My mom was born in Kumbakonam, a town that carries the moniker of “temple town” in a state that has 30,000 temples. The other claim to fame for Kumbakonam is being the birthplace of the famous mathematician S. Ramanujan – a fact that she never let me forget while drilling into me the need to be good at math (Indian parents will always find innovative ways to motivate their kids). The other famous product out of Kumbakonam is its “degree coffee” – a strong brew generously laced with chicory and traditionally imbibed in brass cups to accentuate the flavor and aroma.

The temperature and strength of her coffee were 2 qualities that she was particular about. The daily morning ritual during my school days was as follows: My father would be sitting in the front portico reading his newspaper and my mom would bring the super-steaming brewed coffee in the pot with 2 glasses – lest that it would cool down when transferred to the cups. She would pour the coffee into the cups and enjoy it along with my Dad while chatting with him, as he read the newspaper.

While this daily love ritual was unfolding, there would be 2 creatures patiently waiting for this to end – my dog and me. I would wait for my dad to finish reading the newspaper so that I can dive into it – sports page first and then followed by the front page. My dad liked reading his newspaper unencumbered and the last thing he wanted was someone looking over his shoulder while reading the news. As for my dog, who would patiently wait till the moment my dad gave me the newspaper, he would get up with a spring in his step knowing that his morning walk with my father was imminent.

To be honest, I had forgotten about this for a long time till my mom’s recent stay in the hospital. I would allow myself a 15-minute break each morning in the hospital cafeteria to gather my thoughts, plan the strategy and jot the down the points to discuss with the doctors during our meetings and a hot steaming cup of coffee was my companion during this break.

While I will never get to enjoy a cup of coffee with my mom again, I am happy that she is back drinking coffee with her partner after 25 years. I am sure that she has a lot of things to tell him and get him caught up on. Miss you Mom & Dad and Chintoo, of course.

‘The valiant never taste of death but once’

(Julius Caesar)



After a gallant fight, my mom passed away on Friday – transitioning while lying in my arms, on a video call with her closest family, with a smile on her face and listening to her favorite devotional songs.

Working as a tourist guide for the past 30+ years, she was fiercely independent – financially and emotionally and was working up until the pandemic brought her industry to its knees. Her health problems started only after she realized that the prospects of her work, that was more of a passion rather than profession, began to dwindle.

London was truly a place that she loved, and she and I had recently discussed her relocating to London as she wanted to be closer to my brother and me and she preferred UK to the US. She lived with me for a considerable period during our Sloan year and enjoyed getting around town on her own on the tube. She was moved to tears on seeing Ramanujan’s statue in Cambridge, as she shared the same birthplace with Ramanujan. Our trips to Edinburgh Castle, Bath and other tourist places always had to be accompanied by a professional guide (a requirement she never compromised on). She was awe-struck by what nature offered during the drive on the Road to the Isles, trips to the Scottish Highlands, the Lake District and the moonscape-like vistas on the island of Skye. In a moment of overwhelming emotion, she held my hands tightly as we were standing for a pic in front of Shakespeare’s home in Stratford-upon-Avon and thanked me. When I dismissed her nonchalantly for this gesture, she recalled listening to her father liberally quoting lines from King Lear and Hamlet as a child and never once thought that she would be standing in front of Shakespeare’s home and that made her tear up.

She was a Math major in college and had this remarkable memory. Till she started using a cell phone, she would always remember innumerable phone numbers by heart – never once writing them down. As I analyzed her life, even her life story was a tale of this love with numbers. She was 24 when she got married, lost my father – her soulmate – at 48 and decided to say goodbye to me at the end of another 24 years, just in time to rejoin my dad on what would have been their 50th wedding anniversary.

When she was hospitalized in early March – mainly due the side effects of the medication that she was on to treat the rare blood disorder that she was diagnosed with in early 2021, I left for India within a few hours. I was with her for her entire hospital stay, willing her to get better while taking care of her like a child. Unfortunately, the combination of the fighting a deadly disease in an immunosuppressed state and the multiple organ issues took their toll. I was with her in the hospital for a total of…..yes, you guessed it – 24 days and she was in great spirits till the last day. Only when I sensed the pain in her eyes on the last day, did I tell her that it was okay to rest, thanked her for everything that she did for me, that I would always love her and that she would be with me forever in one form or another.

While it is incredibly gutting to lose her, there is a part of me that feels at peace knowing that she is no longer in pain and has re-joined my dad, catching up with him after 25 long years and relishing the joy that she truly deserved.

‘Death lies on her like an untimely frost’ (Romeo & Juliet)