The “goods” in the week of June 21st

Every morning my day starts by sitting in front of the photos of my parents. And then walking out to see the flowers that I planted in their memory. The photos were taken during our “happy” times, on our back deck during one of their visits to USA. With each passing year, they got frail but we captured happiness and youth and energy and froze it in a frame. Looking at those photos each day is one of my “goods” as I savor those joyful memories before I start my day.

On a mundane but important note, we are successfully maintaining our daily schedule with 2 cars. Each week we sit down and do some permutation and combination of who needs to be where at which time and figure out how we can work out the car situation. We have 3 working adults and one teen who is taking Summer Biology and swimming 6 days a week. On top of going to work we need to figure out his drop off and pick up. And so we have a family meeting every Sunday evening. We laugh.

I finished a graphic novel and am now reading The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah. That takes place in my blog of “goods” because my friends had betrayed me for a long time. Since the beginning of this horrendous ordeal I have not been able to focus on a single page of a book. I have written plenty, read none.

Last evening was special when our first born treated us to a lovely dinner with her first ‘real’ paycheck. I get emotional easy these days but as she pulled the check close to her to pay, I choked up. Her grandparents would have been so proud. I also had a pang since I shared all the milestones of my 2 children with their grand parents and this I can not.

Sean and I drove out to water front to have a morning together on Sunday.

Soon we will be going back full time to the branch. I am ready and it will be good for me. It helps if I move all the time. And work is a place where I feel my life is unchanged.

Ryan successfully finished his first week of Summer Biology and is urging a few of his friends not to quit summer classes even though the teachers are teaching an academic year long course within six weeks and the load of work is intense. He got accepted to be a Peer Educator for younger students in his school and I think he is very well suited for this job.

I have started listening to music again. It was bitter sweet since I listened to all the songs that baba loved and sang along. I was cooking as I listened to Hemanta’s golden voice. I cried with every song as I remembered baba’s voice yet it brought some respite.

I get happy speaking to Gouri, Breshpati, Khushi and mashi who are holding the fort for me back in Kolkata. I don’t really want to talk to many people right now. I do love talking to those women. I feel the essence and love of my home through them.

It is a joy to see Khushi’s smiling face peering through the camera.

This morning I got the news the man I entrusted to get ma’s death certificate has been able to collect it. It is strange that it is a part of “goods”. It is though since acquiring it was quite a process.

Obstinate ma plant is blooming a vibrant red.

Sometimes I struggle to write this post as often nothing seems good but when I end up writing it, the list of ‘goods’ surprise me. I hope your list of ‘goods’ is also long. Have a great week, all.

My companion, grief.

I carry a card in my hand bag which was sent to me by a liaison of a book club that I manage at work. Her card says, “The work of grief is formidable. I pray as you journey with it grief will go from being something in front of you so big you can’t see around it, to something that walks beside you and only occasionally trips you up, to something that eventually walks behind you. I am not convinced time makes grief all better but it does make it different…albeit slowly.”

I found her words to be so true. That is exactly how grief is accompanying me. The phase where it was all consuming and omnipresent in my life is almost ending but it is certainly walking by my side, staying close and tripping me up more than occasionally. All of a sudden, amidst long stretches of normal hours, especially at work, I am gripped by breathtaking sadness that leaves me hollow. Today I saw a regular customer for the first time after a year and a half. He does not come regularly to the library post pandemic and I am there for short hours as well. Anyway, once we saw each other we asked how we were doing. And then he asked how my family in India was, how were my parents? He had been following the devastation caused by Covid in India and he thought of my family. I had to tell him both my parents succumbed to Covid. His face registered shock at this news and discomfort. I quickly changed the subject so as not to prolong the dreadful conversation and to give him relief. He offered his condolences, we exchanged pleasantries, I helped him with a technical question and then we parted ways. I held my own during that uncomfortable conversation. But in the staff lounge, I broke down crying while talking to a friend. I warned her “Uh oh, I am going to cry” before the dam broke. And she said, “Cry. Let it all out.” I don’t recall if we were even talking about ma and baba’s death.

An acquaintance texted me about a question and asked how my dad was doing. Last we spoke ma had died and baba was still fighting. I had to write to her my dad too had died. She wrote back a message of condolence which, I am sure, was hard to write. I feel now I need to protect those who are asking me these innocent questions from discomfort and shock.

Sahana walked by ma’s photo and gently caressed it as she went by. A sob racked my body at this quiet gesture.

Thoughts like “who will buy fish now when I go home. I don’t recognize any fish and neither does Gouri” popped up in my head while going about my regular chores. My parents are dead and I am thinking of who will buy fish for me?? What an inconsequential and selfish thought but no matter, I got tripped up.

Grief is certainly walking next to me ever ready to pounce. It will again come to the forefront and obliterate everything else when I have to land in an empty Kolkata eventually. Just the thought of going makes me break out into hives. Isn’t it so ironical that a trip which was something I looked forward to every year, counted months and then counted days has become such a source of heartbreak and anxiety? City of joy is now bereft of any joy for me. Ma and baba were my joy. I think often whether I told them that and I remembered I used to say at the end of almost every phone call since the pandemic started “Issh, kobe je tomader dekhte paabo!” (I can not wait to see you). Destiny/fate whatever you call it, perhaps chuckled when I said those words. It shook its head and said, “Never. You will never see them in this life time.”

Reemergence

This fight against Covid was closest I have come to being in a war. There were no loud guns or tanks around me. There were, however, death, mayhem, suffering, desperation, helplessness. My entire being was engaged in figuring out how to avert crisis, how to procure help in a war like situation in Kolkata, how to communicate, how to arrange, how to keep my ma and baba breathing. I stopped eating and sleeping for many days. I was functioning and sharp when it came to making decisions about their health care but everything else around me fell by the wayside. My partner took over the running of my family in this part of the world while all my ammunitions were engaged to save my parents in the other side of the earth.

Despite all that, I failed. After their death, I was numb with pain and my brain, which had worked over time during this horrific ordeal, was tired and non functional. I had trouble making simplest of decisions for a while. I still have trouble focusing and I simply look at the books on my bookshelf but never pick one up. But Sean took good care of everything around here so I could focus on what was important at the time. Of late, I have slowly started engaging with the world again. It truly seemed like I was drowning. And just recently, I feel I am slowly emerging from a quagmire of sorrow and despair.

However, today at work I realized my brain has not completely shed all of the cob web from my recent bereavement. I am generally good at problem solving and figuring out solutions. Today, though, I got a phone call from a customer whose account was somewhat messed up and needed some detective work. While analyzing the problem, I thought I should be able to straighten it out yet my brain completely shut down while trying to find a solution. I called our customer service supervisor to solve the issue, which she did in a minute. Much to my surprise, I did not call myself an idiot. I acknowledged, instead, that I need time to be where I was before my “normal” was rudely disrupted and I will give myself that time. I am determined to nurse myself back to health. Self love is an important step in rebuilding and re-emergence. I will never be the same but I will learn to live with the void. It will take time and I will give myself that time.

My ‘outrageous’

On my day off, I went to a local hair salon and spent close to 2 hours to dye a streak of my hair green. My hair, once upon a time, used to be raven black. Now it is generously sprinkled with gray yet it took forever to bleach the natural color off that streak of hair to apply a mixture of 2 shades of green to get the fluorescent green that I wanted. I had not told my family that I was doing this. This was my ‘outrageous’. This was my getting some control over what just happened.

I am a naturalist. I had decided at the onset of graying that I will naturally let my hair go white. I was (and am) even looking forward to it. According to my hair stylist, who I love, I only have 20% of graying and still have a long way to go due to the volume and abundance of hair. Lately I have gone completely natural in my beauty regime. I have stopped using moisturizers for my face and body. I only use natural oil. My shampoo and conditioner have coconut oil. This ‘natural’ me went ahead and bleached a streak of my hair of all its natural color to apply a chemical! I am very happy with my decision although it is only the second day. At the end of this blog, I may even post a picture of my green head. But I was wondering why I did this. Why did I feel this need to go against my purist beliefs? And I deduced this was an act of gaining control. My life spun so out of control last month with such disastrous consequences that left me dumbfounded. Why did this happen to me? Why couldn’t I prevent it? Why was I so powerless? I have been restless trying to find answers to those questions. I think I am also slightly unstable in my thoughts, slightly crazy even. This silly act of coloring my hair with a ‘loud’ color is my way of manifesting my craziness and also asserting some control on my own self. I can do this. I can change the color of my hair at least. I did it.

The “goods” in the week of June 14th.

Since I started working I have had less time to write. I did not jot down the “goods” this week as they happened. So writing from memory which, unfortunately, is not a reliable source anymore.

I continue to enjoy Bengali delicacies, thanks to my cousin. It has been great therapy working in the kitchen with her. She has cared for me with all her heart during my time of bereavement. We organized my closet, went for walks, cooked, cleaned, talked, remembered.

I am slowly figuring out how to maintain my affairs in Kolkata till I can get back. I am still waiting for death certificates of my parents.

I get immense joy talking to Gouri, Breshpati and Khushi every week. They loved and cared for ma, baba and when I talk to them I still get the essence of my parents.

I asked Khushi, who is in grade 1, to watch less television and read more. She read The Ugly Duckling to me and I was amazed at how well she was reading. In 2019, when I last saw her, she was just sounding out words. It is simply wonderful to watch children grow. She also did some pretty artwork and her mother vouched for her – she has cut down on screen time.

I dyed a strand of my hair fluorescent green. Sean calls it the wicked witch of the West color and I love it.

Work continues to be a place of comfort and respite from pain.

I got to eat lunch with my dearest friend at work. She lost her dad last year and we found solace in each other’s company. Sharing our grief helped.

My flowers are still radiant and my obstinate ma plant has bloomed a vibrant red again.

We celebrated Sean on Father’s day. A few years ago I had asked him what were some of his favorite things in life. He said, “Being a dad.” My children are very lucky. Sahana made breakfast and Ryan made oreo cheesecake.

I laughed at the memory of baba on this day. “Happy Father’s Day, Baba!” I wished him. He always got discombobulated at this greeting and often responded with “Hmm…same to you!” Ma yelled from the background, “Arre, thank you bolo!” (Say thank you.)

I start my mornings by staring at their gorgeous photos and trying to come to terms with reality.

Have a good week everyone.

He gave me hope…

And just like that he has been gone for one month. And just like that one month will turn to two and then a year.

Baba had a zest for life. Although his knee hurt and then his hip, his hands shook and his pace maker had to make sure his ticker was ticking at the right speed, he never gave up his love for life. He got bored, sure, but then he found ways to stay engaged. He loved to read conspiracy theories and expounded on those with an impatient me and more patient Sahana. When Ryan was with him, the two of them egged each other on about who could bring up the craziest conspiracy theories. He loved martial art movies and especially Bruce Lee. And he loved cricket. He found the funniest posts on social media and reposted them. Then he liked his own posts, always! He learnt the basics of photoshopping and made collages and was mighty proud of them. He was always eager to learn new things, go to new places and try new dishes. Most of all he loved to eat and he loved to feed people. I can not believe I am writing about baba in past tense.

Since he loved to live, he gave Covid a valiant fight. He held on for 9 days after ma was gone. In fact, the nurse who took care of him was convinced he will get better. His vitals were improving and although his lungs were shot the doctors thought his chances of survival were over 70%. They warned me recovery would take time and there was a long fight ahead of us but he would, most likely, make it. He gave me hope.

In fact, I went to bed somewhat happy on the night before he died because his vitals were really good. Sahana had called him that day and he was so excited to talk to her that the nurse had to intervene. He knew Sahana was graduating from college and he wanted the link of her virtual ceremony so he could watch it. When Ryan came on to the camera to say hello to him, his face lit up even when he was strapped to oxygen.

He fought hard against Covid and many of us were his trusted soldiers. So many of us fought to keep him alive but we lost. This deadly virus ravaged this man’s body whose zest for life kept him going as far as will power could go.

I did not see my ma’s dead body but I saw baba’s face after his death. And I have to remove that face from my mind’s eye to see his regular, living, smiling face. Every morning I sit in front of both their gorgeous photos for a while before I start my day. In the photo, he has a smirk. I like to embed that smirk in my brain to remove the vision of his lifeless face. I also see so much of him, his big eyes, his mouth, his sense of humor, his love for food, his love for animals in his grandson. It is wonderful that he left this imprint for me.

Death certificates

It still seems unreal as I write authorization letters to people to collect death certificates for both my parents. “I here by authorize _______ to collect death certificate of my deceased mother and father……”

Those have not been collected yet and that is giving me anxiety because I need those to prove to the world that my parents are dead. As if it is not enough that when I land in Kolkata airport, two eager faces will never, ever greet me again. As if it is not enough that no one will gently stroke my arm when she sees me for the first time after many months with a smile so huge that her face could not contain it. As if it is not enough that no one will go outside the chaos of an international airport in India to call the driver of the car to come and pick us up and when everyone is safely in the car, pass us bottled water and bars of Fruit and Nut Cadbury chocolate. As if it is not enough that I, a non tea drinker, will never, ever, sit in the living room with them sipping tea for companionship and talking about life. As if it is not enough that someone will never go to the fish market and tell the fish monger that his daughter is home and he needs to buy the freshest catch. As if it is not enough that all the messages, all the video calls, all the show of love and affection came to a sudden halt. As if it is not enough that I walk among the flowers in the morning trying to believe that their energy is now merged with the universe but still can not convince myself. As if it is not enough that I constantly ask “why” and never find an answer.

The “goods” in the week of June 7th.

This week was a difficult one. There were times when I experienced some I-can’t-breathe moments. I wondered if I could write the “goods” blog this week since nothing seemed really good. However, when I dug deep this is what I found:

One of the donors in Sean’s organization had written us a kind note committing financial help towards efforts in fighting Covid in India. This week, I was told, they have donated $50,000 to help India fight Covid in my parents’ memory. That money is going towards PPE and to health centers in rural areas of India where need is also great.

Another Foundation Board member of Sean’s organization had special mass said for my parents in their church.

Ryan exceeded our expectation in his final report card for his sophomore year. This year was hard with online school. He said he felt unmotivated and struggled a bit. However, he worked hard towards the end and brought up his GPA significantly.

Sahana started working at a library in their outreach program as well as Starbucks. She brings us free drinks and coffee.

My cousin sister is a great cook and we are eating very well. I cherish her companionship and our shared memories of growing up together.

Right after I wrote the blog about my obstinate ma plant, it started blooming. I guess ma’s alter ego, the geranium plant, was done with my questioning and complaining . She decided to bloom again.

A friend first talked about dead heading in her garden. I had no idea what she was talking about till she explained that it was getting rid of dead leaves and flowers from plants to enhance growth. I am diligently dead heading my plants and I do see the difference in their blooms.

My coworker gave me a lovely container pot of cilantro, tomato and basil. The plants all look vibrant and happy. They are ready to be harvested and I am thinking of recipes.

We went to the movie theater after ages to watch In The Heights.

I have been craving to be near water. On Saturday we went to see the great falls. Standing in front of such power humbled me. I searched for my parents’ energy in the power of the falls. We come from water and we go back to water.

I have started reading The Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yogananda. Since I am of little faith, I do not believe in the miracles or rather, I am having trouble believing in the miracles he writes about however, I do like the footnotes where the meaning of Aum etc are explained. It talks about the power of good wishes and I believe in that.

Sahana downloaded an app for meditation on my phone. I intend to try.

Going back to work has been a blessing. At work I can pretend my life is normal. And I lose myself in completing my work. I feel like I have lost my joy but that is ok for now. I enjoy being in the company of my coworkers, I love helping customers and I enjoy doing background work and research for my classes.

Every morning I step out to say good morning to my plants with my coffee cup.

When I list my “goods” I see my blessings in a week that was not very uplifting and that is one of the “goods” itself. I hope you all have peace, happiness and blessings.

Digital graveyard

By Sahana

When you live half a world away from the people you love, you adapt. You learn, even if it’s not your forte, all the social media and video-calling and trouble-shooting when you can’t see the other person’s screen. It was simpler in 2007 when we’d go to an Indian grocery store and buy a pre-paid card and dial all of the numbers and hear the familiar cadence (that still rings in my ears once in a while): “Welcome to Reliance. Please enter the number you wish to call, starting with country code.”

But Skype broke onto the scene, so soon clunky desktops and attachable webcams were the norm, and then Facebook and Instagram and Whatsapp made immediate communication possible and we reveled in it. We called at any hour and we would talk for a bit only to call back later on with some new piece of information.

My grandparents were both pros online. Comments and posts were frequent and status changes were a daily occurrence. My grandfather tagged me and forty other people in almost everything he posted, even if it was in Bangla and he knew I wouldn’t be able to read it. My grandmother commented on almost everything I posted anywhere, even if no one else did. There were Photoshop collages on our birthdays and pictures and videos of new flowers in the garden and of food and of them dressed up and going to work in the community or going to weddings or picture of cute dogs. They left a mark on my internet spaces that I keep going back to and looking at, a once thriving and vibrant internet city, with flooding comments and posts and signals of life that meant things were good and normal and okay, a regular good morning and good night to start and end the days. It’s a monument now. A testament to the community they built. The friends they had and the family they started. I’ve been looking at old posts and messages a lot lately, until it makes me too sad.The posts aren’t sad, but the fact that there is a date past which neither of them were active at all, that’s the part that’s hard to look past.

Sometimes, despite all the techy-ness that both Didiya and Dadai exhibited regularly, there were some glitches (as there always are). Bios were hard and confusing and not really important. For example, Dadai’s says “At school”, which is honestly kind of amusing. But Didiya’s bio on Whatsapp, I hadn’t looked at for a while. And I don’t know why or when she made this her bio, or if it was a message to someone specific that was typed mistakenly in the wrong place. I don’t know if it was intentional (somehow I kind of doubt it). But still, it felt a little meant for us, for right now, when I looked at her bio on Whatsapp tonight and it read “Love you my sweet heart”.

The last message on Whatsapp I sent her was on April 15th, though we talked over Whatsapp after that too, ducking my head into the frame every time I saw my mom on the phone with her. The last time I talked to Dadai was the day before he died and he was so talkative that he got in trouble with his nurse for using too much oxygen. We talked about how I was going to be graduating soon and he asked me to send him a link to the ceremony and I said I would. I have a screenshot from that conversation, and in that moment, I don’t know why I took it, but now it’s the last picture I have with the two of us in it.

And as I go through their posts, and my own, and pictures in my mom’s albums, I think that we should have had more pictures and more videos and more conversations over the phone. More video calls and voice memos and games of ludo in their living room, eating aloo bhaja on the floor as I lose yet another game to my little brother, who had the unfair advantage of Didiya whispering the right moves to him and Dadai laughing at the ensuing argument. But most I think we should have just had more time. It was too quick, too sudden, too abrupt. And the shrines they built themselves online just feel like loss.

The obstinate ma plant.

Ma died on what was Mother’s day in my part of the world, May 9th. It was morning of May 10th in India. I had wished her “Happy Mother’s Day, Ma” for the last time that morning and she also wished me back happy Mother’s day from her hospital bed. Then she closed her eyes saying she was staying at her sister’s place for a while and she will go home in a few days. Those were our last words to each other. She fell asleep thinking she was at her sister’s house and never woke up.

Next day I planted a small geranium plant in my freshly weeded flower bed in her memory. I think back now on my mental state on that day and all I remember is a numbness and a desire to cultivate life. I planted that little sapling which had vibrant red flowers – a gift from Sahana on Mother’s day. After ma’s death and while we fought for baba’s life, I often sat next to the little plant and felt ma’s energy within me. In the next few days, I asked Sahana to buy whichever plants she wanted and bring them home. She bought some beautiful perennials and annuals and I planted them indiscriminately, almost feverishly. Gardening became a physical need in those days. Baba was still alive and the doctors were giving me hope. So while I planted my garden, I held on to positive thoughts – I will have one parent. I will have someone to go home to. But nine days later, he packed up and followed her as well while I was left with my flowers.

While my other flowers bloomed, the ma flower (I had come to call the geranium ma plant or didiya plant) shed all its flowers and became bare. The leaves are still alive and green but it does not have a single bloom. I ask it sometimes what it’s plan is. Why won’t it give us flowers any more? Sahana says “Didiya is just being obstinate or she got a hair cut.” We both laugh.

Ma was never into nature. She liked a pretty flower or green grass just fine but her joys were books and shopping. When they visited us in USA, baba sat outside looking at lush green and blue sky. He had a stillness about him that attracted bunnies and birds. Sage sat with him and kept him company. Ma on the other hand puttered around the house, cooked Indian food, played with the kids and gossiped with me. She loved when I bought salmon and when I took her to Target, Kohl’s or the mall. She went down to the basement and read my Bengali books, a collection which she helped me build up. She read those books several times while she stayed with us for months. She revisited her old friends, her favorite authors again and again.

It almost seems like ma is sending me a message through her non blooming alter ego, ma plant. She is telling me “Enough with all this gardening, get back to books, hit the stores, buy something nice.” Okay, obstinate woman, I will get back to books. I have not been able to read anything since I seem to gloss over life and words right now, but I will try to get back to reading. I draw a line when it comes to shopping though. I can not do it. I will not do it. I will just look at the glossy leaves of the obstinate ma plant instead of vibrant red flowers but I will still not hit the stores!