A day to remember family

Jadhav family over the years

Nine years ago today, Dad died in a car accident. I’ve obviously had a long time to grapple with that; life continues, some memories don’t fade, teachings and spirit live on, legacies remain.

But so does a bit of sadness. For catharsis, I turn to this photo of photos that tracks so much of the Indian side of my family. The collage was created for my grandparents in India; I digitized it when I stayed with them during my semester of backpacking around India in 2004.

Dadaji passed away in 2005; dadiji died in August. Since the photo was made an uncle also died (another passed away more than two decades ago).

The large-file, high-res version is linked above. Both grandparents, uncles, aunties, cousins, Dad, Mom, Anna and I all feature in different snaps and clicks, to use the Indian parlance.

This indeed is where one half of me originated.

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Dadiji: A woman of faith

I will never forget the words of dadiji, in a moment of utmost tragedy, when my father, her son, had died suddenly several years ago. She implored, over a scratchy phone connection: “Be strong. Have strong faith.”

God will provide and care for us, she said.

Raised an orphan, married in the Indian fashion to a man she didn’t know, weighted with the load of four step-children and four more of her own, hardly blessed with substantial resources, Mohini Jadhav’s life was a marathon, an endurance trial. For more than nine decades, she faced her struggles — including attacks on her family over religion, a husband who ruled at times with an iron fist and various bouts of domestic strife — with an unwavering faith and delight in God’s grace.

It was that faith that reached out to me from thousands of miles in the darkest of moments. Over many years, she stressed that we can only feel happiness at the life God (he/she/it/they) gives, even as we stumble over hardship.

She died yesterday, succumbing, finally, to old age. I will miss her faith and joy.

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Nearing the end of her days, but still happy

A faint smile

I went to visit my dadiji in Pune earlier this month, perhaps for the last time. She has become successively weaker in recent months after a fall in January confined her to bed.

But she was mostly in good spirits while I was there. She told me that I should get married to an Indian girl, offered to make me biriyani and pickle, quizzed me on my Hindi and again told me to marry an Indian girl.

Her memory fades in an out, but she told some stories from her past. And I showed her some pictures and sat with her holding her hand as much as I could. The photo comes from the morning I left.

And, yes, I promised I’d marry an Indian girl.

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Happy Mother’s day!

My Pondicherry mother

Mom on a boat. Love you, Mom.

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Tibetan kitchen is a family affair

Our tour of Darjeeling was snared by a regular road closure that trapped us in a mountain traffic jam. Perfect Indian excuse for a lunch break.

We ventured to a small Tibetan restaurant where we proceeded to devour steamed vegetable momos and aloo parathas and sweet lemon tea. The whole operation was run out of a cramped kitchen (above) where mom and daughters molded momos (also below) and rolled bread.

Outside, the charismatic papa heckled customers (all of us), refused to serve them tea before lunch (me) and hollered ever-growing food orders (ours) through the door. Pops was absolutely delightful, laughed at my Hindi, and enthusiastically explained (still in Hindi) how to make his lemon tea.

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An old family photo, and an older family photo

My lineage, as far back as we have photos

My Indian lineage, as far back as we have photos

Five-and-a-half years ago, I took this photo of two photos. The mini-collage hung on the wall in my grandparents’ flat in Nigdi, Pune.

I had taken a semester off from school a second time to go back to India, for three weeks with Mom and Sis and an additional eight on my own. Much of that trip was spent wrestling with my father’s death a little more than a year before.

At the bottom of the cut-out photo, that’s a 10-year-old me, with Dad right above. And directly above 42-year-old him, in the black-and-white still, the boy with the hesitant look, that’s Dad again, also about age 10, with his parents, six brothers, one sister and a sister-in-law.

He died seven years ago today.

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