, turmeric leaves unfurling, black peppers on the cusp of harvest. Everywhere I looked, nature wasn’t a backdrop — it was part of daily life. The Havyakas of Mungaravalli have a way of living that flows effortlessly with the seasons. It reflected a harmony with the natural rhythms of Malnad. I, Anil and Swaroop were more than just guests and found ourselves not just staying in a home, but in a living ecosystem that breathed generosity.

A Connection to Nature

Much of this hospitality springs from the Havyakas’ close relationship with nature. Their home was surrounded by areca plantations, paddy fields, and kitchen gardens — are sanctuaries of self-sufficiency. I was told, everything served to a guest often comes from their own soil: home-grown vegetables, freshly pressed coconut oil, and the day’s harvest from the backyard. The way aunty made way for our Sandhyavandane; showed the madi neeru (Holy water) and basil leaves and asked Anil to pluck it for his Pooja; the way Abhi’s uncle plucked cucumbers and green chillies from the backyard and prepared a salad – For someone like me who has only heard of 2 minute noodles, the 2-minute salad was the epitome of homesteading! I still can’t get over the ease of living that they are used to!

The backyard with sustainable mobilty

Hospitality in Everyday Life

In reality, we are nothing more than just Abhi’s friends who wanted to experience MaLenadu. But every home Abhi took us to, his relatives, his dad’s friends and neighbors, they all treated us with so much of love because we are “Mungaravalli Haribhat’s Son Nagaraj’s neighbours! Next time, even without Abhi, we can visit with the tag “Mungaravalli Haribhat’s Son Nagaraj’s neighbours" and they'd still treat us with the same vigor. We had uncle’s Zen Estilo with us for entire two days, so we could drive to Jog, Ikkeri, NiNaSam and other places. Abhi’s aunt took so much of effort to prepare steaming idli, freshly ground coconut chutney and a cup of aromatic filter coffee because we are from Bangalore. Refusing it is almost impossible — not because of politeness, but because every offering by her carried the warmth of the giver.

Festival

All set for Tulasi pooje

The day was TuLasi habba. I am told that the Havyaka hospitality shines brightest during festivals. Food took center stage — with an elaborate spread of dishes like Majjige Huli, Tambuli, Huli Avalakki, and the iconic Saasive, each carrying centuries of tradition were served. I and Swaroop decided to run an extra 5K when back in Bengaluru and declared it a cheat day **winks**. We were invited by their neighbours to the evening tuLasi habba! And they gave dakshine, because for them, it was Brahmans visiting them on festive day! I can’t recall when was the last time I did that to any of my brahman friends visiting home. **frowns**. There was also a short conversation on Queen Chennabhairadevi's bravery since she was from that region with neighbour akka, which I haven't done with anyone for long! In the midst of all these, Abhi's uncle understood our perpetual love for Midi mango pickles and arranged a bottle of those for all of us! How can I ever forget this! I Can go on and list a few hundred more things that made us happy there, in just two days!

This visit made me think; What is that they do so differently, that they won hearts in less than two days! What makes the essence of the entire Mungaravalli’s warmth so different from us? What makes their hospitality so memorable? For sure, one thing is convincing! Unlike the urban dwellers like us, what they offer the guests is not extravagance but sincerity. In a world that often rushes past, they embody the rare art of pausing for people – They genuinely invest their time to converse and connect with everyone. I say this because of the 10 odd homes we visited in 2days, we were the same strangers for them, yet we experienced the same warmth! 

Whether you are a guest in their home or just an acquaintance, you’ll carry back more than just memories of scenic beauty; After two long months of this visit, that feeling follows me — We arrived as guests — And left as family.