A Ride Down Memory Lane - Taragram

There are some people who come into your life as part of your everyday routine and before you realize it, they have become family. For us, that person has been our travel companion from Erode, who for years drove us to Coimbatore, Bangalore or Kerala. Reliable, cheerful and always just a call away, he’s seen us grow through life’s milestones and we’ve seen him through his own. 

Recently, we called him again for a trip to Coimbatore. This time, he shared that his son has gone to hostel as he is preparing for his board exams. As he is growing up he was exploring other business options, since long hours of driving had started to take a toll. Over the years, he often spoke about how much he respected my mom how she had been a mentor and a sounding board during his tough times, especially when he faced family or financial issues. He used to say he had picked up his love for Tamil novels from her. I still remember the routine: once my mom finished a novel, it was passed on to him next.

A few weeks ago, we attended my niece’s wedding in Ram Nagar. While walking around that area, I noticed a saree shop called “Taragram.” The nameboard looked exactly as it had two decades ago. I pointed it out to my dad and brother, reminiscing about old times. Later that evening, when our driver came to pick us up and we passed the same shop, he smiled and said, “I remember this place. I had brought you and your mom here. She had bought something and I dropped you back to college.”

I was stunned. That was twenty-four years ago. I laughed and told my brother, “See, I told you!” But what he said next caught me completely off guard. He told me that around that time, his brother had kicked him out of their joint travel business. He was left with just one car and didn’t know where to begin in a small town like Erode, especially when reputation and word-of-mouth meant everything. Unsure and nervous, he had approached my mom to tell her about his situation, saying he would no longer be with his brother’s agency, but if she was comfortable, she could use his car directly.

My mom, as calm as ever, just said, “Can you arrange the cab tomorrow? I need to go to Coimbatore.” He was overjoyed as this was his first independent booking. They left early the next day. After reaching Coimbatore, she asked him to take her to Gowri Shankar Annapoorna. For people of Coimbatore they know how famous its for for its sambar. He assumed she’d have lunch before heading to visit someone. She did have lunch and then stepped out to buy a few Tamil novels from the corner shop.

When she returned to the car, he asked where next.
She said back to Erode. Puzzled, he asked if she doesn't have to go anywhere in Coimbatore. She smiled and said, “You came to me asking for business because you’re starting on your own. It wouldn’t be right to send you back empty-handed.”

When he told me this, after all these years, I was speechless. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. I had always known my mother as a strong, loving woman but it’s stories like these, shared years later, that reveal how deeply she touched lives around her.

Every time I hear one more of these memories, I feel both grateful and heartbroken; grateful that I was hers and heartbroken that she’s gone. The void she left is one that no story, however beautiful, can fill. But these stories remind me that her kindness still lives on quietly, in the hearts of those she helped without expecting anything in return.