-

Here is again an entry that started as a comment, written by 27-year-old Aysha, a friend and student of mine. Knowing myself how hard it is to lose close family when living overseas, I always enjoy hearing about people’s background, their ancestors, and cultures. And death is an occasion to ask for stories, and memories… 

  "We lost my grandmother yesterday, Ved Kumari Pahwa. I called her Naani - she is my mother's mother. She was born in 1942 in pre-partition Punjab, now part of Pakistan. Karina asked me what I remember of her and that question sparked a conversation with my mom and dad, with lots of laughter. My dad shared a funny story about how my Naani believed that babies should get lots of sunlight, so when I was a baby she would sit me so that I was looking directly into the sun and I would just sit there and squint for hours... Sunlight remains my #1 priority when choosing a room to rent.

I don't have too many memories of my Naani because I have lived most of my life on the other side of the world from her. But I have some. When together in Delhi, she would insist on taking me shopping and that was how I learned about all of the color and spice of North Indian life. She had an incredible laugh, and an enormously powerful sneeze that always made me giggle, which I seem to have inherited. When she would come to visit my parents' house in Boston, she would bring with her the smell of North India - the smell of sweat and cumin - and it would linger in the house for months.
Pahwa family, August 1986, New Delhi. Clockwise from back left: Seema, Kamal, Ved Kumari (1942-2022), Des Raj (1938-2002). This photo was taken shortly before my mom Seema left India for the U.S.

My Naani (and my grandfather, Naanu) were my primary connections to that old world where people were born in the same place as their parents, and their grandparents, and their great grandparents, etc. A few years ago, I began studying the Punjabi language to help me better remember that world. Both of my mom's parents and their extensive families were from Multan. I have never been... it is difficult to get there these days with an Indian passport, but perhaps with an American passport, some language study, and some long-distance relationship building, it will be possible...

To honor these memories and desires, I wear a gold bangle, which is the only piece of jewelry I wear besides earrings. It is my Naani's bangle and I have worn this for at least seven years, barely ever taking it off. Although I am light-skinned and I speak English, this bangle gives me away to all of the aunties in the Bay Area... they often approach me in supermarkets and other public places, speaking to me in Hindi with their eyes on my Naani's bangle...

Thank you Karina for your encouragement to embrace death,
Thank you Naani for your laughter, and for introducing me to Sunlight :)        


Comments

  1. KarinaJanuary 20, 2022 at 11:17 PM

    Please share with us any memories about Ved Kumari, or about your own grandma, or a departed loved one. The above entry is an ofrenda or altar – we invite you to participate in honoring life of a loved one. Commemorating pleases those who have departed. It brings us together, and helps and heals the sorrow and grief. Don't be shy, even just three words become an offering....

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
Image
  Immigration On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building  on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco  that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible an...
Read more
-
Image
  Last Dance with Uncle Oak This time, to honor the loss of another member of my ancient live oaks, I want to climb into the tree. Like I used to do 32 years ago, move, touch, feel – suspended in the air, resting on bark, sensations to be remembered. Perhaps documenting it? I ask around last minute, and find a good match in photographer  Rebecca Weinstein  to take stills of my last dance with old Uncle Oak. Once my naked feet touch the rough bark, a dynamic joy starts spreading through my body and limbs. The surprising urge to elongate myself within the safety of his sturdy arms. Next morning in a different light, I dress for another chance of closeness, envisioning my smallness to be captured. The freedom to grow into a tree, become tree , get an oak’s view, blend well, and disappear eventually. Uncle Oak, has been leaning for decades, growing northward horizontally, reaching far over into the neighbor’s yard. Now that Mama Oak has left, his malaise is more apparent...
Read more
-
Image
  Looking at you… f aintly the handwriting reads:    Karina & Bob, Here’s looking at you in 1994 With best regards, Howard   Back when he studied T’ai Chi with me for a few years, Howard was already older, a fine, eccentric gentleman. And a very good and well-known artist. With a deeply philosophical side to him which made him enjoy my way of teaching the Art and Principles of this ancient practice. He’d have questions, comments, always delighted by insights, his or mine.   In the hallway I often pass his small watercolor, with its (faded by now) inscription to Bob and me. Bob’s birthday will be in three days on May 18.  If alive, my late husband – who died in October of 2016 – would turn ninety-five this year. Suddenly I feel the presence of time in my heart, swirling about back and forth, swooshing from chamber to chamber, expanding. Howard’s greeting from 1994 – thirty years later, I am now seventy, about the age he was back then.  Suddenly I am...
Read more