The siblings, their families and myself – we all settled down in one far corner of the JW Marriott lounge. Of course, this being a Bengali group, the first order of business had to be a cup of tea. Satyabrata – one of the most helpful folks around (I had made friends with him during my last trip here) – materialized from nowhere.

“Ki neben, sir?” (What do you want?)

We then went thru a now familiar routine. My brother, sister, sister-in-law and brother-in-law all looked at each other waiting for somebody to make a decision, then discussed quite a few options and finally got to the exact same order that they ALWAYS order.

First my brother went “Masala Chai”.

My sister follow ed”Amaro” (me too)

Ditto for my sister-in-law.

My brother-in-law did not even bother opening his mouth. He just nodded his head to signal “Amaro“.

Why we go thru this rigmarole every single time, I do not know.

In any case, I said “Ekta cappuccino”.

With that, Satyabrata was on his way to the coffee/tea station at the bar.

My sister suddenly demanded to know “Cappuccino-t ki?” (What is a cappuccino?). I think that was preceded by a flash in her head “Dada jeta khachche ota miss hoye gelo na to?” (she was perhaps wondering if she was missing out on something).

Now I do not know about you, but I am not entirely equipped to explain the nuances of cappuccino. If I made short shrift of it “coffee and milk with foam”, I was afraid she would come up with “like in South India?” (if you have not seen this, you should watch some Youtube videos of how filter coffee is mixed with milk and sugar in two metal tumblers in places like Tamil Nadu – it is quite a sight).

“Satyabrata?”, I called my friend back.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take my sister to the bar and show her how a cappuccino is made.”

Say what you may, but intellectual curiosity runs deep in the Roy siblings. My sister followed him and observed every step as the three members of staff – all enthusiastically explained… “Cappuccino – ki ebong keno” 🙂

And this is where she returned to her true “home”. The crematorium in Halisahar near Kalyani.

Somewhere around very early 70s, dad brought mom to Durgapur. With me in tow. We lived in three different houses. These were quarters allotted by the steel plant to my dad. Today, they are completely transformed. During the doldrum days of the steel industry, the company sold many of the quarters away. The new owners modified them to the hilt.

The quarters used to be very dull and drab. Each looked like the other. The only difference used to be that one row would have yellow color walls outside and the next row would have red. The inside walls were always the same bluish white.

Now they are the brightest of colors adjoining each other – reminding me of the houses in the island of Burano in Italy. The top house in the picture – 6/2 North Avenue – used to be 350 sq ft when we lived there. Now, with all the buildups, the owner has made it five times that size!!! By the way, I had a great time chatting with the owner today and telling him the history of our times there!!

Mom lived there till 1979 Dec. Then we moved to the house in the middle. It was distinctly rectangular-ish then. Now it has an imposing circular structure. Incidentally, the owner’s daughter lives about 10 miles from me in Atlanta!! She was my mom’s student! Mom lived in this house – 9/4 Ranapratap – till 1995.

The last house – 26 St. Paul’s – is where she spent 17 years in till 2012. Again, the house is completely different from what Nikita and Natasha will remember from their visits to grandparents.

Durgapur is where mom spent most of her life and would probably call her “home”. I know for my siblings, that is how we think.

Precisely at this moment a year back, at this very spot, my mom had collapsed and died.

I picked up a few more details today about that moment. She had entered the room and was approaching dad when she came to a sudden end. My dad saw it with his own eyes. What I was not aware was that there was no domestic help that day.

Actually, I knew and I had heard about the details that I am going to tell you now but the fact the realization that my mom passed away had fogged up my memory. Hearing the description from my siblings and people around reminded me of the facts.

So, my dad kept yelling my mom’s name without any success. He then managed to get down from the bed (remember he was almost an invalid barely getting out of bed other than being carried out for his dialysis three times a week). He actually slipped and let himself fall from the bed. And then dragged himself on the floor past his dead wife to the main door. While on the floor, he reached up to the handle, opened the door and started yelling out my sister and brother-in-law’s names. It was my niece who ran up and saw my mom first. By now, already dead for a few minutes…

Sitting still at that exact spot at that exact time today, I closed my eyes and tried to play in my mind blow by blow every scene.

Those moments came and went thru my mind remarkably quietly and imperceptibly … like every life does… But intensely, very personal… like all relationships are.