Chitti.

Now here’s a post I never saw myself write. Last Friday, my Kala Chitti passed away. She fought brave and hard against the cancer. It still feels strange to think that you had cancer, Chitti.

Chitti gave us strength. Despite feeling physically weak, she would still somehow summon the energy to scold us about the messy room (and claim that her illness was only due to her house being messy and unclean – a dialogue Ma, her twin, employs often as well) or for looking morose, when really we were just watching a TV show on Zindagi or when Chitappa was not wearing a smart set of pants and a shirt – oh what I’d give to get that scolding once more. It didn’t feel like you were unwell, primarily because your concerns were pretty much the same as before – like when your phone wasn’t switching on and how you felt out of touch with the world.

I used to call her up, first thing, when I landed in Madras. Chitti would then jump into her car, drive bare feet (a trademark of them Bombay sisters/twins), race to the airport and pick me up. Just one of very Chitti things she did. She did running around for anyone and everyone, you barely had to ask. When I was younger, she would take me along to pick up my sister at school in the afternoon. She used to make sure my favourite curry – kovakkai was made on the very day I arrived. If we went to the beach, we had maangas (raw mango) first and orange ice lollies later, to counter the mirch powder. She would take my sister and me to Spencer’s Plaza for a day spent at Westside, Landmark. She would sometimes make me do some maths, so my summer vacations weren’t a complete waste. We would both show equal enthusiasm on “tailor day” – even though, the clothes getting stitched might have been primarily for me. She would get those tiny samosas from Nilgiris for us to munch on. She would show so much pride in my doing close to nothing in terms of big achievements (those were her daughter's/my sister's area of expertise) – my cheerleader for all non-occasions. She loved accessorizing – whether it was for a wedding or just when we were all sitting at home, like last month. Ma and her were tied for best saari drapers – for themselves and others. I remember vividly, the seemingly complicated project that was draping a nine-yard saari on Susmita during the wedding which you did with such perfection.

They called her kinetic Kala and my mother, meticulous Mala. Together, these Bombay sisters were pretty much unstoppable. I would like to think that Chitti took care of the southern half of India, as my mother did the northern half. Such superwomen. Helping people is an obsession with these two, a driving force.

Archita and I would often complain when Chitti and Ma got on the phone – it meant that we wouldn’t get our phone time, at all, like for the rest of the day. It also meant real-time information exchange, things Archita or I might have been saving to tell each other later.

I think the only time I remember getting angry and upset with Chitti – in all my teenage-ness – was when she were looking out for me but I just saw that as her being a meanie for reasons I didn’t get. She wanted me to be healthy and maybe bring some moderation in my diet – I saw it as an assault on my right to have ketchup with the other junk food I was having. Sorry Chitti, we’ll just put that down to me being 16 and being a little dumb. Because I know, I’m your chamathu, favourite niece.

None of us believed that you could give up a fight, and we still don’t. Perhaps you just needed a break from all of this and hangout with Thatha instead.  

Note (unrelated, related...): In my limited experience in dealing with loss and condolences, I have noticed that it is best to reach out to a person who is dealing with loss, at the earliest possible instance. That person may not be in the place to respond to you. In trying to give some space, we tend to delay more than we should.