Written on APRIL 7, 2011
Posted by Pradeep
Dasat 1:11
PM
Though today is the fifth day without Budhi Mai (an aunt of mine), it is still
difficult to swallow the sinking truth that she is no more. She has been one of
the most integral persons in my life after my parents. One’s earliest memory of
her goes back to the mid fifties when I saw her first in Cuttack (in Orissa my roots in India) in Bada Mamu’s
(BM’s) (Eldest Uncle) place opposite the Convent. So patiently she taught me how to draw a
clock and hence how to read time.
Over the years whenever we visited Cuttack for our summer holidays at BM’s place, we always went to Choudwar to spend a few days with Mangu Mamu (MM her husband my Mother's younger brother) and her. I clearly remember the two quarters they had: the first corner plot quarter where Kunu was born, then the larger one where we cousins spent many a holiday. Those days she used to visit us in Kolkata every year. Her capacity to take care of the huge family of young cousins was immense. She was totally impartial in her dealings with all of us. Indeed those were the halcyon days of our lives.
MM was at the peak of his career with Kalinga Tubes during the sixties. He used to visit us in Kolkata almost every week, coming by the evening flight invariably. Quite often Mai used to come with Mamu. Once Kunu and Mana joined Loreto Convent in Darjeeling, she used to come to drop them at Darjeeling or Kolkata. She was always a quite understudy to MM those days, never imposing herself. They had a fantastic relationship based upon a deep understanding of each other, acceptance, love and humour.
She was indeed a busy body, always knitting, stitching, reading, looking after the huge joint and extended family or making pan! There was always a signature pan in her cheeks! She was highly artistic, always creating something. She was the connoisseur of miniatures: small bags, purses, etc. She decorated all her houses most tastefully, full of elegance and earthy colours. She had a touch of class in all she did which was a blend of contemporary, handmade art, wood, metals and earth.
As we grew older, there came a time when she was kind of heading a large joint family at Tulsipur (in Cuttack) with about 20 members. She always ran the house with a smile on her face. During holidays, the population increased with influx of cousins. We had a whale of a time. Playing carom, 29, or just bantering the whole day. Patiently she used to wait every day till Mamu returned from the club without a complaint. They were the pre TV days.
Around that time, MM took a momentous decision in his life by quitting Kalinga Tubes where he was GM to set up a brewery on his own, the first in Orissa. He was a visionary who was years ahead of his time. She stood like a rock besides him and gave him full support. Somewhere along the way, Mamu faced a lot of hurdles in running the brewery and finally he had to surrender control of his beloved company which he had set up. Though MM was disappointed, but Mai gave him all the support and sustenance to face the future with stoic calm.
My Father spent his last ten days in their house (1973). She worked tirelessly in nursing him ensuring that he got the best of care. I remember one small incident which shows her perfection in all she did - an incident which will forever be etched in my memory. While my Father was being fed, a teaspoon was needed. She ran all the way down to the dining table and brought up the teaspoon herself. This exemplified her love and devotion. 26 years later, my Mother spent her last days again as fate would have it in MM’s place. This time too, she gave Mother all the care she needed though she herself was getting on with age. This bonding with Mai is something I shall deeply cherish till my last breath.
MM passed away one year after my Mother. Mai led her life after that with quiet dignity and always showering all her love on one and all. Her house was the centre of our universe. No visit to Orissa would be complete without a trip to Tulsipur to visit her. After Bada Mai passed away, Budhi Mai kept the entire brood (of our huge extended family) together as the towering Matriarch dispensing her love therapy to all.
While Titili (her daughter, my cousin) was here in Bangalore, we had a good fortune of having her in Bangalore. Often after dinner, Baby (my wife) and I used to drive down to Titili’s place to spend some time with her. It used to be our great pleasure to bring her to our house. The last time she came to Bangalore was during Manali’s (my daughter) marriage. It was indeed our great privilege to have her, Billy Mausi, Mausa, Fulu Mamu and Bulu Mai (uncles and aunts).
The last time I saw her was at Tutul’s marriage in April this year. Both of us had gone and could spend some time with her during the marriage. It’s difficult to accept the numbing reality that she left us all hardly two months after the marriage.
Finally I would like to mention that I had written several letters to her after my Father’s death. These long letters to her were filled with all my existential angst and outpourings about the meaninglessness of existence. She was one the very few persons I could write freely about life’s emptiness. We used to laugh about the ranting in those letters always whenever we met. Her innate understanding of my Salingeresque and Kafkaesque thoughts bordered on Zen and the Divine.
She used to read a lot. She loved sensitive stuff from the Chicken Soup for the Soul and lately Robin Sharma’s books including Monk who sold his Ferrari. There will never be another her. She was the very epitome of Zen Flesh, Zen Bones…..I will leave all of you near and dear ones with a beautiful Zen piece in her honour.
“The Last Poem of Hoshin
The Zen master Hoshin lived in China many years. Then he returned to the northeastern part of Japan, where he taught his disciples. When he was getting very old, he told them a story he had heard in China.
This is the story:
One year on the twenty-fifth of December, Tokufu, who was very old, said to his disciples: I am not going to-be alive next year so you fellows should treat me well this year.'
The pupils thought he was joking, but since he was a great-hearted teacher each of them in turn treated him to a feast on succeeding days of the departing year.
On the eve of the New Year, Tokufu concluded: 'You have been good to me. I shall leave you tomorrow afternoon when the snow has stopped.'
The disciples laughed, thinking he was aging and talking nonsense since the night was clear and without snow. But at midnight snow began to fall, and the next day they did not find their teacher about. They went to the meditation hall. There he had passed on.
Hoshin, who related this story, told his disciples: 'It is not necessary for a Zen master to predict his passing, but if he really wishes to do so, he can.' ‘Can you?' someone asked. ‘Yes,' answered Hoshin. 'I will show you what I can do seven days from now.
None of the disciple’s believed him, and most of them had even forgotten the conversation when Hoshin next called them together. 'Seven days ago,' he remarked, ‘I said I was going to leave you. It is customary to write a farewell poem, but I am neither poet nor calligrapher. Let one of you inscribe my last words.'
His followers thought he was joking, but one of them started to write.
'Are you ready?' Hoshin asked. 'Yes, sir,' replied the writer. Then Hoshin dictated:
I came from brilliancy
And return to brilliancy.
What is this?
The poem was one line short of the customary four, so, the disciple said: 'Master, we are one line short.'
Hoshin, with the roar of a conquering lion, shouted ‘Kaa!’ and was gone.”
One final Zen Haiku for her…..
“Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water.
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken.
Although its light is wide and great,
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide.
The whole moon and the entire sky
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass.”
Over the years whenever we visited Cuttack for our summer holidays at BM’s place, we always went to Choudwar to spend a few days with Mangu Mamu (MM her husband my Mother's younger brother) and her. I clearly remember the two quarters they had: the first corner plot quarter where Kunu was born, then the larger one where we cousins spent many a holiday. Those days she used to visit us in Kolkata every year. Her capacity to take care of the huge family of young cousins was immense. She was totally impartial in her dealings with all of us. Indeed those were the halcyon days of our lives.
MM was at the peak of his career with Kalinga Tubes during the sixties. He used to visit us in Kolkata almost every week, coming by the evening flight invariably. Quite often Mai used to come with Mamu. Once Kunu and Mana joined Loreto Convent in Darjeeling, she used to come to drop them at Darjeeling or Kolkata. She was always a quite understudy to MM those days, never imposing herself. They had a fantastic relationship based upon a deep understanding of each other, acceptance, love and humour.
She was indeed a busy body, always knitting, stitching, reading, looking after the huge joint and extended family or making pan! There was always a signature pan in her cheeks! She was highly artistic, always creating something. She was the connoisseur of miniatures: small bags, purses, etc. She decorated all her houses most tastefully, full of elegance and earthy colours. She had a touch of class in all she did which was a blend of contemporary, handmade art, wood, metals and earth.
As we grew older, there came a time when she was kind of heading a large joint family at Tulsipur (in Cuttack) with about 20 members. She always ran the house with a smile on her face. During holidays, the population increased with influx of cousins. We had a whale of a time. Playing carom, 29, or just bantering the whole day. Patiently she used to wait every day till Mamu returned from the club without a complaint. They were the pre TV days.
Around that time, MM took a momentous decision in his life by quitting Kalinga Tubes where he was GM to set up a brewery on his own, the first in Orissa. He was a visionary who was years ahead of his time. She stood like a rock besides him and gave him full support. Somewhere along the way, Mamu faced a lot of hurdles in running the brewery and finally he had to surrender control of his beloved company which he had set up. Though MM was disappointed, but Mai gave him all the support and sustenance to face the future with stoic calm.
My Father spent his last ten days in their house (1973). She worked tirelessly in nursing him ensuring that he got the best of care. I remember one small incident which shows her perfection in all she did - an incident which will forever be etched in my memory. While my Father was being fed, a teaspoon was needed. She ran all the way down to the dining table and brought up the teaspoon herself. This exemplified her love and devotion. 26 years later, my Mother spent her last days again as fate would have it in MM’s place. This time too, she gave Mother all the care she needed though she herself was getting on with age. This bonding with Mai is something I shall deeply cherish till my last breath.
MM passed away one year after my Mother. Mai led her life after that with quiet dignity and always showering all her love on one and all. Her house was the centre of our universe. No visit to Orissa would be complete without a trip to Tulsipur to visit her. After Bada Mai passed away, Budhi Mai kept the entire brood (of our huge extended family) together as the towering Matriarch dispensing her love therapy to all.
While Titili (her daughter, my cousin) was here in Bangalore, we had a good fortune of having her in Bangalore. Often after dinner, Baby (my wife) and I used to drive down to Titili’s place to spend some time with her. It used to be our great pleasure to bring her to our house. The last time she came to Bangalore was during Manali’s (my daughter) marriage. It was indeed our great privilege to have her, Billy Mausi, Mausa, Fulu Mamu and Bulu Mai (uncles and aunts).
The last time I saw her was at Tutul’s marriage in April this year. Both of us had gone and could spend some time with her during the marriage. It’s difficult to accept the numbing reality that she left us all hardly two months after the marriage.
Finally I would like to mention that I had written several letters to her after my Father’s death. These long letters to her were filled with all my existential angst and outpourings about the meaninglessness of existence. She was one the very few persons I could write freely about life’s emptiness. We used to laugh about the ranting in those letters always whenever we met. Her innate understanding of my Salingeresque and Kafkaesque thoughts bordered on Zen and the Divine.
She used to read a lot. She loved sensitive stuff from the Chicken Soup for the Soul and lately Robin Sharma’s books including Monk who sold his Ferrari. There will never be another her. She was the very epitome of Zen Flesh, Zen Bones…..I will leave all of you near and dear ones with a beautiful Zen piece in her honour.
“The Last Poem of Hoshin
The Zen master Hoshin lived in China many years. Then he returned to the northeastern part of Japan, where he taught his disciples. When he was getting very old, he told them a story he had heard in China.
This is the story:
One year on the twenty-fifth of December, Tokufu, who was very old, said to his disciples: I am not going to-be alive next year so you fellows should treat me well this year.'
The pupils thought he was joking, but since he was a great-hearted teacher each of them in turn treated him to a feast on succeeding days of the departing year.
On the eve of the New Year, Tokufu concluded: 'You have been good to me. I shall leave you tomorrow afternoon when the snow has stopped.'
The disciples laughed, thinking he was aging and talking nonsense since the night was clear and without snow. But at midnight snow began to fall, and the next day they did not find their teacher about. They went to the meditation hall. There he had passed on.
Hoshin, who related this story, told his disciples: 'It is not necessary for a Zen master to predict his passing, but if he really wishes to do so, he can.' ‘Can you?' someone asked. ‘Yes,' answered Hoshin. 'I will show you what I can do seven days from now.
None of the disciple’s believed him, and most of them had even forgotten the conversation when Hoshin next called them together. 'Seven days ago,' he remarked, ‘I said I was going to leave you. It is customary to write a farewell poem, but I am neither poet nor calligrapher. Let one of you inscribe my last words.'
His followers thought he was joking, but one of them started to write.
'Are you ready?' Hoshin asked. 'Yes, sir,' replied the writer. Then Hoshin dictated:
I came from brilliancy
And return to brilliancy.
What is this?
The poem was one line short of the customary four, so, the disciple said: 'Master, we are one line short.'
Hoshin, with the roar of a conquering lion, shouted ‘Kaa!’ and was gone.”
One final Zen Haiku for her…..
“Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water.
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken.
Although its light is wide and great,
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide.
The whole moon and the entire sky
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass.”
