The last time I had seen so many marigold blooms, and this very same collection of fine people, had been at her wedding ceremony. On that day she beamed and floated on the happiness of the occasion, and I counted myself lucky enough to be included in such elation. Now as she and her sister sprinkled spices over the offerings of the puja, she was putting her mother to rest. At the very opposite end of the human experience spectrum, far from weddings and births, was the event at hand. Anu was saying goodbye to her mother. The incense she had chosen rose into the October air, sweetly scenting the room and swirling around us as a cool breeze crept comfortably in through the open door. For all the somber sadness of the occasion, there was a sense of peace here. The brightness of the day, shared between the candles and the sunlight, elicited a kind of sacred calm. A few people would later remark that rather than pathos or overbearing sorrow, a sense of something uplifting was at work, the anti-thesis of the darkness that often accompanied saying farewell to a beloved relative.
In the center of the crowded room where we all sat in white mourning clothing, I could see the side of Anu’s face as she repeated the prayers being intoned. Her eyes, alternately wet and bright, took in the task at hand. Even on such a day, Anu was strong enough to hold it all together. There was still no clear indication on what might be going on inside, and I worried for her that she was putting on a brave front because it was all she ever did. Her hair was roughly the length it was when I first met her in the mid 90’s, when neither of us had any clue who were we or who we might become. I shouldn’t say that. I had no idea what I was going to do. Anu was decidedly the one with plans and designs, most of which she would build into being. Singularly focused and dramatically determined, she was the Collegetown roommate I would have bet on succeeding at whatever she deigned to do. It didn’t always come easy, and over the years I would watch her with admiration and awe as she worked hard for where she wanted to go.
Their group of friends and roommates, coalescing during their sophomore year at Cornell, had welcomed me into their circle under the protective wings of Suzie. They let me sleep on their couch and become part of their world. To this day I count them as part of my core group of ‘safe’ friends – the ones who have become family, the ones I trust implicitly and don’t have to worry about offending or losing. Anu was an integral part of that family. We’ve seen each other through weddings, births and deaths – and all those life-altering times when grief and gladness were inconsolably intertwined. When you come together at all the major signposts of a life’s journey, you become connected in an unbreakable way. I’m lucky that Anu has been there for those moments. Andy forged a special bond with her, connecting instantly when they met. (I also happen to adore her husband Cormac, who perfectly complements her in every way.)
Those thoughts ran through my mind as I listened to the prayers of the puja. How simple it had been twenty-some years ago. How very much we thought we knew and how little we actually did. How safe the world felt. Maybe that’s the lucky province of all youth. Despite the light and the love filling the room, nothing felt safe anymore. The fear of losing those we love is just too great, and the older we get the more it seems to grow. The only solace is in finding people who will walk along with us on the way.
The prayer service was followed by a feast of food beneath a tent in front of Anu’s sister’s house. At odds with the somberness of the occasion, the sun shone exultantly, perhaps reminding us that the death of our physical shells is only the beginning of something else. There is some consolation in that too.
We made our way back to Anu’s house, where the hubbub of the day was relievedly drawing down. The October sun slanted lower in the sky. Halloween decorations lined the front porch. Suzie and I would have to leave soon to catch our flight but we joined the remaining family and friends while the kids found their own entertainment. The next generation was on their way along whatever paths they were going to take. There was something moving and poetic about it, the way Riley was doing her schoolwork, the way Sona ran about outside, and even how Jaya hid away quietly in her room. These were Anu’s girls. Growing up too fast, hurtling toward their futures and all that the world had in store for them. Looking through a book of photos of Anu as a child, I caught glimpses of each of her daughters in her various school pictures. Soon – too soon really – they would be going off to college and meeting those people who would become to them what Anu has been to me. At least, if they’re lucky.
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