My Rainy Day Woman : Rest In Peace

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