The Safe House
Srinagar is an exquisite place! The lakes, the greenary and the tehzeeb is quite different from anywhere I have been. In my (limited) travel, I am forced to conclude that Srinagar is among the best places I have visited, albiet for a very short time.
I visited Srinagar about 6 months ago with a couple of friends. We were staying in a regal, luxurious-looking boat house, anchored at the shore of Nigeen Lake. On our second (and also last) day in Srinagar, we woke up early to enjoy a shikara ride in the lake. It was about 8 am in the morning; the sun was out, but it wasn’t sunny yet, the breeze felt cold against my skin, but not chilly and the silence spread across the lake was deafening. There was only the sound of oars creaking and water splashing as our row boat cut through the still green water.
As we passed under a small bridge, we were welcomed by a body of water filled completely with lotus flowers and my friend & I involuntarily gasped at the sight. Only one word adequately captures the feeling of that shikara ride — serene. We were surrounded with lotus plantation in all forms possible — buds, full-bloom, and partial-bloom. As if that wasn’t a maginificent scene in itself, we saw a man approaching us in a small boat — he was standing at the tip of the boat and rowing it with zero effort and utmost ease. It was all very picturesque; the scenary is etched in my memory like a beautiful painting.
My eyes threatened tears, for I remembered my Mavshi (maternal aunt) who would have loved listening to this story. It was our tradition — we enjoyed exchanging travel stories. Every time I returned home from a vacation, I couldn’t wait to go meet her just to recite stories after stories of all the things I had done and seen during my travel. It was the unsaid rule of our friendship — telling eachother travel stories without missing even the minutest detail. She would listen to me with complete attention, enraptured by even the most mundane information.
Tall, untamed frizzy curls and a smile that would awaken a dead heart — my aunt was something else!
My second mom
The aftermath of my mom’s death is pretty much a blip in my memory. Quite frankly, I don’t remember how the next few years passed and how I got through my junior college years. But, there is one memory that is so significant and special to me that I will never forget it.
About a month after my mother passed away, I remember dialing my Mavshi’s phone number. As soon as I heard her say ‘hello’ on the other end of the line, I burst into streams and streams of tears.
“What happened?” she said with concern, fully-knowing what the answer was going to be.
“I am missing mom.” I said in a matter of fact manner, fighting for breath amid the unstoppable tears.
And then, something amazing happened. Instead of telling me, ‘it will all be ok,’ she started crying too and said “I know! I miss her so much too, but what can we do.”
I MISS HER TOO! That’s it! I just needed somebody else to admit it out loud to me that they missed her too…that everything was not ok…that everything was not going to magically set itself right…that things would be very different from now on. In that moment, with a seemingly tiny gesture, she became my hero.
She cried with me for a while and then simply said “but we must be strong for eachother.” I found myself nodding in agreement, not noticing that my tears had stopped minutes ago.
In the 24 years that I have known my aunt, this continues to be my favourite memory of her. It might seem like a sad story to you, but to me it was a defining moment on how I was going to cope and support my family. I cannot adequately explain what it meant that an adult 52-year old woman cried as hard as I did while the rest of the world was trying to convince me that life would simply go on.
She made me feel like I belonged when I was perhaps feeling the most lost. This in a nutshell is what my aunt was — she was my safe house, she was my second mom. She always knew the right thing to say and do. Talking to her, in itself, felt like a reassurance that come hail or highwater she would be there for me.
Through my formative years, my Mavshi has been a big presence in my life. From buying clothes, to applying for colleges, to hating the same people — we have done it all together. We would endlessly talk to each other, and time would just cease to exist. I remember this one night, she and I were so engrossed in chatting with each other that neither of us realised it was 2 am in the morning. We always spoke to each other in hushed tones like we were inside our imaginary bubble, talking state secrets. Family drama was among the top favourite things to discuss and I know enough details to destroy people’s lives (Kidding…only partly).
She ran interference every time I argued with my dad about inane things and was always on my team irrespective of whether I was at fault or not. Every time I argued with my dad or fought with my brother, I would run off to hang out with my aunt and forget that I had even had a fight.
Like my mother and grandmother, my maternal aunt too was a great cook. On most occasions that I visited her, she would cook something I loved (a tradition my sister-in-law has continued ❤). I remember how she used to cook an insane amount of Pav Bhaji or idlis or my favourite vegetables, and pack a huge tiffin box for me to carry home. She just made everything seem OK.
Losing my closest ally
When will you come back?” she mumbled as I was leaving for home.
“I will be back in three days…by Thursday.” I said.
She smiled at me and waved bye. I kissed her on the cheeks and forehead and said “I will see you on Thursday.”
That is the last time I spoke to her. I had to return in another day to bid her a final goodbye.
Losing your closest friend, confidante and ally is undoubtedly the most difficult thing you will have to endure in your life. Trust me! When you lose a loved one, your mind tends to search for things to regret over. In my case, it was pictures!
While I was writing this, I rummaged through every inch of the photo cabinet, but emerged a loser. I could not find a single recent photograph of me and my mavshi together. I checked my phones, my computer and my iPad in hope that there would be at least one photo of us together. If you ask me, it does not necessarily bother me that we don’t have a picture together — my brain is in complete agreement here. But my heart, well that’s a completely different matter. My brain knows that I am reading into something completely meaningless and minuscule, but my heart is full of regret over the fact that I cannot rectify this. That, I no longer have the option of taking a photograph with her. Then, of course, I indulged into some good old overthinking and realised that I will never kiss her, hug her or be able to gossip with her ever again.
While I have great memories with her, what really bothers me is the lack of choice to make any more…the lack of choice to call her and ask her how she is doing?…the lack of choice to share a professional/personal achievement with her…the lack of choice to ask her for advice.
While many people had started asking me to get married by the time I had turned 22, she was the only one who had said ‘Do not even think about it for a few more years. Nobody gets married that early.’ I am 28 now, and what I regret the most is that I will never be able to share with my best friend the process of finding a groom. That, she is no longer a phone call away to laugh over some idiot I met over coffee.
But most of all, what bothers me is that she is not here anymore to assure me that I belong.
