Mitali

 Incense sticks and the the havan had filled the hall with its sickly aromatic smoke . Numerous ghee lamps burnt  smoky , sending lampblack soot  into the air. The devotees were tired and were just waiting for the Pooja to end . 

This being a Jain ceremony , was mildly different from Hindu rituals . The pundit uttered words which were mildly foreign . However , the Jai at the end of every unintelligible chant was well received and well known , even for ignoramuses like us . 

My neighbour , his wife , my hubby and me , belong to a pseudo modern group of people, who are neither here nor there . The encouraging thing is , there are lots like us .

Suddenly, a female voice  cheerfully piped up, alongside our sullen "Jai " . She was emaciated, wearing a red scarf on her head , despite 40 degrees outside . Her thin worn face bore the delight of a four year old. She jumped up with every chant and thanked the lord with all her might , raising her hands . 

She was , however, nowhere to be seen in the dining hall . 

I met her two days later , at my neighbours place . She was Mitali Sharma . The wife of a retired banker. She had two kids , one son and a daughter. Both grown up and working . 

Her smile was infectious , and rubbed off on us . It was like sunshine  on a cloudy morning . She smiled more than she spoke . Words chasing each other, clearly overwhelmed . 

She was also bald from chemotherapy . I too had become bald due to a sudden spate of bad illness , and we shared notes , comparing the length of our hairs and laughing at our troubles . 

She was naturally shy , but happy to be alive , and it was apparent . 

Over the next few years , we would become great friends , walking in the evenings , on the small tarmac road that ran through the colony . 

She would recount her troubles , I would reciprocate with mine . We shared songs , bhajans ( she was extremely devout ) , recipes and stories . She would tell of the time she stayed in Kolkata , as her husband was posted there . 

How she had learnt Bengali from her maid , and was sad that she had forgotten now . She would , everyday , accost me with Bengali bhajans and ask me to translate them for her . Baul geets use several archaic Bengali terms , not in use in general circulation , and she wouldn't hide her disappointment at my inabilities . In the end however , we would digress , tell each other humorous stories and laugh into the night . 

We would see exotic birds in the tiny garden , and name them . There was a tiny man made lake that drew lot of water birds , waterhens , lapwings and egrets . We would watch , and race . For she could really walk fast . Leaving me  breathless in her wake, if I slackened. 

Mitali was a yoga and fitness enthusiast. For some days we attended a dance class at the community hall . When the dance classes ended , she decided to host them at her home . It lasted for a week or so, and we had terrific fun . 

Then came swimming . During Summers , Mitali donned a costume and  entered the waters . She had , amazingly, taught herself swimming via YouTube . That was her level of dedication . 

Once she sent idlis over . They were the most softest , pillows of white perfection anyone could ever cook . 

Like a good friend , she always pointed out that my sweet tooth will be my undoing ( it is ) . And that morning walks are the best things one can do . ( No doubt) 

Sometime in 2020 , she suffered a relapse and underwent a radical surgery. Her para aortic lymph nodes were removed . That plummeted her immunity and stopped her walks. 

After that, once,  she was walking in her balcony and noticed me with a ponytail , as COVID had curtailed visits to the barber and my hair had grown . She was overjoyed to see my " choti " as she called it . 

We laughed . 

Few more balcony to ground conversations later , we heard , she had taken to bed . 

Her kids came several times to see her . Her daughter got married, became a mother . 

On women's day , March 2021 , Mitali  talked to me ,on phone, one last time.  I congratulated her on being a grandmother , and she laughed , as always . As always , she was full of nostalgia for her beloved Kolkata . 

Then , a few weeks later, she breathed her last . Finally , it was time to go, surrounded by all her loved ones .

I am sure , she is laughing away , whichever world she is in .