It seems just yesterday and not twenty years and ten days when I got up hearing her calling me. I tried all numbers available at that time without success. Mobiles had not come in vogue then. I was still working in Centre for Rural Development (CRD), SNDT Women’s University, in 2000. I somehow managed to go through the two meetings scheduled that morning then took leave for the day and uncertain period and went to the station to book train ticket for Calcutta. I was 43 then and would go to the station to book ticket personally. CRD was situated in Juhu campus of SNDT Women’s University. I would have had to take a bus to Santa Cruz station, and take local train to Churchgate to buy a ticket. There was ticket available for a train starting from Kurla that night at 8.00 p.m. I do not remember the bus or to and fro local train journeys or how I managed the money but I got a reserved ticket, went to Kalina, packed bag and reached Kurla Terminus just in time to board the train, Gyaneshwari to Calcutta.
I remembered Chhoto, lying in the train. Chhoto, Dr. Deepa Dasgupta became Dr. Deepa Ganguli at one time but she remained the same person inspite of experiencing the travails of Indian womanhood. I could never imagine her older than me even though she was ten physical years when I was born. She was youngest of my father’s siblings and I oldest of mine. She was 24 years younger than my father. The equation is simple, very evident to me but difficult to explain. I was born old and she remained young forever. She was the first degree holding Doctor in the family. She had come some time back to Bombay for a check-up. She had acquired cancer. Yes I say this, as a person like her, could only have acquired it, otherwise cancer would not have the guts to come to her. We were going in a taxi and suddenly she said removing her wig giggling with her familiar twinkle in her eyes, look at my bald head. Next moment she was crying, she did not want to die before her children settled. She was hurt people kept complaining about her son. I said seriously how he resembled my father. That got her smile back as she loved my father. But immediately she said you do not tell in front of anyone. People will have another issue for complaining. She was happy about her children only bugged about people not being able to accept her happiness. We both had a good laugh on our shared knowledge.
I remember when she started studying medicine she would check out the visible veins on my body and name them. I was around nine then and she was nineteen. All her friends would come home. Pishi, my other aunt would say, she (Chhoto) remained youngest member of the family even after she married. Getting cancer did not curb her spirit. She started helping people suffering from cancer. She went straight to seeing her patients after her chemotherapy. When she started recovering she got head full of curly hair. When people praised her new hair style she would laugh.
Next morning I learned my co-travelers lived near Chhoto’s home and the day after early morning they dropped me in front of her home. Chhoto had been hospitalized and was coming back later. She started chatting the moment she came home as if I was the patient. Seeing my brother’s (her son’s) face I knew she had very few days to live. I enjoyed being able to see her and spend time with her next three days. While giving her a sponge and cleaning her I saw her inside was all corroded but she became the genuine host to whoever came to see her. The day I was leaving I made two plaits for her and she looked like 11 years young with me in her lap, a photo my Kakamoni had taken and got prize for. With that image I took leave from her and took train for the long journey to Bombay.
Two days after reaching Bombay I was very sick, could barely pick my head up. The doctor checked and rechecked my Blood Pressure, it was unusually low but I refused to take any medication. Third day morning I was absolutely fine, as if there was nothing wrong with me. Again there were scheduled meetings to catch up on missed working days. It was 28th June 2000. It was only at night I got to know that she passed away before noon. I realized that I was subconsciously holding her, not wanting her to die, which was taking a toll on my body and her too. I let go, again subconsciously, the third day setting her and myself free. I will not be surprised other members of my huge family report similar experiences, for all the differences and diversity, we are all strongly connected with each other.
Chhoto comes as alive as the day in taxi giggling away. None of my experiences are super human or abnormal. These are everyday life experiences. I see her peeping through the eyes of her grand-daughter. The little one comes to me comfortably and sits on my lap even though our meetings are hardly regular, not even once in a blue moon. My rationality defies me but acceptance of diversity is very much part of my rational human existence. Chhoto lives not only in her grand-daughter she lives in all of us and spreads unconditional love and care for one and all.
