ct Day 44. What can you say about a 60-something-young woman who left us all and retreated into another world before going far far away? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved life. And me.
When I was little and anyone told me (actually everybody did) that I resembled my father, I would be very upset. “I am a girl”, I would insist angrily, ” how can I look like HIM?”. And then adding for good measure “I look like her.” That’s her. My aunt. My father’s sister. The life and soul of our family. The apple of everyone’s eye. And she deserved every bit of it and more. I was her girl.
When my mother was in hospital for five months, she filled in. Almost every weekend I would go over and stay with her. And once when for some reason I had been unable to convince everyone that I would go to her home (as I often did) from school, I still insisted on not boarding the bus home from school.
When I fell ill, she brought me chicken stew every day till she managed to convince my grandmother into cooking chicken at home. She had a way with words. She did.
From childhood, we grew up listening to stories of what a brilliant student she was, what a graceful dancer. With time, she proved something else. She was a great fighter too. One who would never give up. One whose spirit never died. And one whose smile never went away.
This sari was a gift from her to my mother on one of her birthdays. They were not just sisters-in-law but great friends too. From going to the market to watching films to exchanging saris to consulting each other on every other issue and confiding in each other, they stood by each other through thick and thin.
The memories are boundless, some crystal clear and bright, some hazy with the passage of time or moist eyes…but each one close to my heart, our hearts.
Every compliment I got today is yours. For those eyes that lit up on seeing me. For the love in those eyes.