Didi Pratim passed away on Monday evening, leaving her husband, her children and my mother brokenhearted. Back home from the funeral, the latter told me the following story:
- Ene fois kan nou ti bien tipti, mone gagne laguerre ek Pratim, mone mette li lor lili mo batt li, batt li, batt li, gros,gros kalott. Line saisi, line ress en place. Apres sa mone gayn sagrin, sagrin, sagrin. Mone penser kuma mone batt mo ti soeur et mo lekerr in gros. Zamé mo pane re-laguerr are li encore depi sa. Nou fine ress dakor ek proche toute longue nou la vie.
Mo soeur ti content mwa extra buku, li ti frazile frazile et tout le temps mone rode protez li. Kouma li ti content kan mone amene li promener l'Inde ek mwa. Sak fois li tane dire mone gagne kiksoz, harr-harr, li pou galoupé li pou vine gett mwa, li pou maye moi li pou plorer.
This paragraph sums up perfectly a sisterly bond that lasted over 07 decades. I feel for my mother, losing her two brothers was hard enough but this unexpected demise of her sister has come as a terrible blow to her.
As for me, I have attended 03 funerals within 04 days, all due to a strange set of circumstances which has undoubtedly left me with scars. I need to find a way to process all the shock and sorrow accumulated during this black September.
At home, I have this picture portraying my nani, mum, didi Pratim, mamou Babu and mamou Sanju. It was taken in 1950 and I often look at it. It brings me to a place that I have certainly not known but which makes me feel secure and comfortable, as if all the rough edges of life had been removed at the moment the photograph was being taken. I often ask myself how come I feel nostalgic about a period that I have never lived in and I figure that it probably comes down to creating or editing a world in my head.
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| Until we meet again in my nostalgia, goodbye for now didi Pratim |
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