62/100. The beautiful bride? That’s my Didishona – 24 and a half years ago. And that’s me in her saree. And I wore this on the 12th… Two years since… And today, two years since the text below was read out by my cousin on my behalf at a memorial service for her, I still can’t find any new words to feel or say… So, here goes:

“Four foot nothing yet eight feet tall. That’s how I have always thought of my Didishona. When she was 14 years old to my 4, I had to literally look up to her. But, though I caught up and then overtook her in terms of height by the time I was 12 to her 22, the looking up never stopped. The fact that she is truly inspirational – in her courage, grace, dignity and sheer love of all that makes life worthwhile, is something you all know.

But what I want to share is who she was to me, to our family. Let me tell you about an incident that happened two years ago. While introducing me to a doctor acquaintance of his, my father referred to me as, “My daughter, Sudeshna.” Now this had happened before also, but since this gentleman would be writing out a prescription for me in just a few minutes, I turned apologetically to the gentleman and said, “Erm, actually, my name is Sukanya. Sudeshna is my elder sister.”

Sudeshna is technically my ‘cousin’, not my sister. But in my heart and in hers and in our parents’ hearts, we have always been sisters. She lived with us from when she was 14 to when she was 18. Her college years were spent in a hostel, and then when she started working, she stayed in a working women’s hostel as we call them in India. But as she studied and then later worked in the same city, she was more often home, than not. And the person who is richer for this is me. In her, I had an endlessly creative playmate who never tired of playing with someone 10 years younger; her voice as she hummed and sang around the house is the soundtrack of my childhood. Painstakingly stopping and starting cassettes to note down lyrics of the latest Abba songs in that brown diary; my first curlers and my first coloured eye-liner; and yes, my first trip away from home without my parents – are all moments and memories that tie us together. I ‘interviewed’ the guy she was thinking of marrying – Suvasish da. While she subtly scoped out the guy she thought I was getting a crush on. She was 26, I was 16.

She turned 28, I turned 18 and suddenly, in years, we were not even in the same country. Since 1992 – 21 years ago – we haven’t met that often, haven’t even really talked that much, or even emailed. The fault was mostly mine. But, when you have a sister as obstinate as she is, you are just not allowed to let go. You are not allowed to forget family, or friends. You are taken to task, made accountable – never with a complaint or with a gibe. But with that belly-laugh of hers that made the distances – physical and otherwise – just disappear. With her for a sister, you are not allowed to forget love. You are not allowed to be cynical. And you are not allowed to forget how to truly live while going about the business of living.

I can kind of guess what she’s doing right now. Probably working on a painting of that unearthly flowering creeper. Or taking a quick workshop with the heavenly choir on a sweeter way to sing those harmonies. Or maybe, she’s busy offering comfort to an old lady who’s missing her grandchildren. All this, of course, in between keeping an eye out on all of us down here. She has touched each of us with her love – and we are all richer for having been part of her life. Now it’s time for her to work her special brand of magic where she is right now. Love and Godspeed.”