Remembered Mummy so much on 5th September, Teacher's day. Opened this page to write something, but couldn't - going through all that is already on this memorial, brought back too much of the distress we went through last year.

"Mummy, I hope you are well and at peace, and looking out for us. We still need your hand on our heads, blessing us and giving us strength."

Mummy was a person of action, and more importantly, whose actions and words were matched in all ways. She maintained a straightforward approach in speech, as well as in her actions. I have had the misfortune of having people in my life who are glib talkers, who talk of principles and values, while being totally duplicitous in their actions and life. And I am so thankful to Mummy, who gave us such a direct and unapologetic approach towards not accepting grey and black.

Another thing that Mummy was very particular about was living within her means - even if it meant extreme frugality. She was not in the least concerned about appearances. I would like to explain via an example:
Mummy purchased her house in Sarvodaya in 1978. It was in the same lane as Nanaji's, but in block D. When we acquired it, it had one and a half floors constructed. The Ground floor was empty and the first floor, which was half built up, already had a tenant family, by the name of Chatterjee - a merry family of 4 and a dog named Julie.
Sandy and I were thrilled, as she was too, I am sure. For her, it was a big step forward. After widowhood in 1970, she had already spent 8 years in her father's house. It was a period of struggle and coming to terms with how her life would be like and she had had time to regather her strength and make up her mind to be strong for herself and her children.
She sold off all her jewellery, keeping only 2-3 items, that reminded her of some happy events of her married life: her engagement, Sandy's birth and mine. She also took some loans from her siblings and accumulated the amount needed for the purchase.
Right from the start, she had a plan for saving money, to pay off these loans. She decided to live in the front two rooms of the Ground floor, renting out the rear two rooms. A small kitchen was built in the rear of the house for the next tenant family, that would live on the ground floor. 
I remember the shifting even now - everyday, after returning to Nanaji's from school and finishing lunch, we would run across to the new house with hangers and packets full of our clothes and other belongings. The first few days were full of scrubbing the house clean and organising our lives. Mummy, in her typical quiet and self-sufficient manner, took charge of everything, doing most of the hard work herself. I do not remember much hired help being around for anything, for some years. No school days were lost, either for her or us, despite the added load that came for maintaining a separate establishment, with its own chore, and life in the new house gradually settled to being normal. 
We got used to coming back to a quiet house, that was our domain - in which to do as we pleased. Mummy's house was a pillar of support for her - a place she owned, where she and her children could have her own routines, we could be noisy at will... - it was really like a third, adult child for her - that sheltered us and provided her the much needed additional resources to pay off debts and secure our future.

I remember that till the debts taken for the purchase of the house were paid off, she did not allow herself and us, any luxuries. Food was cooked on a kerosene stove, there was no television, not even an electric iron - there was a coal iron that was used once a week, for ironing the week's washing. She only purchased a fridge, since it was really essential for preserving food in the Delhi heat. We were too young to understand the import or intention behind what she did - we lived in a house that did not have most gadgets or paraphernalia that others had, but were too mindful of the fact that we needed to be aligned with her in her plan to emerge out of our struggles.
It was an evening in the middle of the week and my school uniform shirt needed to be ironed. Since we did not have a batch of clothes to be ironed, I asked mummy and went over to the Dhobi, across the park to get it ironed. But the Dhobi was winding up his work and had emptied the coal iron - I requested him to please iron only the 1 shirt I needed. He replied that he wanted to get home in time to see Chitrahaar, and no more ironing would be done.
I remember being really shocked by that - I came home and told Mummy that even the Dhobi had a television. It was as if our impoverishment had hit a new low!

She, of course, had explained that it was not an essential item to have and we would buy these when we had money to spare. But till then, we had to be content with having a roof over our heads, healthy food and being educated in a good school.

Spending our formative years witnessing how she bore all the challenges life threw at her, has contributed a lot to how Sandy and I shaped out. And I for one, am very very thankful of having been there for her - in the minuscule way that I could support her by only being around. She had a single focus - getting our lives on track (good values, good health, good education, reliable career). She did not want us to ever face what she had - and while life & death were not in anyone's control, she did her best to ensure that we would never be caught helpless, if ever life dealt us any blow.

Thanks, Mummy, for being you. You were, and are, the lodestar of our lives. I love you lots.

In our childhood world, Mummy was the sun around which our lives circled - she was the friend, guide, father, mother, teacher.
It was a childhood filled with much love and surrounded by her parents, siblings and their families.
It was a childhood filled with stories, fables, mythological tales - all recounted by the master raconteur of our family. She had a strategy around it, in our formative years - she would start a story and with a very artful and clever use of words and looping in sounds, pique our imaginations to the extent that we would be hanging on every word she said, waiting for the next... and next...

And then she would stop! on some pretext or another.
She would leave the storybook with us and go on with other work in the house.

Sure enough, the next step for us would be to pore over the book in an effort to read how the story progressed and how it ended.

She would chuckle about it - it was quite a masterful way of getting her children to start reading and picking up language & vocabulary.

I still remember one instance very vividly - though there were no books involved in this. Mummy had returned from seeing the movie "Exorcist", and as was our demand from her after any outing of hers - we wanted the full story told to us.
So she started and as the story progressed, and the story got more ominous, we drew closer. It was evening & growing dark, and I remember, by the end, I was petrified of leaving the room.

I am 53 now and I have seen many horror movies over the years - But Exorcist? Nope !!
Never had the courage to see that movie - the feeling of evil, as portrayed in that move and that Mum created for us, when she told the story, still scares me.

She really had a way with words. :)

Remember me still, even if I go far away.
Even if the trappings of a new love shroud old ties of love and attachment, remember me still
If I remain close, yet distant from you, lonely & unrecognizable, 
Like the shadows, remember me,
Remember me still.
If tears drench your eyelashes, remember me.
One day, if play comes to an end on a dreamy night,
One day, if the journey of this life ends at the stroke of night, still remember me.
Remember me still.
One day, if my absence interrupts your chores on an autumn morning, remember me.
Remember me still.
If thinking of me, tears do not moisten your eyes,
Remember me still.

A year has passed since you left us—a long and hard year for all of us, since Covid cruelly snatched you away. It was just a couple of years ago, I was penning a note for your 75th birthday book.
Felt bereft and lost when you passed away for I had lost a friend, a mother, the protective arm around me and the hand over my head.

Many a time, when I come down the road towards the house from the market, I keep expecting to see you watering your plants (you loved your plants and nurtured them with great care) or pacing up and down the road, looking up to see if the tanks are overflowing yet.
“ Kaahan se aa rahi ho, Lekha Rani?” - I’d give anything to see you there and hear you say that, or to hear you humming away in the kitchen as you cooked.

It was heart wrenching and miserable to see you suffer the way you did. I keep telling myself, it was for the best and you are in a better place, but it is very hard to accept that you are gone forever and that you went the way you did.

We did not share a traditional saas-bahu relationship. You were very sure that you wanted us to be more like friends and with a healthy respect for each other’s space.
In spite of the many challenges you faced, you bore them all with great determination and fortitude, never complained and led by example.
You were happy with very little and are the one person I know who was happy with herself.
You were very content with what you had.

Your home, each brick of which was supervised by you as it was being built and renovated in 1998, was your biggest pride and joy. I marveled at your childlike excitement and enthusiasm playing games on your IPad – Candy Crush and Pet Rescue—and discussing your progress at every level with Kantu Mausi daily.

You were fiercely independent and insisted on doing most things yourself. You often told me, “your time to look after me when I am old and infirm will come, you do it then, do not spoil me now, I would like to do things for myself for as long as I can.” Alas, I never got the opportunity.

I have had some very special moments with you.
The one that immediately comes to mind is when Kaajal stood up for the first time in her cot. I was talking to you on the phone and to my astonishment, she just suddenly stood up in her cot and I squealed with excitement and you were also so excited and overjoyed.
When Kaavya was born, I remember you were the 1st one to hold her and she opened her mouth wide and made some noises, you told me that – yeh to gaana bahut accha gayegi, Lata Mangeshkar jaise. You spent the night with me in the hospital and told me so many stories and kept chatting away, keeping my mind off all the pain.
You counselled me many a time to be patient and positive with the girls and always told me - “Tum dekhna - they will do us all proud one day”. You took immense pride in your grandchildren’s many milestones and achievements.

Our trip to Shirdi and Nasik, the trip to Tirupati and Vellore Golden temple also bring back happy memories and I am so glad that I was able to take you there for you were so happy to have been there, especially Tirupati.

I was amazed at your determination and grit when you walked and were up and about in a few hours after your gall bladder surgery. You were, and are, one of the most brave, stoic, and strongest people I know.
You were like a pillar, rock solid, always there for us. I often joked saying that you would outlive me for sure, for you were that healthy and active - unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

I had so much more to imbibe and learn from you, Mom. I just hope that you bless me from wherever you are with the same strength, courage and positivity with which you led your life. There are so many precious memories and moments we’ve shared- its been hard to choose which ones to best remember you by, but I take comfort in knowing that they will always be there to draw strength and wisdom from.
Love you, and miss you mom.

“Dadi, what do you do all day?” This is a question I frequently asked my grandmother, at least 4-5 times a year as I grew up. As a kid loaded with schoolwork and extra curriculars, and as a young adult with a relatively active academic and social life, I was intrigued by the seeming contentment she found in her relatively consistent daily routine—praying, supervising the cleaning of the house, spending time in her garden, going for her daily walk, watching TV, reading and playing games on her ipad (a new addition in the last 10 years). Even if she’d go off on a trip with her siblings on occasion, or have to spend time away doing certain tasks, she’d always express a strong sense of relief on returning home. It was where she was most comfortable, content and in her element.

Upon reflecting now however, I realise that more than the physical location, it was the tasks at hand and the routine that she derived satisfaction from. Dadi was always a creature of habit- she derived comfort from predictability—and understandably so, since she’d dealt with the immense unpredictability of being a young widow and a single mom for a good chunk of her adult life. She drew strength from the disciplines she built into her day, and that’s something I would now like to build into my own life, to always have an anchoring factor and a sense of rootedness to keep me steady even in the most tumultuous of times.

Another set of vivid memories I have is from deep, wide ranging discussions we’d have on a whole range of topics- religion, politics, education systems, what it means to be a good citizen, a good person, responsibilities to family, trees, plants, people’s quirks—you name it, and we’ve talked about it. She was an effective raconteur- her tales or sermons were short, but to the point and with just enough artistry and detail to keep the listener interested. More importantly, she was the best listener, and I always felt heard whenever I spoke to her, even if not always understood. I know she was listening, because I’d seen how I may have influenced some of her perspectives through our talks over time; and she would recall things I may have mentioned in our previous conversations even though months may have passed between them.

But what I loved most, and will strive to emulate most from this set of experiences with her, is that despite the mindsets she may have held, or the values she agreed more with, she was open to hearing all sides of the story, and even to changing long held views as a result of conversations. And the age of the person giving her new knowledge wasnot a factor that inhibited her from learning something new.

Then of course, there were the “typical grandmother-granddaughter” things—the fridge that always had some sweet treat in it, the sharing of recipes, the cups of tea, the odd jobs, the promises of trips to be made together (sadly not to be fulfilled), the life updates and general sharing of knowledge. Also the scoldings, reprimands and admonishments. And here, what I took away was no matter how hard the conversation we’d have, she’d work to end it with a smile and an affectionate or encouraging word.

Many have described her as always smiling—I don’t know if that was always true, but she certainly tried to be that way, and to focus on the positive aspects of life. Sometimes, in the moment after a particularly hard talk it felt like she was in denial of what had just been discussed, but I reflect now that perhaps she was more focused on re-centring herself and maintaining her inner equilibrium. Being peaceful and at peace with herself was something that mattered deeply to her. It helped her be the strong, independent yet gentle and reliably companionable person she was in her retirement. She did not believe in shouldering unnecessary burdens. “Swasth raho, mast raho” was her mantra in retired life, and she lived it to her fullest. While I may not go about it in the exact same way she did (exercising the independence of thought she helped instil in me), I will take away the lesson of learning to make peace with myself and my decisions in life, to not get bogged down by the negativity around me, and to keep trudging onwards and upwards.

I honestly don’t know how to finish this piece of writing. You’d recall that’s always been my problem with anecdotal writing, and especially with you dadi, I really can’t say that my journey of learning and growing with you is over. Your memories, love and example will always illuminate my path ahead, and inspire me as I make my own way in this world. So strong that even her memories impart strength and fortitude—that’s my dadi! Love you, and miss you so much :’)

Mummy's 75th birthday was in 2019, and we set about planning an event around it.
But as was her way - she put a stop to it. For the last few years, she had started to dissuade us from doing elaborate gettogethers to celebrate her birthday or getting her gifts.

Instead, she mentioned that she had never seen the Taj Mahal. Apparently, Papa had taken her to see the Taj, when she was expecting me, and being in an uncomfortable state, she had not had the energy or the right frame of mind to enjoy & explore the beauty of the Taj.

So there it was for Sandy and myself - Mummy's 75th Birthday would be celebrated in Agra with a trip to the Taj, and all other places of visit nearby, with as much time as she liked to explore and appreciate the history and craftsmanship around. But more on this in another story...

We also printed a Photo book for her - accumulating various photos of her and birthday wishes from family, students and colleagues.

We presented the book to her during the trip on the morning of her birthday, and she was so thrilled to read what had been said about her and to see the photos of times gone by.

This photobook is attached - and is such a precious collection. Every time I pick it up, I am reminded of her pleasure on 11th November, 2019

A 4 day trip to Agra & Fatehpur Sikri with Mummy: 10th November, 2019 - 13th November, 2019

Mummy, Sandy and I have always been enthusiastic train travelers, liking its unrushed pace, interactive stops with opportunity to sample station food and conversations with strangers.

On the morning of 10th, before we started out, in a travel guide style, I presented Mummy & Sandy with a tour itinerary folder, containing their train tickets, day wise schedules and writeups about the different monuments we would visit.
The first half of the journey by Gatiman Express was spent in perusing the plan and discussing the various facts and special features of the different monuments. I was also the default photographer for the trip, armed with my DSLR & a newly acquired Fisheye Lens.

We had chosen to stay at a Homestay run by the family of Mohammed Faiz - It was another attempt to step out of the sanitized and distant world of hotels and experience the 'Gali - Kuchey' of Agra and interact with the locals and get their versions of how to appreciate the city.
We did it all - 
* Night View of the Taj, which was a bit of a damp squib due to poor visibility due to the smog due to the cold and the field fires
* Itmad-ud-daulah's Tomb (Bacchha Taj) with some cool hours spent in the Jharokha by the banks of the Yamuna
* Mehtab Bagh, with its fruit trees and the Taj View from across the Yamuna
* Taj Mahal in early morning light
* Agra Fort
* Fatehpur Sikri, with its unrealized ambition
* Dargah of Salim Chishti
* Akbar's Mausoleum at Sikandra
* Agra Markets for the Petha, namkeens and Jutis

It was a beautiful trip - one in which we shared our snippets about history, rulers, craftsmanship, religion, wars ... to enhance our combined absorption of the grandeur of Agra

Time flies...... the news still does not sink in

I had not been in touch with her physically but she always was and continues to remain a favorite and in my prayers.
She was the one person who I always looked up to with admiration and respect.
I do not know if I ever narrated this incident but in my whole life, I have received only one Slap, and that came from Joshi ma'am, class V B.
After the class I was summoned in the staffroom and she hugged me and said " More than the pain that I inflicted on your cheek, I am hurt".
Her words removed the pain and the humiliation from my heart.
A lesson I have learnt for life- Be strict when required, but remain human