After realizing dad’s absence in his bed, I walked in straight to mom’s room to be greeted with this sight. This is the one bed none of us had reckoned with getting empty earlier than the other one. As I stared at the bed, it was like the whole life of the bed flashed in front of my eyes.

This bed – or cot as some would refer to it as – started its journey way back in 1964 in a small town called Kalna where my grandfather (mom’s dad) had chosen it to be a wedding gift for my dad – his soon to be son-in-law.

In 1964, this was what was my parents “bridal bed”. (“ফুলসয্যা”)

Over the next few years, it went thru a chronology of becoming the first bed I crouched up to my parents to, then my sister joined me and by the time my brother came around, this became the kids’ bed.

In fact from the late sixties till 1983 when I turned sixteen and left home, this is the bed that the three of us shared. We have fond memories of sitting up late at night in the bed and watching out in the dark waiting for the night watchman to walk by our street blowing his shrill whistle in dead of the night.

This is where we used to sit and study at times and fight with each other at other times. This is where each one of us learnt how to do somersaults (“ডিগবাজি” – the simple head rollover version).

Way too many nights our parents would yell at us from the other room to go to sleep as we would whisper and giggle too late into the night.

Then I got married. And this became our bridal bed.

A few years later, this became my brother’s bridal bed.

Then in 2012, the bed was moved to its fifth home – this house in Kalyani – and my parents reclaimed it.

In fact, back in 2017, when dad got bedridden – in this very bed – after his first stroke, all the grandchildren had descended upon him and sat around him as one big happy family. I still vividly remember him beaming with all this grandchildren around him in this bed.
Then three months back, my mom died laying in this bed.

And two months later, my dad followed suit – again, in this bed.

This piece of wood has witnessed what great cycles of life – birth – growing up – marriage – kids flying the nest – death and what have you…

One of the gut wrenching duties of surviving children after their parents’ deaths is to have to get rid of stuff. You know, this broken chair here, that rusted hammer there, that utensil that has clearly seen better days – those somehow defined what life was for them – what they considered their dear “belongings” and suddenly they find their value reduced to mere economical terms.

However, last evening, the three of us decided that this bed has done enough for us to deserve a longer lease of life with us. So, we are going to move this to my sister’s house.

Not that she needs one more bed. But it is the emotional and sentimental value.

Maybe some kid in our progeny will get yelled at by his/her mom or dad for not putting their digital device down.

Maybe some kid will do his/her online classes half asleep under the sheets in this bed.

Who knows?

Brought over two thousand pictures of mom and dad for my siblings on my laptop. The collection I have goes back to black and white pictures from the 60s that I had taken to the US in multiple batches and scanned them.

We spent quite a few hours going thru a small portion of them. It was great fun remembering specific events or conversations around certain pictures. In fact, there were some debates on the dates and locations of a few of them.

(My laptop is behind those pillows)

It is well nigh impossible to properly describe a vacuum or a void. Presence can be seen, touched, smelt… absence, however can only be felt.

And that is how the void hit me immediately as I stepped into my parent’s house. The first glance would be to my mom who would have opened the door and then immediately, I would look to the bed on the right where my dad would have been invariably laying down…

The bed is neatly set up in its usual place.

Gone are those Bhagvad Gitas and poetry books he used to sleep with.

Gone is that picture book I had made for him from our trip to his birthplace that he held close to him.

Gone is that curious looking hammer that used to be around to used as paper weight.

It is all just gone.

A chapter has been closed.

The bed is now prepped up, neat and clean, to start its next chapter. Whatever that might be.

India-তে ন্যাকা মেয়েদের জন্য একটা cosmetics লাইন বেরিয়েছে !!

Heading into a flight going to Kolkata, it was fair for me to assume there would be at least a couple of folks wearing the Bengali “Kurta” in the flight. The question in my mind was – Will at least some of them be “batik” print?

Sure enough, I spotted a guy soon in a very nice light blue colored kurta. Looked around a little more. Found another guy. Same color. Must be brothers, I reasoned.

But then soon, way too many people showed up with the exact same kurta around the gate. Could it be a big occasion or something?

Eventually, I walked up to the gate and asked the lady if she knew what was going on. I don’t think too many people have laughed at me like that.

Turns out, in this airline, if you are in the middle seat, you have to wear a PPE gown given free by the airlines. So, that was what it was all about.

Btw, the lady also gave a face mask AND a face shield. Apparently, everybody has to wear both!!!

A little over one new airline every year since I started flying…

It is not like I am the only one wearing shorts in Delhi airport at 6 in the morning.

It is just that I am the oldest one.

By a jaw-dropping margin!!

Strolling around Delhi airport, walked into “Dilli Streats”. Loved the pun! Was immediately hit by the rich aroma of some of the most flavorful food from India!
From punjabi tikka chicken to delhi paranthas to South Indian masala dosas to what have you. I was salivating at all those delectable plates and started listing what all I wanted to order. Also started counting how many miles I have to run to get rid of those calories.

I came up to 125 miles in the first week after I return.

A small cup of Starbucks cappuccino, it is then!!

We are over Turkmenistan right now and approaching the “Golden Age Lake”. One of the more ambitious efforts in Central Asia, this was to create a very long lake. If you can see the vertical walls on the picture below – that is the Karashor depression. It is a very long (100 miles?) depression with a height of nearly 80 feet below sea level!!

It was a very controversial project and considered mostly to have failed in reaching its objectives.

I am back at an airport to go to India with my suitcase, backpack and a picture being taken on a timer with the phone propped up against whatever it is that airports have to prop up a phone with. This is when I usually tell you how this is a secret from my parents or that I have a few goals to keep.

This one is different though. There is nobody to keep my secrets from. I do not even know how to set goals for myself this time. For all the best laid plans I had, life upstaged the cards such that I could not even accompany them on their individual last journey. If not thru the eyes of my brother and sister who lived close to them, I would have always wondered what that journey looked like for my parents…

I have always believed that my parents had lives that we should celebrate. Coming from a level of financial situation I cannot possibly fathom, they pulled themselves to a successful life and in that pulling, gave me and my two siblings enough momentum that we hurled ourselves to what my parents would undoubtedly judge “greater success”. That is what they lived for. That is what they died for.

I can quibble over the details of their choices, but I cannot begrudge even a bit what they have achieved thru their three children.

So, again, let us raise a toast to them.

And then, as I put my glass of wine down at thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, I am confronted with the inevitable “Now what?” question. How am I going to escape the fact that I am going to walk into the same house and find nobody there? For all the irritation that I used to have the moment I entered the house every time – for what I thought at that time as excessive fawning from them, there is going to be none this time to worry about.

How am I going to face my own siblings who gave – thru their sweat and tears – accompaniment thru the intense suffering that my parents went thru when all I could do was see them on a WhatsApp video call? For all those intense internal burning downstairs in the basement by myself after seeing my parents on video, what must have it really felt like to see in real life with your own eyes?

But any emotion expressed has to only flow towards the celebration of their lives. The pangs of something being taken away ought to be outweighed by the realization of the gift that was presented to begin with.

So, I am going to put only 3 simple goals this time..

“Train engine”
You may remember how my parents often told me that as the eldest sibling, I was like the engine of a train. Wherever I went, my siblings would follow. In accordance, in this trip, my goal is to stay strong and in every step and word, exude the marvel at what our parents achieved thru us. The countenance of mine has to be of celebratory in nature. The mood has to be that of counting the blessings of what we had and not what we lost. From the moment I walk into the empty house with my siblings in tow to the time when I wave them goodbye to come back to America … I have to be the reason why they see hope and the positive in everything the three of us have had.

The crying can wait. (I am still human; I just need to control it)

“Thank you”
I am not sure what is the right way to say Thank You to my siblings for all the hard work they did in the last few years of my parents. And none of this was easy. I have to believe this has created a lot of tensions in their own families and frankly a level of frustration that life dealt them a tough set of cards. For me – I was pushed by my family to go abroad and secure the financial stability of the whole family – but that also meant, I did not have to deal with the day to day grind. Now that it is all over, how do I express my gratitude? I am not sure how, but my goal number 2 is to put in the first installment by creating a couple of memorable days for my siblings – whichever way they want.

“And then… there was one…”
Right now, between Sharmila and I, we have only one parent left (her mom). While my mother in law and I cannot possibly think of anything any more different, I do realize that that is the thinnest of strings that we are hanging on in terms of the “previous generation”. She has had one vaccination already and I have had two. My goal is to see if I can sit down with her and have some quality time. If I can only pull her out of the kitchen trying to make more food for me, I might just be able to…

Normally, I love seeing my old friends, teachers, parents of my friends and so on … anytime I go to India. They have all influenced me in ways small and large to be who I am today. I owe that – if not for anything else – just to say Thank you. This time, though, I will have to constrain myself to spending all my time with my siblings and mother in law (and a couple of relatives that were close to my mom and dad). I do promise to make up in the next trip though…

A final thought… I am struggling with “What does India mean after this trip?” question. Sure, I have my siblings – but they have their own lives. Parents were why I fox trotted to India every quarter. They had all the time for me. Now, why do I have to come to India to visit my siblings? There are so many other places we could meet. Will trips to India eventually lose all the significance to me? Will a big part of my own identity be lost for ever?

I wonder if I could switch places with my parents. Sort of. Could I possibly become to my two nephews and one niece what my parents were for me? And by that I mean, can I create a relationship with the three of them that would be so strong that I will still get on to flights to India with the suitcase, backpack, selfie and all that? Maybe, instead of a train engine to my siblings, I can be the same for my nephews and niece?

Fourth goal this trip, you think?