My name is…

A beam slowly dawned on her face like the gentle rise of the sun. It tuned into a smile that expressed joy that was ebbing from her inner being, her eyes expressing that rising emotion with a twinkle. Her eyes were locked with mine, her head up as we connected. We were strangers and a magical connection was at play. What she said next surprised me.

It was a beautiful morning in Chennai, India. I was there on vacation from California. The yearly trip I make with my wife to spend time with our families. I was staying with my sister and brother-in-law. We enjoyed our morning filter kaapi (coffee) and we decided to walk around the apartment complex and enjoy the outdoors for a bit.

The apartment complex was a haven, walled off from the noise and buzz of Chennai that was more than awake for the day. We made our way through the clean walking paths that circumvented the many buildings and parks in the complex. It was the perfect setting to catch up on family matters and various other topics that we enjoy discussing. From politics, to psychology and everything in between, our exchanges offered intellectual fodder in a loving and caring atmosphere. My brother-in-law, a psychiatrist by profession, resorted to the exploration of the arts and history in his retirement. His seemingly endless stock of knowledge and insights fed my curiosity and kept many long conversations going.

As we turned a corner, I noticed a lady walking towards us. I figured that she must be another denizen of the apartment complex getting a dose of healthy living following the morning cup of filter kaapi. As she approached us, she displayed her familiarity with my brother-in-law and sister and smiled.

The lady was old, perhaps in her seventies. She was clad in a cotton sari and carried herself well, demonstrating her general well being.

We stopped. My walking companions and the lady greeted each other and exchanged some pleasantries. They inquired into each others’ well being. My sister introduced me to her.

“This is my brother. He’s visiting us from the US”.

I cupped my hands in a namaste and showed her my respect.

“Where in the US are you from?” the lady asked me.

“California. Sacramento, California” I said.

“My brother’s son lives in California” she said quite excitedly while establishing some common ground with me.

“That’s nice!” I said.

“I hear that life is good in the US” she continued.

“Certainly yes. I live with my wife and two children and we feel blessed to be living there” I said.

“What do your children do?” the lady dug in with curiosity.

We went on with small talk for another minute or so.

“My name is Ramesh”, I introduced myself.

“May I know your name?” I asked.

A beam slowly dawned on her face like the gentle rise of the sun. It tuned into a smile that expressed joy that was ebbing from her inner being, her eyes expressing that rising emotion with a twinkle. Her eyes were locked with mine, her head up as we connected. We were strangers and a magical connection was at play.

“My name is Mangalam” the lady said. She was clearly happy to vocalize her name, and a tad shy like a young girl. “No one has asked me my name in a very very long time.” she said with a mixed emotion of happiness and sadness.

I was puzzled as were my sister and brother-in-law. I couldn’t fully comprehend what she said as it sounded impossible.

“Why is that?” I asked the lady, who we just now came to know as being “Mangalam”.

Everyone calls me “Aachi” she said. “My husband, children, relatives, friends…everyone”.

The light bulb in my head turned on. The mystery of Mangalam’s anonymity was solved as soon as I heard the word “Aachi”.

In Southern India, specifically in the Chettinad and Karaikudi regions, “Aachi” is often used to respectfully address women of the community, not just family members. The word can mean many things in context:

• Mother or elder woman or even grandmother
• Eldest sister
• Wife

Mangalam’s many roles defined her identity for so many years that her real name became irrelevant in the world around her. “Aachi” was her worldly moniker. “Managalam” was unknown and others did not have any need to address her other than as “aachi”. Yet the soul beneath the name, untouched by worldly labels, seemed to have quietly followed its path of dharma.

I then fully understood why Mangalam was so excited that I asked what her name was. It seemed like her true identity was reestablished after many decades and after many hundreds of people who communicated with “aachi”.

Mangalam is a Sanskrit word that broadly means auspiciousness, good fortune, or positive outcomes. It’s deeply rooted in Indian spiritual and cultural traditions, often invoked to bless beginnings, rituals, and life events.

So my brief encounter with “Aachi” had an auspicious and positive outcome inn revealing Mangalam to herself.

This experience made me wonder who I will discover if I stripped myself of my name and the hundreds of labels that both the world and I have slapped on me. I will still have a breath, compassion and a purpose like Aachi? Perhaps greater clarity and calmness in observing the named world around me? The inner observer?

I have not seen Managalam in about five years. My sister says that she often asks how I am doing. In turn I ask my sister how Mangalam is doing. Yet, are connected in our minds fully wishing each other the best.

I will make it a point to call on Mangalam on my next trip to Chennai and address her respectfully as “Mangalam Aachi”.