SWEET MEMORIES: Family, Friends and Adventures

By Dr. Mariamma Thomas

Sweet Memories are a collection of my writings during the past fifteen years after retirement while living in Virginia Beach and Bettendorf. In both places I joined a writer’s club. The Bettendorf group leader Dr. Margie Schwaninger is an outstanding writer, motivator, and leader. When we took a break this summer, she challenged us to look at our old writings and to put them to good use. This book results from my “looking at my old writings.”

I wrote about a variety of subjects. Some were about our culture, customs, work, travel, members of the family and friends who influenced my life and made significant contributions to the world at large, some general topics such as security alarms, railways, Amish and Mennonite and so on. I also copied some articles of interest from my book “Memoirs of Pastor A.C. Samuel.”

I have referred to my husband as Daddy, John and at other times as Dr. Thomas in some of these articles. These topics cover life in India and the United States of America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823015028

Dr. Mariamma Thomas

Dr. Mariamma Thomas is a retired physician. She graduated from the Christian Medical College, Vellore, India. She extended her medical education and became a fellow of the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology. She worked as OB/GYN senior consultant at the Metro General Hospital and Assistant Professor in Reproductive Medicine at the Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio for 32 years. She grew up in India and has been living in the United States since 1961 and is a US citizen. She is also the author of “Memoirs of Pastor A.C. Samuel.” She lived in Cleveland, Ohio, Virginia Beach, Virginia, and Bettendorf, Iowa with her husband of 56 years, Dr. John Thomas. He passed away in 2017. They have three daughters and five grandchildren.

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© 2023 Dr. Mariamma Thomas. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  09/21/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1503-5 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1502-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023917932

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Foreword

Acknowledgment

1.     My Disappointment, God’s Choosing

2.     Recollections Of My Early Childhood

3.     Our Marriage

4.     Irene Starting LPN Course

5.     Threats Of Deportation

6.     My Arrival In The United States Of America

7.     A Decision Based On Faith With A Good Outcome

8.     The First Of My Several Business Trips

9.     My First Day At My Husband’s House

10.   A Miraculous Cancer Cure

11.   K.V. Thomas, Our Pappa

12.   Daddy’s (Dr. John Thomas) Childhood

13.   John’s Travel To Bombay At 15 Years Of Age

14.   Kuttyamma’s Formative Years In The Adappanamkandathil Family

15.   Meeting An Old Friend

16.   Emily Ann Thomas, What Is About Your Name?

17.   My Recollection Of Mrs. Taliano

18.   My Surgery

19.   My Eighteen Days In The Hospital

20.   My Visit To Cleveland For Mrs. Joy Jacob’s 90th Birthday

21.   My Birthday On April 14, 2020

22.   My Surprise 90th Birthday Celebration

23.   An Unusually Happy Christmas Week 2021

24.   My Dizziness Saga

25.   My Experience With Timeshare Vacations

26.   Our Second Car After Six Years

27.   The Panama Canal Cruise With Henry And Sharen Harrell

28.   Our Visit To Lakshadweep

29.   Pamela And Charlee Meeting On The Internet

30.   Emily’s Birth On Election Day, 1968

31.   Reflections Of My Mother On Mother’s Day, 2023

32.   A Sixteen-Year-Old’s Journey To The Nursing School

33.   A Tribute To My Dear Friend Dr. Viola Sukumar

34.   A Wise Advice

35.   Pastor A.C. Samuel As A Family Man

36.   Adjustments And Adventures With Our First Born, Louisa

37.   Bed And Breakfast At The Amish Place

38.   The Amish And The Mennonites

39.   Can Something Good Happen By Just Wishing?

40.   Happy Thanksgiving 2012

41.   Happy Thanksgiving 2017

42.   Madakkappam, An Indian Breakfast

43.   Memories Of My Dear Friend Dr. Elsie Philip

44.   My 2023 Easter With Mixed Blessings

45.   An Open Casket

46.   My Cousin Ammini’s Visit

47.   My Obituary

48.   Samuel Not A Miracle Man But A Man Of God

49.   The Three Pleasant Surprises Within Twenty Hours

50.   When I Felt Lost

51.   My Exposure To Snow

52.   Snow Birding In Florida

53.   Onam Celebration

54.   Railroads And The Trains

55.   My Best Friend From Age Ten To Twelve

56.   The Year I Spent With Uncle Mathews And Family

57.   My Big Brother, Sam Jacob

58.   Security Alarms

59.   The Fun Trips With My Daughters

60.   Pastor Joseph Mattew – Our Beloved Pastor Mon

61.   A Tribute To Mathunny Mathews, Toyota Sunny

62.   Ida Scudder, A True Daughter Of Christ

63.   My Blessings For Your Wedding Day

DEDICATION

Dedicated to my daughters, Louisa, Emily, Susy and their families and my brothers, Jacob, Kurian, John, and their families.

FOREWORD

Giji Thomas

Retired Officer from Indian Foreign Service and well-wisher

This book entitled ‘Sweet Memories’ contains an exhaustive list of 63 odd articles on wide and varied topics. The author of the book is Dr. Mariamma Thomas, a towering personality in her professional life as well as in her social and extended family circles.

The sights and sounds she came across during the endeavors with the people she interacted over these years are very well etched in the write-ups. It will be a riveting reading experience for each one of you. In some places, language is a fine blend of prose and poetry.

Personally, I have the immense pleasure and privilege of writing a foreword to the collection of articles in the book. I am certain that prospective readers will receive the book with enthusiasm and interest.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I am grateful to the writer’s groups in Virginia Beach and Bettendorf. for their encouragement when these articles were written and read to them. We had thirty members in Virginia Beach, the most well-read, traveled, and published. They were generous with their criticisms and corrections. The Bettendorf group was smaller but equally eloquent and knowledgeable. Both groups were friendly and encouraging. The Bettendorf leader, Dr. Margie Schwaninger, always gave a written critique, which was very helpful. Thank you, each one of you, for your encouragement and recommendations.

My children, Louisa Parrish and Susy DiCello, made suggestions for writing some of the articles. They selected topics of interest for them, the grandchildren, and other young people to become acquainted with essential family members, Indian customs, and culture. Thank you, Louisa and Susy.

Thank you, Reena, for the detailed, loving writing on Mathunny Mathews/ Toyota Sunny. He was loved by many, and he loved us also dearly. Thousands of families are indebted to him for the job opportunities he provided and, above all, for arranging transportation for those who wanted to leave Kuwait during the Gulf War.

Thank you, Leela, for allowing me to include the essay you wrote when you were in Hope College about Dr. Ida Scudder my medical college founder.

Thank you, Giji, for writing the forward despite you being sick and on antibiotics. May God give you a speedy recovery.

I am much obliged to Juliana Binto for assembling and Grammarly checking all the articles. Kent Cornish completed the remaining work, making sure every detail was perfected. He even selected the book’s name, Sweet Memories, and choreographed the front page to represent the contents. Thank you, Kent, for your patience and outstanding work. I am much obliged.

Thank you, Lloyd Smith and Raven Tan from Author House, for your assistance in getting Sweet Memories published.

1

MY DISAPPOINTMENT,

GOD’S CHOOSING

GOD’S CHOOSING

I remember wanting to be a physician from the time I could recall. I don’t know a particular incidence or time when this thought occurred. During our wedding reception in 1961, my 5 th -grade teacher reminded me of how I had volunteered during the first day in class to tell them that my goal was to become a medical doctor. At that time, I didn’t know of a relative or a friend of the family who was a physician. But my parents’ work certainly was a source of inspiration.

Two years before I was born, my parents left their hometown in central Travancore, Kerala, India, and made their home in the suburbs of Trivandrum, the capital of Kerala. Their calling was to preach and teach the word of God to the underprivileged people in Trivandrum.

During this time, India was struggling to achieve Independence from British rule. Mr. Mahatma Gandhi, Mr. Javharlal Nehru, and others attempted to change the country. Among these was the status of the underprivileged, low-caste people. Mr. Ghandi changed the name untouchable to Harijans – god’s people. The untouchables were for centuries regarded as the refuse of society. In 1950, two years after India achieved Independence, their name was changed to Dalits, and they were given scheduled caste status. While most upper caste prejudiced opinions remain the same to day, the 1950 law guaranteed some Dalits specific societal positions. Today, many highly educated and well-placed men and women are among the Dalits.

My parents’ love and concern for these scheduled caste people touched me. Under their leadership, many churches were born. The children started to attend schools. The older folks learned to read and quote the Bible. The sick got better—many left witchcraft, alcohol use, smoking, and prostitution and expressed hope in life. I witnessed the radical changes in lives. At the same time, I recognized that I didn’t possess the patience or the faith my parents demonstrated. I had a great longing to help those in need. That was the beginning of my desire to become a physician.

I selected the premed classes in high school and graduated with high ranks. But when I applied for college, I was denied admission for premed classes. I had selected the group of subjects that my school recommended as premed, which didn’t include Mathematics or Physics. Knowing this, I took private high school physics and mathematics tuition during summer school vacations. I was a good student, but it didn’t make any difference to the principal. She went with the rules and refused admission. Finally, she suggested that if I get permission from the university chancellor, perhaps she can make an exemption.

I met with the university chancellor. He was very sympathetic to my cause. He wanted to help but was afraid if he broke the rule for me, he would have to do the same for other students. He feared that if he made the exemption, some of them might be unable to handle the extra load.

He told me that my best option was to try and secure admission out of state. At age 16, that was almost like going to a different country. In high school, I learned all the subjects in my local language. I learned to read and write English as a second language but could not speak proficiently. The medium of instruction in college would be English, whether I attended college in my state or out of state. I was prepared for that. But the problem was that they spoke a different language out of state. Besides that, there was the extra expense of transportation and accommodation. Again, what were my chances of finding entry in another State if I couldn’t find admission in my State?

One of my cousins had applied for admission to Sarah Tucker College in Tamil Nadu, our neighboring state. I sent my application with a letter explaining my sad situation and requesting private tutoring in physics. The reply came: admission sanctioned. The physics professor will offer private tutoring."

Recently, while reading the biography of Dr. Ida S Scudder, the founder of the medical college where I studied, I discovered that the very first student Dr. Scudder selected for her medical college also attended the same undergraduate college where I was privileged to learn.

I was very disappointed when I couldn’t find admission in my home state. But I am confident it was God’s will. At Sarah Tucker College, I stayed in the dormitory. That gave me extra time to concentrate on my studies. I completed the courses with high honors. That helped in securing admission to the medical college.

2

RECOLLECTIONS OF MY

EARLY CHILDHOOD

I grew up in Trivandrum, Kerala, S. India. My parents settled in Trivandrum in 1932, and I was born on April 14, 1933. It was customary in those days for the expectant mother to be taken to her mother’s house for the delivery.

My grandfather’s boatman, Avarachan, came with the family houseboat, and my father’s older sister, Achamma, a midwife. They wanted to take my mother and my two older brothers, Jacob, who was six, and Kurian, who was three, to the Adappanamkandathil family house in Central Kerala. At the time, my mother was seven months pregnant with me. They went through lakes and rivers, broke the journey halfway through, and reached Koipuram, my grandfather’s town, the next day. My mother started to have contractions while they were on the way, which scared the life out of my aunt. She asked Avarachan if he could row the boat any faster. He did the best he could and got them home safely. My mother’s contractions became less frequent, and I was delivered two months later.

When they returned to Trivandrum, they brought Avarachan’s oldest daughter, Sosamma, to care for me and help my mother with household chores. Sosamma became like a member of the family. Years later, after her marriage, she joined her husband, who was employed in Trivandrum. She visited us often and told us about her enjoyable time while staying with us. She told us how in the afternoons, when my mother took a nap, she would close the bathroom door, kneel, and pray for hours. God blessed her and her family because she trusted in God and hard work.

We stayed in Manchadivilla, Trivandrum, for ten years. I remember going to school church and visiting the neighbors. I remember the house and the neighborhood. The compound was enormous. It was not far from Bethel, our present home in Nalanchira. The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Gomez, an Anglo-Indian Catholic family, were friendly and helpful to our family. Mrs. Gomez was very fond of my mother. She often sent home chicken curry and hoppers, homemade bread that looked like pancakes.

The house was modest, with a thatched roof and cemented floor. It sat at an elevated level so the surrounding land could be seen from a distance around the compound. The house was swept daily to keep the dust away. We depended on cross ventilation through the house to keep it cool. There was no running water, indoor plumbing, or electricity.

The kitchen was old-fashioned. Across one wall, at waist level, was a built-in cement platform. Half of it was used for cooking, and the other half was used to keep the cooking vessels. The cooking area was further raised from the platform and divided into three or four stoves, or separate cooking areas. Each had an opening in front to place the firewood and a circular opening on top with three elevated knobs to place the cooking vessel. It would also allow the extra heat to escape. We used firewood, coconut shells, and other combustibles to build a fire. The cooking vessels we used were mostly clay pots; there was a separate vessel to cook fish, another for meat, and another for vegetable items to avoid possible mixing of the residual smell of the food.

Near the house, my mother raised a vegetable garden. She grew beans, okra, bitter gourd, cucumber, chili, and other vegetables. One year, she grew corn, highly unusual in South India, and had a successful large crop. In my mind, I still savor that juicy corn.

There was no paved road to the house, only a walkway. My father would ride his bicycle on the narrow path from the house, walking it where the ground was not level before he could get on the main road. The house was a long way off from the public road.

We drew water from the well about fifty yards from the house. The well yielded crystal-clear water. There were other smaller houses in the same compound where some farm workers lived. They, too, drew water from the same well. Water was hand-drawn from the well and kept in large vessels in the kitchen for cooking. We collected water for bathing in a separate large tub in the bathroom. The bathroom was indoors, but the toilet was several yards away from the house.

Near the well was a large pond, but the water was invariably muddy. The workers brought their bulls to the pond, bathed them, and gave them water to drink. Women from the neighborhood also cleaned and washed their clothes in the pond.

Water from the pond drained into a small stream to the end of the property and supplied water for the fields. In one corner of the pond, the women workers-soaked coconut leaves and kept large stones over them to keep them from floating. When the leaves softened, they took them out and sat under the shades to braid them. The leaves were then spread out over large areas and dried under the sun. The paaya fronds were stacked in piles and used to thatch the houses.

Behind our house was a long stretch of coconut and Arrack nut trees. It was prevalent in those days for people to chew beetle leaves with Arrack nuts, a bit of tobacco, and a wedge of lime for pleasure. They kept the concoction, named paan, in their mouth for hours, either chewing it and spitting the reddish saliva out whenever possible or swallowing it—many developed mouth cancers from tobacco chewing. With rigorous advertisement campaigns and persistent education, tobacco was left out of the paan. However, Arrack nuts remain a prime ingredient in the spice mix, which is still often chewed after a sumptuous Indian meal.

Besides the coconut trees, mango, cashew, and several other trees were in our backyard. When the mangoes ripened, they fell to the ground from the wind and the rain. I remember collecting these mangoes with my younger brother in the early morning. Kids from the neighborhood would also be there as the early bird gets the worm. Because we arrived so early, we had to use a flashlight to help us see the fallen fruit.

The kids knew where the cashew trees were. At night, the bats eat the flesh from ripe cashew fruit and drop them around the tree. Collecting the fruit was a lot of fun as there would be several kids and a ton of cashews on the ground. We would collect the cashew fruit in a basket and bring them home. Later, we would separate the cashew nut from the fruit and throw away the fruit. Adults from the family also enjoyed shelling the cashews with the kids. Periodically, we would set a fire outside and roast the nuts.

My brothers Jacob and Kurian went to school in town. Jacob had a good heart. When he came home from St. Joseph’s High School, he saw a beggar beside a roadside ditch. He stopped by and asked if the man was hungry, and the man replied yes. Jacob went to the nearest coffee shop and bought a cup of coffee for the man. Along the way, he grabbed a coconut shell. Jacob poured the coffee into the shell and fed the man. A neighbor saw Jacob’s kind action and reported back to us. The family was very proud and praised Jacob for his kindness.

As Jacob had been a troublemaker in the school, my father was so happy that he threw a graduation party for the boy when he graduated. These parties were uncommon, but my father’s relief and pride in Jacob’s success showed that the party was worth it. My father invited Jacob’s teachers and placed white linen on the tables where they served the delicious Indian food that my mother had prepared.

A few years back, our second daughter, Emily, visited us in Cleveland, Ohio, with some of her doctor friends. Anna, one of our friends, appreciated the hospitality we offered. She somewhat misguidedly expressed great admiration for my becoming a doctor after having grown up walking to school with no shoes on. Anna always wondered about the disparity in our lifestyle- how my family could afford live-in help but no shoes for the children. Little did Anna realize that in those days when we walked to school, nobody wore shoes! Things have changed now. Families own cars, and kids are transported by school buses while all children wear uniforms and shoes to school.

Our house had a front veranda where my father kept his wooden easy chair. It was his favorite chair. The chair had a cloth seat on two rods, one at the head end and the other where the leg piece starts. The chair would have wooden handles to keep his hands stretched and another set to keep the legs up.

My mother was very strong in her faith in God. She found out that the previous owners had buried their infant child inside the house where we were staying. My father kept his bed over the area where the child was buried and slept well all those years.

Just about every day, around three in the afternoon, my mother noticed a beautiful music-like sound coming from one of the bedrooms. She and some visitors and workers looked around to determine where the sound was coming from. They were sure it was not an intruder but could not rule out the possibility of demonic disturbance. Among the locals, such conclusions were not uncommon.

Finally, the women concluded that no devil would come around when my father was home. So they asked him to conduct an investigation. One day, my father was resting on the front veranda and could hear a pleasing sound like a string quartet from the bedroom. It would stop and start again. He got up and went to the bedroom and, in no time, solved the mystery. The sound was the wind blowing on the lantern hanging from the bedroom ceiling. In the afternoon, when a breeze came into the room from the open window, the lantern moved and made a musical sound. When there was no wind, there was no music, which explained the periodicity of the music. There went the theory of the haunted house.

We attended the Bethel Nalanchira church, which my father started. We lived in Manchadivilla, Trivandrum, for ten years. The people there loved us, and we loved them very much. I fondly remember my early years living in Manchadivilla, Trivandrum.

3

OUR MARRIAGE

J ohn completed Chemical Engineering at Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas, and came home to India to be married. He had written to his father to select a bride for him, which was the custom at that time. On the first