My didu, Shibani Ray Chaudhuri (nee Shankar Ray) died
yesterday at the age of 93.
To describe my didu,( my maternal grandmother) as an intelligent
style diva with a quiet sense of humor , a heightened sense of poise , and an
incredible sense of adventure would be
unfair. These are ordinary descriptors used for ordinary people and my didu was extraordinary. At a time when most
women did not study beyond class ten, my didu had one masters from The University
of Calcutta and one from The London School of Economics. Her classic good looks had the fellas begging
her to “leave that blackie-my grandfather” and run away with them. Come 1947, she was asked to represent the Indian
community In London by hoisting our flag in British soil for the first time. Back
in Kolkata, she became the director of a large government financial institution,
at a time when most women were homemakers.
She knew no fear and did not suffer from the “I need a man
to help me cross the road” complex, an affliction some women still suffer from
today. She loved travelling, so she
bought a Euro rail pass and just went ….. A ten year old goggle eyed me had asked
her,” Weren’t you scared travelling alone?” And she smiled and said, “A beautiful
woman never lacks for company”. I had hoped fervently at that time that my wit
would be a suitable substitute for my limited beauty. We had promised to do a trip together but we
never made it. That’s life, what are you going to do about it?
My Didu pampered herself with long two and a half hour baths
for 93 years of her life. She believed
that when you step out of the house you should look like a million bucks. When
you opened your mouth, people should be charmed with your sparkling witticisms. You must be kind and loving, erudite and secure,
polite and exceptional. She took great
pride and delight in being a fine hostess. She showered love through
intricately planned menus and delicious , rich food. However , because she was a
working woman , she rarely cooked. She believed in managing the help and
employed the services of a large family to manage the house. She never entered
the kitchen, delicately picked her fish with a knife and fork and was a huge
fan of Agatha Christie.
Some grandchildren
may remember their grandparents for their signature dishes. I remember getting
hammered with my didu. She loved her scotch and my complete inability to consume
whisky and insistence on drinking vodka worried her. We used to drink and talk and laugh at this
whole crazy world of social boundaries. It was not for us. She taught me how to
read at the age of 5 and introduced me to crime fiction at the age of ten. I once cut out a portion of her sari to feel
her smell near me always.
Life , for my didu was tough, but that never ruffled her. She
was a fighter and all about the stiff upper lip. You could be breaking inside,
but the world should only see you smiling. Insanity dances in our genetic pool like
wispy hair and buck teeth in other families. Summer brought mangoes and the van
from the asylum. Schizophrenia afflicted our family year after year. But as the
matriarch, she never allowed it to break her or disrupt her dreams for the rest
of us. Through long summer afternoons, she created a world for me to believe in,
a better world which could be mine if I would work hard enough at it.
A world where self -pity was not acceptable. Circumstances
happen and you move on. Weak people wallow
but people like us “Keep calm, and carry on.” This world was filled with things
which had given her comfort and identity when she was tossed between insanity,
cruelty, deprivation. This world which I was going to inherit would be filled
with laughter, travel, lotions, fine wine, soirees, style , impressionist
paintings, little flowers on white couches, bathtubs filled with milk and
roses, music, make up , lipstick and many many high heeled shoes.
She is gone. And I will never feel that familiar caress, see
that quiet smile, kiss those milky cheeks , share that private joke. All I can
do is love her and love her and love her. That’s all any of us can do. I cannot
fill the void of losing my father. I cannot fill the void of losing my didu.
But people like us do not indulge in self pity, we pick ourselves up, put on
our “face” and make that dream that has been dreamt for us come true. If we don’t
get what we want, we upgrade, we don’t do leashes and we live our lives on our
own terms.
My “ Rainy Day Woman” , my diva, my friend, my
world, my life ….I will hold you in my heart for every minute of every day till
we meet each other on the other side of forever
