My dear uncle, my Nau Kaku, passed away this morning. He was 64. A very accomplished orthopedic surgeon, he spent his entire career serving at the West Bengal Government hospitals, while also having a private practice where he generously treated many people as their personal physician. He leaves behind his loving wife, and two talented kids.
This month as been tough on our family. My aunt, my father's older sister by three years, passed away only a few weeks back, and now my uncle, who was six years junior to my dad. The family is grieving. At times like this I wish I could be there with them, to hug them, to care for them. This is the curse of living abroad, so far away from family, we cannot hold their hand in times of need. All we can do is hold them in my heart and send them metta. May their pain ease away and the space be filled with beautiful memories that last a lifetime.
My uncle and I shared a special bond. My earliest memory of him was during a Durga Puja in Barrackpore, must be 1978/1979 or so, when I was just a toddler. We used to visit Kolkata on every Durga Puja, and for those five days it was joyful abandon all the time. My mum did not have the power to restrict me in any way, my dad was always laughing and going with the flow, and I ran from one uncle to the other, playing and giggling, eating all the sweets I could, and going on morning walks with my grandpa at the Palta water treatment plant clutching his little finger with all my might. At nights, there used to be cultural presentations at the local puja - we Bengalis are like that, give us an occasion and we will happily put up a grand show of music, drama, poetry, dance, and everything else, we are quite a cultural lot. Being a young kid of only two or three, for those five days there was no restriction of sleep time or food. I was like a free kite, flitting away from one elder to the other, doing whatever I felt like. At night I went with them to watch the cultural presentations at various pandals, sometimes precariously balancing my little bottom on the 2-inch middle rod of my uncles' bicycles, and behaving so much like an adult! But the day-long non-stop excitement usually wore me down every night, and I would fall asleep on the lawn chairs at the puja venues, only to burden my uncles to carry me home in a rickshaw or on foot.
My first strong memory of my Nau Kaku is from one such evening. I had fallen asleep on the chairs at a puja venue, about a mile or two away from home. I remember vividly, as if it was yesterday, he softly spoke in my ears, and lifted me onto his shoulders. In my half sleepy-half wakeful state, I remember the warmth of his embrace, there was kindness and gentleness in his touch. As he walked me home, I remember the vibration of his heart against mine, his breath in my hair, the gentle rolling of his every step passing through my body. It was very soothing and peaceful, my hands were around his neck, my throat against his carotid and I could feel his pulse as if intertwined with mine. This was his affection, and I savored it. For about two miles he carried me home, ever so gently, never once changing sides, lest he woke me up. It couldn't have been easy, try carrying couple gallons of water on one hand for two miles without letting it splash, you'll know. I had my new shoes on, sandals, and I had played in the dust all day, making them extremely muddy and dirty. And as my Nau Kaku carried me home that night, my shoes kept brushing against his new clean shirt, making it so dirty that it could never be washed and made anew (believe me, my mother tried!!). We were quite poor then, the number of shirts my uncles had were limited, this was quite a loss for him.
Years later, I remember his wedding. I was just enough old to understand the excitement of the various ceremonies. I remember being by his side all through the four days, stuck to him like a magnet, even at his in-laws' place I wouldn't lose sight of him for a moment. I remember helping him dress up for the wedding, putting Chandan on him with cloves dipped in the fragrant paste, and then putting the topor on him. It was such a delight! He looked so handsome!
He had this habit of touching our ears. He would sit by us, and touch the softness of our ears, never pulling them, but just playing with it. It was both endearing and irritating at the same time for all us cousins, depending on the mood we kids had. He would playfully threaten us that he is coming after our ears, that he will eat them, that they are so soft and yummy. And we would squeal and run, with him playfully chasing us about, until my grandma would scold him and put a stop to our "try and catch me" game.
I did not get to see him for most of my growing years. Last time I met him was around the time my mum was passing, in late January 2012. He had come over to visit my mum, and to placate my father. My mum was in bad shape, and my father very distraught. To have his doctor brother beside him, even for a few hours, gave my father some relief. Little did we know then that in six years time he will be gone too. My uncle developed a heart condition and it just got worse over time, ending with many months of suffering. Late last week he was hospitalized, and then had multiple organ failure. He hung on for several days, possibly waiting for his son to arrive from the US and say goodbye. Today my aunt and cousins are writhing in grief, my heart resonates with them, for I know how painful it is to loose a loved one. My father, my sister, and me still remember our own experience quite vividly.
Whether we like it or not, whether we want to accept it or not, this is the reality of life. We are born and we pass away. All this we have around us, our possessions, material and emotional, are but ephemeral. When the life force has to go, it just disappears like the blowing out of a flame. I think of this often, sometimes every passing hour. Since my mother's passing I have been volunteering at a local hospice, I get to see many patients and families, and I get to see the wide range of emotions surrounding death. Our society, our culture, reviles death, and does not recognize it as something just as natural as birth. May be it will change one day, maybe one day we will make peace with the flame going out.
This month as been tough on our family. My aunt, my father's older sister by three years, passed away only a few weeks back, and now my uncle, who was six years junior to my dad. The family is grieving. At times like this I wish I could be there with them, to hug them, to care for them. This is the curse of living abroad, so far away from family, we cannot hold their hand in times of need. All we can do is hold them in my heart and send them metta. May their pain ease away and the space be filled with beautiful memories that last a lifetime.
My uncle and I shared a special bond. My earliest memory of him was during a Durga Puja in Barrackpore, must be 1978/1979 or so, when I was just a toddler. We used to visit Kolkata on every Durga Puja, and for those five days it was joyful abandon all the time. My mum did not have the power to restrict me in any way, my dad was always laughing and going with the flow, and I ran from one uncle to the other, playing and giggling, eating all the sweets I could, and going on morning walks with my grandpa at the Palta water treatment plant clutching his little finger with all my might. At nights, there used to be cultural presentations at the local puja - we Bengalis are like that, give us an occasion and we will happily put up a grand show of music, drama, poetry, dance, and everything else, we are quite a cultural lot. Being a young kid of only two or three, for those five days there was no restriction of sleep time or food. I was like a free kite, flitting away from one elder to the other, doing whatever I felt like. At night I went with them to watch the cultural presentations at various pandals, sometimes precariously balancing my little bottom on the 2-inch middle rod of my uncles' bicycles, and behaving so much like an adult! But the day-long non-stop excitement usually wore me down every night, and I would fall asleep on the lawn chairs at the puja venues, only to burden my uncles to carry me home in a rickshaw or on foot.
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| Your seat is empty, Nau Kaku, but you are in my heart as a beautiful flower, now and always |
Years later, I remember his wedding. I was just enough old to understand the excitement of the various ceremonies. I remember being by his side all through the four days, stuck to him like a magnet, even at his in-laws' place I wouldn't lose sight of him for a moment. I remember helping him dress up for the wedding, putting Chandan on him with cloves dipped in the fragrant paste, and then putting the topor on him. It was such a delight! He looked so handsome!
He had this habit of touching our ears. He would sit by us, and touch the softness of our ears, never pulling them, but just playing with it. It was both endearing and irritating at the same time for all us cousins, depending on the mood we kids had. He would playfully threaten us that he is coming after our ears, that he will eat them, that they are so soft and yummy. And we would squeal and run, with him playfully chasing us about, until my grandma would scold him and put a stop to our "try and catch me" game.
I did not get to see him for most of my growing years. Last time I met him was around the time my mum was passing, in late January 2012. He had come over to visit my mum, and to placate my father. My mum was in bad shape, and my father very distraught. To have his doctor brother beside him, even for a few hours, gave my father some relief. Little did we know then that in six years time he will be gone too. My uncle developed a heart condition and it just got worse over time, ending with many months of suffering. Late last week he was hospitalized, and then had multiple organ failure. He hung on for several days, possibly waiting for his son to arrive from the US and say goodbye. Today my aunt and cousins are writhing in grief, my heart resonates with them, for I know how painful it is to loose a loved one. My father, my sister, and me still remember our own experience quite vividly.
Whether we like it or not, whether we want to accept it or not, this is the reality of life. We are born and we pass away. All this we have around us, our possessions, material and emotional, are but ephemeral. When the life force has to go, it just disappears like the blowing out of a flame. I think of this often, sometimes every passing hour. Since my mother's passing I have been volunteering at a local hospice, I get to see many patients and families, and I get to see the wide range of emotions surrounding death. Our society, our culture, reviles death, and does not recognize it as something just as natural as birth. May be it will change one day, maybe one day we will make peace with the flame going out.
