She was in our lives for a brief period of time, a little around a year. In my life for a briefer period of around five months. I first came to know that she had begun living with mother when I was still in Kolkata, just beginning to initiate the process of moving to home. It was a relief for me that mother had company now and would not have to live alone in our sprawling house. I was just hoping that she would turn out to be somebody I could like.
I was wrong.
I met her for the first time when I came home on vacation for a few days to visit mother. I liked her instantly, felt immediately drawn towards her. She moved in quietly, getting accustomed to mother’s way of doing things. She was unobtrusive, quietly getting her work done, efficient, and comfortable to be with. In other words, she was just the kind of person I was looking out for to stay with mother at home and help her out with her daily chores.
She would quietly rub oil into my hair, without uttering a single word, running those small, thin fingers through my hair, putting me to sleep. She would somehow pass on her serenity and quietude to me. She had a maturity that was way beyond her 14 years of life. I could see it in her eyes and hear it in her words. She managed mother remarkably well. I still remember the way she laughed off mother’s tantrums when she would lose at a game of Ludo, their daily pastime in the afternoons.
Then, four months later, I shifted to home permanently from Kolkata. I set up my home office and began to settle down into a routine with time, and a part of that routine was getting my head massaged by her everyday before falling off to sleep in the afternoon. It was my most awaited moment of the day after completing the day’s work, something I really looked forward to.
We began to get more and more dependent on her for the smallest of things; our regular cups of tea, putting my clothes in order. Her name would be at the tip of our tongues. We just could not get along without her. When mother went to stay with her aunt for a few days, she was the one who managed our home affairs and she did brilliantly well. She was so efficient, we hardly felt mother’s absence. She would stir up some very palatable dishes for us at the meal times. She was an excellent cook for somebody her age. She just knew how to get things done efficiently and without fuss.
I liked her not only because she was good at her work but also because she was good from within. She would exude that goodness. A few small little things she did without being asked to were the ones that really touched me; making a glass of lemonade when I really needed it, brushing my shoes when I least expected her to do it, and many other small gestures that were so unexpected. I began to feel she would be with us forever, it was difficult imagining life without her.
And then it happened. Her father fell sick and called for her to be with him. This news came as a shock for us all, and especially me. I had never realized how attached I was to her until this day. I began to think of the things I could do to prevent her from going home, of the ways I could make her stay longer, but better sense prevailed and I realized that I could not make her stay with us against her parent’s wishes. I almost pleaded with her to come back once her father’s health was back to normal. We also had suspicions that her father was planning to marry her off. It was a major sense of loss that I was going through after coming to know about this.
And it was one of those rare occasions that my eyes moistened when I was sitting alone in my office room reflecting on all the wonderful moments that Deepali had brought into our lives. I felt as if she was “lokkhi” for our home; the Bengali concept of somebody who is considered to be lucky, a source of peace, joy, and prosperity. I felt as if we are losing our “lokkhi.” I reluctantly bade goodbye to her today morning, feeling the deep sense of loss that had been mine since yesterday, accentuated by the tears in her eyes. She waved one last goodbye at me when she had gone some distance and that was the last I saw of her.
I just hope she continues to spread the joy and goodness that she is made of wherever she goes; I just hope she remains the “lokkhi” that she is for any home she adorns later in her life.
I hope to meet her again.
