My father had 9 brothers and sisters. Originally from what we now call Bangladesh, my grandfather moved before partition and set up shop in Kolkata. They were a struggling, middle class family. My grandfather worked in a shop and with his meagre income, my grandmother brought up her nine children. They inherited very little.
Growing up, we heard many stories from my Thamma about those struggling days. But one of her favorite ones was how her third son had made a sculpture (within a day) of clay of a “bayul”, without training. It was still proudly displayed in her room 20 years later. It was truly a masterpiece. She inspired us to be better than ourselves with stories of how he was never told to do something, but somehow managed to do everything. How Jethu became a doctor, had sailed to England with almost nothing, got scholarships as a brilliant student and there was nothing he couldn’t do. She said to me, your Jethu (the doctor), he can do anything! You must learn from this. It doesn’t matter what we are born, but its what you grow up to be! Even to my 10 year old self, I noticed a special pride in her voice when she said that.
Jethu was like Santa Claus who appeared in Kolkata with a sackful of presents for us every once in a while. Chocolates, coveted colour pencils which were impossible to get in 1980s India and a blonde doll, with a dog which actually talked were the least of it! At first I thought... ok, yet another uncle from the great and big Mukherjee family. Nina was my pen-pal but it was never easy to stay in touch. She and Mitaly were closest to my age but unlike the other sisters who all seemed so close to each other, I rarely met Nina. But Jethu somehow understood and did everything he could to bridge it. When I grew up and met Jethu more regularly, he made it a point to meet me in college. in London, get to know Gautam and my kids. Never empty-handed. Always with a sackful of presents. Every single India trip had a Delhi leg attached to it. Inspite of his illness and Jethima’s, meeting me was inked into his schedule. He made sure I felt so special and I know I was not unique in this. That’s when I realised. It was true, he could do anything!
Over the last two decades or so, his quiet, wonderful, strong presence brought this big, boisterous and crazy family together in its own way. My husband, my children loved him. Inspite of illness and distance, he was always there at special occasions with his loved ones. It’s the small things in life that matter so much. I reached London once with my young children five summers ago, I said I will take a taxi to come and meet him. He wouldn’t hear of it. He came and picked us up from the airport, carried my heavy suitcases into the car and insisted on cooking breakfast for us. He was 80 then! No amount of protests was enough to stop him. Last October, he bought us all new sarees and clothes as Bengali durga-pujo tradition, in London. This kind of love is beyond the understanding of our practical, efficient generation and university education. He taught me to keep in touch, keep up. Always so calm, he will be one of the strongest human beings I have known. The bravest, when it came to the battles of life. An ideal when it comes to how to love your life partner. He has taught me that family matters! However far you are in terms of geography or history.
We will miss you Jethu. Always.