Known affectionately as Nani, Naniji, or Naanimaa, our beloved family matriarch held the delightful role of a raconteur, offering a comforting refuge from parental scoldings and a source of whimsical wishes come true.

Few  a times, I as a child, often marveled at the paradox of her age, wondering why she, unlike other stern adults, seamlessly blended with our mischief and willingly participated in our exploits. I can still vividly recall her laughter that echoed in the air as I sat on her lap playfully brandishing the plastic mace she bought for me during Durga Puja to fight with Mahishashura.

I had the pleasure of meeting her on countless occasions, especially during weekends of school-going years and then sparsely when I used to return back to home on engineering sem-breaks. Few years post my marriage, we were again about to meet in chhath puja, the collective pilgrimage to home of our family. But fate had scripted a unconventional reunion for us this Chhath Puja. This time it was just us and her flower laden photo frame, embraced with melancholic presence of our extended families.

Except her physical presence, nothing else had changed around her timeless room though. A can of Horlicks, a packet of walnuts, an antique torch and an age defying Radio which still tuned to her favorite station ---Vivid Bhaarti . All these were basically the material paraphernalia that she survived on. Surpassing those, the spiritual richness she cherished manifested in handcrafted adornments for deities and various creative artifacts crafted from incense boxes and pearls. The hymn books that extolled the divine were her daily reads. She was undoubtedly the most organized member of our family. Anyone could sense her organizational acumen by observing the precision with which she tidied the presentation of rice served on a plate with bowls of daal and sabji . No morsel of rice would be in disarray to everyone’s surprise.

Of all the possessions, cordially placed in her ergonomic surrounds were her persistent gifts to us grandchildren, the hallmark handkerchief of Nanijee . One thing that never changed was the handkerchief delicately folded with cash, she gifted each of us on festivals and occasions.

In the age-old tradition of elders bestowing crumpled currency notes directly into the palms of the younger generation as a blessing, Nanijee added her own touch of grace. Unlike other aged adults, she had a decorum of wrapping the crisply ironed currency into folds of brand-new handkerchief whiffed with perfume. She meticulously designated distinct sets of handkerchiefs given to men and the Chudi-Bindi-Sindoor sets meant for married women. Being the reservoir of all rare historical knowledge that anyone could seek for, everybody looked up to Nanijee for any insights into cultural customs or learn the traditions and practices passed down through the family.

As I aspire to inherit even half of her organizational prowess, I deeply miss the enthusiasm with which she narrated tales of brides, grooms, and the lively wedding processions.

It was hard to fathom the joy she exuded while narrating those adventurous tales transitioning from cinematically plotted dacoits plundering village and how my Nani’s family got around those scary scenarios, to another anecdote, painting a vivid picture of mischievous escapades and laughter she shared during weddings, with fellow relatives most of whom were no longer alive. The emotions embedded in her storytelling added depth to the nostalgia, making each anecdote a heartfelt journey through time.

Our cousin brother reminisces one such tale when Nanee was narrating an eventful marriage where some person gulped enough Rasogullas that he kept puking all around the guest house where the Baraat halted. Amidst the laughter and chaos, Nanee dropped a casual mention of a distant relative, and that's where the plot thickened. Intrigued, my brother prodded her in flow, asking, "So, what did this relative say??" In response, Nanee's eyes narrowed, and her brow took on a formidable furrow. With an air of gentle reproach, she delivered a timeless piece of advice, "You shouldn't toss around names of your elders so casually, my dear. There's a certain courtesy in the way we speak about family.". While Nanijee rarely scolded us, that remarkably sweet reaction served as a reminder of how deeply she valued and cherished those moments and relationships in her heart.

Despite grappling with chronic issues that come with age, she lived to see a thriving family that brought her immense satisfaction, and not once did she indulge in any moments of whining or discontent. Instead, she focused on serving and staying connected with a higher power, showing a strong example for the generations that followed.

Though separated physically now, in every gesture, every meticulously arranged possession, her enduring spirit and love for tradition has left an indelible mark on the canvas of our memories.

Now that she’s taken away by nature, the handkerchiefs she gifted not only remind of her absence but also hold the lingering warmth of affection she generously shared amongst us.

I sincerely hope and pray that she embarks on a higher journey.