Saturday, August 13, 2022
My earliest recollection of Boromama was in Kolkata, in the seventies. As a kid, I used to be very shy around people I didn't meet very often. Boromama had said that he would need to bribe me for me to go near him. The bribe came in the shape of two pretty dolls, which I have with me, even today. I never played with them for fear of breaking them. They were and still are, kept nicely, in a showcase.
Over the years, Boromama had visited us a lot of times, each time with gifts for everyone. In the last fifteen or twenty years, my shyness was all gone and I was comfortable enough to ask him about his life in Canada. He patiently answered each and every query put to him by his curious niece.
But it was with the advent of Covid-19 and with Boromama subscribing to WhatsApp, did our conversations become more frequent, and more interesting, for it was accompanied by still photos and videos. I enjoyed them very much, but alas! You cannot have too much of a good thing, they say. Our conversations became quite infrequent, both grief-stricken, with the passing, this year, of my Mom, Boromama's elder sister.
Boromama, you had to go too soon, but I know that Mummy is holding your hand, just like she did, many years back, when as kids during the WWII, she had ran with her little brother to the safety of their father, my Dadu.
Thank you Boromama, for being a part of my life.
