The saris and the dishes

Her saris, oh her saris. They haunt me from the box under my bed where I keep hers along with mine, from my wedding and gifted saris from my mother, my father and my mother in law - the only people in the world who gift me saris. And now one of them isn’t there but her saris are. 

I needed my sister’s help to figure out what to do with her saris. On one day I sorted out some saris and gave a whole bunch away to Chotu Mashi. Chotu Mashi got a bonanza. She had to borrow a suitcase from us to take back the memories of her older sister to Kolkata. I bet she didn’t ever expect to do that when she packed a small bag on October 31 as soon as she heard that her sister was on her deathbed. You see she didn’t know how dire it was. Heck, we didn’t know how dire it was. So she packed very little and lived in the comfort of her sisters clothes for those few days. We even packed a sari for each of her sisters - whoever would have them. It’s a rite of passage to get the hand me downs from a sister that passed away I expect. 

I kept some of them for myself. And set aside others for Didi and other friends to sort through. We had a small memorial for her with her closest friends and we gave away those saris to them. Baba took the remaining to our cousins in Kolkata.

The less fancy ones were packed in a stack and driven to an NGO and donated.  

Little by little we gave away her prized possessions. 

While we did all this, we examined her kitchen. The first thing I did was toss all the plastic boxes she collected from various takeout meals. She hoarded very little but I don’t know what fondness she had for those plastic boxes. There were some Tupperware that were clearly marked for Pujo prasad. Baba had probably got it from the Pujo that she missed this year. All the meals she had cooked for Pujo for years and years, decades with her sari pallu tucked in, stirring and chopping and later supervising the cooking of the precious bhog for the Goddess. In the recent years, with her swollen feet and illnesses, she was still impossible to tear away from that esteemed task. She gave it all and did it with utmost dedication. It was very hard to toss that Tupperware so I didn’t. 

Then there were the steel dishes. Bowls and dishes and glasses made of stainless steel that we grew up eating in. Didi remarked that some of those dishes were older than her. 

How does the touch of that steel on your skin feel when you realize your childhood has finally passed. When there won’t be anymore Sunday late morning freshly bought fish, which she would fry and serve up in those bowls as a mid morning snack? Or anymore dinners with chapatis and egg curry on those steel plates. Not like I haven’t had meals on other plates and dishes but those were tied to my growing years. But they didn’t feel gone like they did that day. We even had our own designated plates and over the years Ma would have us move to melamine plates sometimes but that was much much later. 

Those dishes have lost their place without her. I’ve lost my childhood without her.