Mrs Saraswathy's Memorial Book

teach me was that even failing was winning because she only cared
about us doing our best at everything and being resilient. The same
way she was proud that I eventually finished my cup of milk, she has
always motivated and congratulated me on both my achievements
and failures.
In my childhood, ammama was there to comfort me after my
irrational fits but in our most recent years of visiting her, we found
out more about our family history. There were several days, where
ammama would sit in her legendary armchair whilst shani and I sat
on the floor beside her completely entranced by her stories. I mean,
I thought trekking 48km on DofE was hard until ammama told us
about how she walked for miles and miles just to get into a position
where she could leave Sri Lanka during the wraths of the Civil War.
But the best parts of ammama's stories were when she spoke about
her beloved children, even though that is what annoyed amma, our
aunts and uncles the most. We were constantly asking ammama
questions about each family member's childhood just to bully them
about it after but not once did she say one bad thing about her
children, which is just the kind of person she was. She never spoke
badly of others, she was a very loving person and it was this
compassion that made her so endearing to so many people. Not
only this, but sometimes, when I couldn't sleep in the early hours of
the morning, I would always go into ammama's room to find her
reading old letters or looking at old pictures and I would simply sit
by bed whilst she kept me entertained with random stories,
ensuring that the few weeks I did spend with her would be fulfilled
and cherished for many years to come.
Ammama was so much more than just a role model to me, she was
my best friend; she knew the answer to everything. She was my
personal stylist (always rating new clothes I had bought), she always
offered me food (even though as a diabetic I have no clue where she
got half of her sweets collection was from) and every year, without
fail, she'd send me a birthday card with a gift of $100 inside, taken
from her collection of medicine bottles which she used to store her
money. I will never forget the last time I saw ammama, the morning
we were leaving Australia last year; I had