On May18, 2012, at around 12 noon, Babimasi, my maternal
aunt passed away.
BabiMasi, as my aunt was fondly called, was my Mother’s younger sister, the youngest of her four siblings, the baby of the family, the one aunt who was a universal favourite, one who kept her heart close to all of us nephews and nieces and of course to her children.
And with her last breath a generation passed away.
Over the last few days, our family – the entire extended
family on the maternal side – has been expressive in their outpouring of
condolences for the bereaved – but in truth all of us are feeling a sense of
loss, a sense of having lost every connection we had to our parent – the last
vestige gone, never to return.
BabiMasi, as my aunt was fondly called, was my Mother’s younger sister, the youngest of her four siblings, the baby of the family, the one aunt who was a universal favourite, one who kept her heart close to all of us nephews and nieces and of course to her children.
A school teacher with a difference, my aunt taught in a
unique children’s play school, called “Bal Ghar” – meaning House of Children
and in teaching children in a creative
fashion, a novelty all those years ago, she herself remained innocent in a childlike way.
Come summer and my mother used to pack our bags and bundle all
of us for a vacation in Ahmedabad: and in alternating turns I spent my summer
vacations at both my aunts’ houses.
Looking back today, those summer months away from school were the ones
during which I did the most learning – I learnt about my language and culture,
about my family, about my grandfather but most of all about life and the people
who loved me.
Babimasi was one of those people. Come to think of it, I never saw her angry.
Anxious yes. Worried yes, Hysterical even. Sad, serious, forlon, wistful. But
angry… never. Now that I think of it, my holidays spent there were really
carefree and the only strain on my little brain was to tell her what I wanted
to eat at the next meal!
She loved children. And in that show of strength she’d call
all her nephews and nieces and we’d have a grand lunch in her kitchen.
Yes she was a great cook. I was too young to decide what I liked.
Maybe my older siblings and cousins remembered her best dishes, I only remember
the love with which she cooked them. And the love with which she fed us. And
all who came to her home.
In paying her a tribute one cannot leave out my Uncle,
Mukundmasa, whose lust for life she shared. Between them their world revolved
around making the worlds of those around them happy. Their enthusiasm for life
remained unwavering, their excitement for simple outing, going to movies,
having ice-cream or even getting the hand churned ice-cream maker home on a
Sunday completely infectious.
I remember those Sunday mornings, when we went to Vadilal’s.
Yes Vadilal’s a small shop which actually rented out ice cream churners. With lots
of excitement, trepidation and huge handfuls of rock salt on ice, we proceeded
to churn our own ice cream. Although we took turns at the churner, I don’t think
we children did much. It was largely my Uncle and my grandfather. We largely
helped in finishing it – encourgaged lustily again by Babimasi and Mukundmasa.
As years went by I’d not meet her so often as get her news
from Mom. Her visits to Mom’s house were epic! Mom would call to tell me that
she was coming. Then tell me what she was making for her. A little later Dad would
call to complain. It was hilarious and we knew, that once both the sisters got
together, it was just the two of them and their world. Mom who needed her
regular dose of sleep night after night, stayed up and chatted, much to my
Father’s dismay and disapproval. Two
days after Babimasi left, my father would call saying Mom was not well.
Exhausted. Mom would then call later and sheepishly give some excuses for her
illness, none remotely related to her overnight story telling session with her
sister. I would listen to both sides of the story and not say a word. Sisters
are important, we all know that.
When Mom passed away, Babimasi was disconsolate. When Bhartimasi
their eldest sister passed away a little later, she hugged me and cried. My
Uncle their brother had already passed on. “I am the only one remaining”
Babimasi wailed. We shed tears with her. We felt her pain. But I know somewhere
all of us, my siblings, my cousins, we knew that some part of our parent lived
on in her. Some memory, some vestige of familial similarity, some trace of what
had been was still there.
With a sinking heart I heard news of her being unwell some
time ago.
With a saddened heart I got news of her passing away. She’s
gone I thought. The last memory of the family. The last of the siblings. The
last of Mom.
But I was still ok. Till I spoke with the family. And
strangely enough, the grief all came out then. I broke down. To me and I may be
presumptuous, but I think I am right, to most of us, she was a mother figure.
At some time or the other she had baby sat us.
Looked after us. Pampered us. And
given us unconditional love. And in her
moving on to a place of no return she walks away in her own gentle manner with
an entire generation.
That was the overwhelming truth for all of us.
Babimasi has passed on. Leaving a huge gaping void in our
lives.
But wherever she is, she is reunited in a place of love with
her siblings Bharatmama, Bhartimasi and my mother, her father and Mukundmasa
who doted on her. In our grief, one can smile and feel her happiness.
RIP Babimasi. You live on in each one of us.
Dedicated to Prakashbhai, Vaishali, Ambar and Manali and to
each of my cousins who has been touched by her.
And the follow up to this:
