Indira Kotval's Tribute
Elly Duara aged 26 and her three-month-old baby Indira were sailing to Calcutta from Southampton UK in the Spring of 1945. It was the first time Elly ( Austrian by birth but a refugee in England where she met and Married Bapu Duara) was going to India. She was excited, anxious and happy because she was finally going to start her new life with her husband and baby.

As she scanned the shore looking for Bapu she saw him with a young girl waving madly at her as the ship steadily reached the shore. It was the first time she met Lakheme Chaliha who greeted her with such warmth she felt instantly at home.
The Duaras were to stay in Calcutta with the Chalihas until they moved to Assam where the Duara clan lived and worked.

Elly was met at the house by a rather serious and no-nonsense  Bormai  ( Bapu's elder sister and  Lakheme's  mother),  who told her exactly what she was doing wrong with the baby and what she needed to say and do in this new country she had come to.  Elly looked at Lakheme and signaled to her for help. 

That was the start of a long friendship with the young Lakheme acting as mentor and guide to her older sister in law and teaching her the rules of accepted behavior in India including how to wear a saree and how to talk to the older generation of  relatives that came to meet the newly arrived bride - some curious and some critical.

The following year Lakheme was to marry Manik and move to America. Now positions were reversed and it was Lakheme who sought Elly's advice about adapting  to a new country and a new life style.  

Meeting several years later in the US in 1985, both were able to continue with their friendship with ease. In the days of snail mail they had corresponded now and again but had no problem re uniting and finding so much in common again.

Now that they are both gone I wonder whether they are meeting in Spirit and continuing their friendship.


Indira Kotval ( nee Duara)

My Mother

She was the daughter of privilege who came from an exotic background.  She was born in Assam, a remote corner of India and was raised on a teagarden.  She was the oldest child and she loved to sew clothes for her brothers and sisters.  Even more fascinating to me, she would knit with bamboo needles that she and her sisters made.   
She was educated. Before she would marry, her only condition to her father was that she finish her degree because, as she said, Education is the one thing that no one can take away from you.   She had a Bachelor's degree in Economics, and she knew more about money than anyone else in our family. 
She married a handsome, brilliant and mercurial man who was my father- and he carried her away on a life of adventure across the oceans and far away from the comfortable life she had led.

She gave me life

Arriving from India, she lived with my father in one of the coldest places in the United States-Butte Montana.  She initially had trouble conceiving, but through the clever work of a local doctor, she was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. So it is through the miracle of medicine that I was born at the Butte General Hospital.  Perhaps that is why I became an endocrinologist.  Looking at her pictures taken at the time, I can see that she had some of the features of hypothyroidism that I have seen  in many patients.     I went back to Butte years later with Pam and Kathy, and found that the homes in which my parents had lived were still there.  The hospital where I was born, however, no longer exists.  The location is now the site of the Montana Power Company.   


She showed me life

One thing I remember most clearly about my Mother was her hands. 
My Mother's hands could do anything. I remember watching her when I was 8 years old teaching me to knit-and patiently helping me each time I dropped the loops off my needles in my clumsy attempts to imitate her.  When I was 10 years old, she taught me to embroider; I stitched my name, which she had written in Assamese script, in brown thread on the pocket of a yellow cotton blouse she had just sewn for me. 
Throughout my childhood her hands were magical.  I could never keep up as she rolled flawlessly round Loochis that we ate with special meals.  Mine always came out as triangles or misshapen trapezoids. They still do! 

She was, of course, the most wonderful Mom. But she expected a lot of me.  She was the original Tiger Mom.   My childhood was peppered with: 
You are smarter than 99% of people in the world, Naomi.  Act it.
 If your head wasn't attached you would lose it.
He doesn't have good breeding, she said of a would-be boyfriend of mine when I was in college.  



She taught me the lessons of life 

Her first lesson was that your word is your bond.  When I was in the first grade, in Watertown Mass, I was new to the Cuniff School.  I really wasn't that familiar with the people in the class, so when a girl that lived in my neighborhood invited me to her birthday party, I was very excited. The day of the party arrived, and my Mother bought a present and washed and ironed my party dress.   Then I learned that another friend was going to the beach with her family and she invited me along.  I had never been to the beach in Massachusetts and the birthday party paled in comparison.   I asked,  no, I  really begged and pleaded with my Mother to let me go to the beach instead of the birthday party.  She looked at me sternly and said, No Naomi , you promised your friend that you would come to her party. Your word is your bond, it is the way people will know that they can trust you.  How would you feel if someone who promised they would come to your party did not come?  
So as disappointed as I was to miss a day at the beach, I went to my friend's birthday party.  I don't recall to much about the party, but I will always remember the lesson, that it is more important to keep a promise. 

Another lesson I learned from her was that family matters:  even when friends turn against you, your family is there beside you.  The painful event that precipitated this lesson occurred on a Spring day when I was in the 7th grade.  I had been told by some friends that they were planning to have a softball game with some of the boys in the class, to be held at a big field near their home.  The day arrived and I never received a call telling me where to meet them.  I found out at the end of the day that they held their softball game and were not going to tell me.  I was heartbroken that I had been betrayed by people that I thought were my friends; l stayed on my bed and wept and wept.  When my Mother knocked on my door to find out what had happened, the whole story spilled out between my sobs.   That is when she told me, Naomi, sometimes people will say things to you,  but may not really mean them.  The only ones that you can count on are your family, who will always stand beside you.  This lesson has been engraved on my heart.  It is something that she gave me and that I have tried to pass on to Pam and Kathy. 

My mother was a pioneer: In 1960, three years before the publication of The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan, Mom went to Boston University and received a Master's degree in education,  specializing in reading.  She started teaching in the 1960's at the Pearl Street School in Reading Massachusetts. She taught the 3rd and 4th Grades, as well as Computer Skills until her retirement in 1990. 
  At the time she went to work, the women in the neighborhood gossiped about her, saying it was strange for a woman to go to work if her husband had a decent job.  My Dad did indeed have a good job as an engineer at Raytheon, but Mom had bigger plans for us and for herself.  The money that she earned as a teacher helped pay for my tuition for my undergraduate degree at Brown and my MD at Tufts. And when I graduated from Medical School, she gave me the kind of practical gift I needed to help me balance my life as a career woman and a wife, a portable dishwasher, which came with me from Boston to Providence and ultimately to Pacific Palisades. 


She saved my life

I was blindsided by the end of my first marriage. Of course, Mom did what any good mother would do; she and my father came to my rescue, flying cross country from Bedford at a moment's notice, and staying with me for several weeks until I could get myself together.  She comforted me, counseled me, and gave me the strength to get back on my feet. She saved me from my worst self and allowed me to see my better side.  Two things about that time stay in my memory forever.  The first is she rocked me to sleep when I had trouble staying in my bed alone those first few nights. And while staying with me, she helped my start to organize my life.  My Mother said, In Assamese there is a saying, After three times nothing.'    I listened to her and was finally able to say No more!  My Mom and my Dad stayed with me that next winter, and I started to train for a Marathon.  It is due to Mom that I completed the LA Marathon, which eventually led to my meeting Dennis, the wonderful man who became my husband 

For the last several years, she has lived in California, much closer than Bedford.  I have had the good fortune to spend lots of time with her, and to have her meet her wonderful great-grandchild and namesake Maya. We have travelled to India together twice, as well as to the East Cost to visit Kathy and many of our cousins, Seshu, Sharmi and her children Jordan and Damian. Before she became ill, we would spend Friday afternoons going to the movies, shopping, having tea and sweets in Little India.   Mom lived long enough to see the end of a story.  She was able to attend Maya's first birthday.  

Mom was a pioneer, as well as an exceptional and an inspiring role model.  I miss her calming counsel and her unconditional love and support every day.  But as a friend of mine said recently, She is in you.  And I know it's true- when I look in the mirror in a certain way, I see her features in my face. And I hear her laugh in my own.

Farewell
By Rabindranath Tagore

I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers! 
I bow to you all and take my departure. 

Here I give back the keys of my door 
--and I give up all claims to my house. 
I only ask for last kind words from you. 

We were neighbors for long, 
but I received more than I could give. 
Now the day has dawned 
and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out. 
A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.

Farewell My Friends
Rabindranath Tagore

Farewell My Friends
It was beautiful
As long as it lasted
The journey of my life.
I have no regrets
Whatsoever said
The pain I'll leave behind.
Those dear hearts
Who love and care...
And the strings pulling
At the heart and soul...
The strong arms
That held me up
When my own strength
Let me down.
At the turning of my life
I came across
Good friends,
Friends who stood by me
Even when time raced me by.
Farewell, farewell My friends
I smile and
Bid you goodbye.
No, shed no tears
For I need them not
All I need is your smile.
If you feel sad
Do think of me
For that's what I'll like
When you live in the hearts
Of those you love
Remember then
You never die.

My Wonderful Nana
Pamela Collingwood

My grandmother was the sweetest person I have ever known. She was kind, empathetic and loving, but tenacious and resilient too. I am lucky that she was my grandmother. 

The House in Bedford
My grandparents' house in Bedford will always be one of my favorite places in the world. Set on an acre of wooded land in the small Massachusetts town of Bedford, it is a stately white colonial home with a tidy lawn and gold lamppost out front. Although I grew up 3,000 miles away in Los Angeles, California, as a young girl I visited Bedford with my parents every year or so. My sister and I would share the north-facing bedroom with the glassed-in bookshelf full of Indian dolls and trinkets, slumbering snugly under Nana's pink and white sateen comforters. In late summer we combed through the woods surrounding their home in search of wild-growing blueberries, Concord grapes, and apples. Such a novelty for two California girls, where the only blueberries we'd ever seen were for sale in the supermarket. Every visit to Bedford required a hike around Fawn Lake, the large, glimmering pond just across Springs Road from their house. We'd come back to the house, mud caking our shoes and bitten up by mosquitos. We loved to play with the metronome that sat on the piano in Nana and Papa's den, to venture down into their musty-smelling basement, where a ping-pong table lay awaiting, and to play on their carpeted stairwell, switching the small night-light on and off, on and off, marveling at the metallic clink it made. We'd stuff ourselves on Nana's delicious luchees and dahl and then demand that they take us for Grape-Nut ice cream at Bedford Farms. One summer when I was around nine years old, a little white bunny came to visit the backyard every day during our stay. What excitementKathy and I had never seen anything like it! Nana and Papa's house was a wonderland. 
Later, their home was my haven from the stress and excitement of college life an hour down the highway in Providence, Rhode Island. Although at the time I was a college student and technically an adult, I reveled in my grandparents' concern and care for me. I'd take the Amtrak train from downtown Providence to the train station at Route 128 in Massachusetts where Nana would be waiting, her forest green Taurus parked in the commuter parking lot. I loved arriving at their house, gliding in Nana's Taurus through the dark and silent pine trees along Springs Road until we found the one that Papa had marked with a red reflector. Nana always made a feast of Indian curry, dahl, luchees and rice, and the food she served me was a comforting reminder of my roots while I struggled to figure out who I was. 
My grandparents were extremely protective of me and didn't hesitate to show it. During many visits I'd borrow a bicycle that they kept stashed in their basement and ride along Springs Road into downtown Bedford. On one trip in particular, during my senior year of college, I headed over to Marshall's for a little shopping trip. I was so absorbed in shopping that I hadn't kept track of the time. I guess I'd been out longer than expected, because as I was meandering on my bike back to Nana and Papa's house, there was Nana in her green Taurus, searching for me! Later that fall, I spent Thanksgiving weekend at Nana and Papa's house. I was training for a half-marathon, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I was all set to run a 10-mile course that my grandmother had helped me map out, through the back roads of Bedford, to Concord and back, when my Papa put his foot down; it was far too dangerous for me to run through the sleepy suburban neighborhoods by myself. Never mind that I regularly ran through far worse neighborhoods when training for the race in Providence! What if I was mugged, or kidnapped, or run over? No, my grandparents would not let me go for my run unless someone accompanied me every step of the way. So Nana and I set out, she in her Taurus, and me in my cold-weather running gear. Every 500 yards, my grandmother pulled her car up ahead of me, parked, and waited for me to run by, keeping her eye on me the whole time. Sometimes, through the window of the car, she'd pass me water, or food, or new cassette tapes for my Walkman. 
I'll never forget one fall evening when I stayed up very late talking with Nana in her kitchen. I had recently graduated from college and was visiting my grandparents in Bedford for a few days before jetting off on my next adventure. A college friend had invited me to have dinner at her family's home a few towns away, and I'd had a terrible interaction with my friend's mother. She was abrasive and rude, glorifying her own children's accomplishments while serving me a series of backhanded compliments, with a smirk on her face the whole time. I'd returned from dinner in serious distress, unsure what to make of the evening and my friendship with this girl. I unloaded the whole story on Nana. She smiled, gave me a knowing look, and told me that all of the problems that I was describing had been dealt with my many people before me, many times, and if I wanted to feel better, I would just need to read the Ramayana and the Bhagavad Gita. She went to her bookshelf, found copies of the books and handed them to me. Keep them, and read them: they will make you feel better. Nana was right: reading them calmed me, and stilled my racing thoughts. I still have them and refer to them from time to time.
When my grandparents sold their house in 2008 to move to California, I was sorrowful. Though I felt relieved that they would finally be closer to me and my Mom, I mourned the loss of the house in Bedford that felt like my second home. Nana had created a warm, welcoming home for her children, grandchildren and extended familya place where we could relax and recuperate. I will never forget it.

Trip to India
I first visited India in 2001, with my Nana and Papa. What a marvelous visit it was!  I finally met all of the cousins and great-aunts and uncles that I'd heard my Nana and Papa talk about my whole life.  Despite living most of her life 10,000 miles away, my grandmother had kept close ties with her brothers, sisters and other extended family in India. Growing up in the U.S. with hardly any extended family other than my grandparents, it was thrilling for me to meet my grandparents' family members at last. They were extremely loving and welcoming, although it was the first time we were meeting. All of Nana's siblings, Akanu, Aijoni, Dipu, Ruby and Ronu, treated me like I was their own grandchild, and I tried my best to call them Aita and Koka (even though those terms were a bit unfamiliar to me!) Although I enjoyed every moment of my trip, my favorite part was the short visit that my grandmother and I took to her family's tea garden, Azizbagh, in Dibrughar, Assam, followed by an overnight stay in her ancestral home in Sibsagar. While we were there, we made a brief stop at the Hindu temple in Sibsagar, where my grandmother prayed.  That trip opened my eyes to India's beauty, and I marveled at how difficult, and lonely, it must have been for my grandmother to leave the loving embrace of her large family to forge a new life in America.

The Namesake
When I learned that I was expecting a baby in 2013, Nana was thrilled. Tiny hats and onesies began streaming into our home courtesy of Nana, along with two beautiful hand-knit blankets made by Nana with love (with help from my Mom). I chose not to learn the sex of the baby until she was born, but there was no doubt in my mind that if I had a daughter, I'd name her Maya, after my wonderful Nana. Maya Katherine Collingwood was born in January 2014, and Nana was one of her first visitors. She delighted in little Maya, and visited her regularly during Maya's first year of life. Baby Maya brought Nana such joy, and I am happy that Nana had the chance to meet her namesake and get to know her during her first three years of life. I am sad that she did not have the chance to meet my second daughter, Piper Rose, who was born two months after Nana passed away. But I remember her every time I dress Piper in an outfit that Nana gave to Maya three years before, and I imagine how much Nana would have loved little Piper, too.

Nana will live in our hearts forever.

Dear Family,
Maya was a quiet friendly person with whom I enjoyed playing tennis with. Maya did all our scheduling always making sure we had four players on the court even if that meant including her husband as a sub. Maya was a very good tennis player but more important a much loved friend and I will miss her.

Sincerely,
Betty Wilson

Vashi Dhir's Tribute

I remember Pam's grandmother most vividly from the Thanksgiving holiday that I spent with her, Pam's grandfather and Pam one year while we were at Brown. They had a beautiful home in Bedford, Massachusetts, a cozy house surrounded by trees and close to a lake. It was just beautiful and peaceful there in the winter. I remember how much at home she made me feel, like I was one of her granddaughters too. She made sure we were well stuffed with delicious food at all times and even packed me food to take back when I left. She was gentle, calm and filled with love and generosity. I even remember Pam was training for a marathon and she walked behind her the whole way in the freezing cold to make sure she was ok! I will never forget her gentle spirit and the way she made me feel all those years ago and even since whenever I was in her presence. She was one of a kind.

To the family of Maya Das
Our happy recollections of Maya is of a very good tennis player.  She was a calm and consistent player who never got upset when a partner missed a shot. We played at the Wedgewood Club almost every Saturday and Sunday mornings.  During the winter, we continued paying at the Woburn Indoor courts which enhanced our Tennis skills and continued fun times together.
Later, when some of us stopped playing Tennis, luckily not Maya, we called ourselves the Tennis All Stars and gathered for ;lunch and a delightful fun time together.  
I (Nancy) always appreciated Maya inviting me to the large Boston Sports Club when they had a day each year to invite a friend to enjoy the facilities.  We went to the yoga class that she really enjoyed.  After we parted company, I going to the pool which she knew I enjoyed and she would watch others play tennis.  I don't think Maya ever went into the Wedgewood or Boston Sports pool, but she knew I loved the water and waited for me. 
If Maya had a motto, it was Keep Calm and Carry On
Our memories will always be a sunny Sunday morning where we gather on a tennis court trying our best to hit a fuzzy ball hoping it files over the net and with it all our minor troubles fly away with each stroke.
Thank you Maya for good memories, from your tennis pals:
Dot Dunn and Nancy French and Mary Willis, Florence Donovan, Lorraine Hollenbeck.

Dear Naomi, Jit and I were very sad to hear about Jethaideu's passing. Please accept our deepest condolences. We have so many happy memories of her. She was a tremendous help at our wedding, standing in as my auntie, helping me get dressed and making me comfortable. Jethaideu had a gift for that--putting people at ease. She also demonstrated a deep commitment and love for her family, a circle she welcomed me into that day. Soon after our wedding, I stayed with your parents when I went to Boston for my college roommate's wedding. Jethaideu shared cooking and life advice, family stories around the table, and history lessons during a trip to Walden Pond and Concord. She had lived and worked in the Boston area for many years and was fully comfortable in American society. One of the secrets to her comfort, she explained, was some advice she had received from an elder family member just after her marriage and before she left India: "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Taking up these words as her own, Jethaideu felt free to adapt to her new society, while still remaining true to her core identity. She was fully American and still deeply rooted in her family. Several years later, in 2000, Jit and I, with our parents who were visiting from India, enjoyed another brief stay in your parents' home. We were all gratified to see your parents' robust health, and the two cousins who had grown up togetherMa and Jethaideuexchanged stories and laughed together over old and new events. Ma and I visited your parents one more time, in about 2008, after your parents had moved to California. This time we stayed in a hotel, but the welcome to their home was the same warm one we had always experienced. We marveled once again at Jethaideu's activity level and mobility. I was especially impressed when I accompanied her to pick up some needed medicine. She turned down my offer to drive"You don't know the roads so well as me"and gamely set off on the busy Los Angeles freeways, negotiating them with great skill. This was the Jethaideu I knewan active and self-sufficient woman, always ready for someone else to "come along for the ride." With gratefulness, I remember this strong, warm woman who welcomed me in and inspired me in each of our encounters to embrace life with energy, curiosity, and generosity of heart. May her soul rest in peace. With love to you all, Susan

Our histories must matter.
by Siddhartha Mahanta


On November 8, my great aunt passed away. She was born on a tea plantation in Sibsagar, Assam, on September 11, 1925, the eldest daughter of a successful industrialist and Indian independence activist. She earned a Bachelor's degree in economics from Benares Hindu University, and in 1945 married a man who'd served with the U.S. military in Burma during the World War II. After they married, they traveled by army transport to the United States, where she became a naturalized citizen. My great uncle earned his doctorate at Notre Dame, and in 1955 they settled in the Boston area, where she pursued a Master's degree in education at Boston University. She loved gardening and tennis, even co-founding a tennis club with my great uncle in 1959. She devoted her life to education, teaching the third and fourth grade, along with a computer applications class, until her retirement. She was the mother of two, doctors, both, grandmother of five, and great-grandmother of three.
I learned of her death (of heart failure) on the morning of November 9, the day after the election of Donald Trump. I couldn't shake the feeling that, suddenly, her entire narrative had suddenly been repudiated by what had just occurred. That the arc of history no longer bent towards acceptance, but that it had simply course corrected back to an immoral center of rejectionism.
I only met my great aunt a few times. On each occasion, I was newly shocked at the idea of an older relative, my grandmother's contemporary, so thoroughly Americanized. No women of this generation that I'd encountered wore pants, talked so freely of their career, cracked jokes with such crackling, mischievous irony. Her voice lacked any discernible trace of accent, her daily wardrobe, any mekhela chadornone that I saw, anyway.
My great aunt and grandmother grew up together, spending countless days at the old tea house in Sibsagar, with its grand porches, high ceilings, creaky, haunting-yet-charmed stairways, and vast lawn, used as a campground by the Allied forces during World War II. At the age of nine, she met Gandhi at the house. Perhaps, as a teenager, she saw a union between the spirit of patriotism coursing through pre-independent India, and the rejection of fascism the soldiers embodied, knowing then that America (not Britain, of course), was in her future. Those endless summer days, running across the plantations, scanning the tea fields worked by imported laborers, wondering whether all of this, any of this, was strange or sad. I wonder, too, about her meeting a man animated by the energies of victory over unequivocal evil; we talk, now, of the loss of a post-war liberal world order. For him, then, that nascent order surely meant boundless opportunity and a place in a boundless, if harsh, world.
I imagine the shock of arrival in South Bend: Endless, blinding fields of yellow, the ritualistic rigors of a Catholic institution and communityshe knew missionaries, but seeing them up close and personal in their laboratories of faith surely allowed her to pull back the curtain on their mystical, severe ways. Then, New England, with all its attendant mythologies. Marinating in the brine of the American creation myth, assimilating gradually, year by year. The image of a young brown family coming up in middle-class, 1950s New England always provided me with a certain measure of comfort. Someone had done all this before: The arriving, the adapting, the creating of an identity and a family. My great aunt's career decisions paid homage to my family's tradition in education and civic betterment. There was a history there worth honoring and carrying forward. She and my great uncle would have children and give them American names, and come to know of the venerable Kennedys and the bright shining future they suggested.
In her story, there is possibility, the courage of someone forging ahead into the ominous and strange, only to be greeted on the other end as an equally ominous, strange, exotic artifact of an older, browner, yellower, mysterious world that had supposedly seen its best moments come and go. America took in the teeming Asiatic masses because, Why not, let's see where all this goes?
Not long after her arrival in America, Washington would wise up to the realities of appearing like a horrifically, proudly racist empire, enacting changes to our immigration laws that ushered in waves of young engineering students, aspiring doctors, entrepreneurs from Asiafolks who, more often than not, kept their heads down, completed graduate school, found quiet, unobtrusive ways to insinuate themselves into the American fabric. They'd accustom themselves to being the curiosity, the diligent foreign-born who asked no questions, who kept to themselves, who reasoned that a certain kind of soft assimilation was the best way to quietly but assertively take what America had to offer.
I've lived my life assuming that stories like my great aunts were a thing of beauty. A confused journey, weighted with contradictions and sacrifice and pain. But a thing of beauty, universally agreed upon. Now, I know this not to be true.
We took it all too lightly. We believed that the machine of progress that brought us here, that allowed us to ensconce ourselves in prosperity, detached from the exigencies of civic life, would simply keep on keeping on. There had been enough struggle, just getting this far. Why push harder? Settling into our enclaves, encasing ourselves in the familiar. Our story could perhaps exist in parallel with the tremors shaking the world loose from its foundations, from the collapse of American industry, to the good times-are-here-again-ism of Reagan, to the utopian, capitalist triumphs of the Clinton years. We came to think of ourselves as untouched and untouchable by the rancid forces that sought to pull it apart. We were indispensable. We would vote, when moved to do so; prosper, and insulate ourselves from history. We had that luxury.
Of course, complacency is the brush that tars most all of us who are the comfortable and relatively unafflicted, immigrant or not (the joke being that the latter, of course, doesn't really exist). For the former category, I wonder how quickly the realization has set in that no ideal of progress is ever safe or guaranteed. You must always fight. Remarkably, however, what you are fighting for is not just the right to be present and counted for, but the very right to have a story. After all, what you represent, in your very presence here, is a break with history, a cataclysmic disruption to a world order that, as far as you've ever known, will find a way to tolerate you. The extent of that promise now feels uncertain.
My confidence that her story, and all the stories that came after it, still have a place here has been shaken. Not beyond repair, I should say. There are still many who see us not as a disruption, but as a logical outgrowth of everything this country has to offer. But my heart bursts, if only a little bit, with rage.

Lakhimi Baideu and Memories of the Bedford Home
Prasenjit (Bhaity) Duara
Most  of my memories of Lakhimi baideu are from my graduate student days at Harvard from the late 1970s to the  early 1980s. Their home in Bedford was a warm and comfortable home for me to periodically get away from graduate school stress, to eat some good food and speak Assamese. Lakhimi baideu was nothing but the caring cousin and aunt; although she was my cousin, she was also related to the Duaras through the Das connection.  Jituda, Seshu and the family would also visit them frequently and we overlapped sometimes especially when the Dases were in New Hampshire. She was both cousin and aunt to Jituda (who died tragically in the prime of his youth in 1982, I believe) who was also a marvelous human being and they cared very much for each other. 
During most summers when I was in Boston, the Bedford home became quite a hub for relatives from India, UK and elsewhere. Lakhimi baideu always took the best care of them taking them on long drives to scenic spots, to other relatives in the wider region, to the different sites in the Boston area-- including Harvard, where I took them to the Peabody glass flowers museum. Once the children were gone from home, she really cherished these visits, reuniting her with the family and Assam. She had left India at a very tender age and came to the US at a time when there were hardly any Indians and society was very segregated.  It must have been quite lonely and difficult for her socially, although I am sure the children filled her life for most of those years. The departure of the children from home coincided I think, happily with the large-scale arrival of visiting relatives from India in the mid-70s.  
There were always interesting stories to be told about and by these relatives. I recall Lakhimi Baideu telling me about the time when my Bordeuta, Bapu Duara, arrived in New Bedford while they were waiting for him in the Bedford bus stationa not infrequent occurrence because Manik Bhindeu would subsequently always make it very clear when giving instructions on how to get to Bedford.  Some were scared to walk around the neighborhood because of the fear of (pet) dogs, leashed and unleashed. And there was the time when Bormai Jethaideu (her mother) fearlessly donned a swimsuit and entered a poolthat piece of news electrified the circuit of conservative relatives in Assam, I remember.  
Lakhimi baideu's passing saddened me a great deal. She was always had a pacifying effect on me and was kind and caring. I will miss her.

Memories of Maya Das from Monjushree Kapoor

We met after long years only knowing we were cousins. Our relationship changed with a chanced meeting after long, long years! I had heard from my mother, the tales of my cousin, Lakhimi baidew's good nature and deeds. But I didn't get to meet her till my visit to U.S.A in the year 2000 when I went for my son's Convocation. Meeting her,I realized Ma's praise was true! She was a gem of a person-a person who changed my way of thinking. I admired her courage and cheerfulness bearing her physical discomforts and enjoying life to the hilt. Always ready to help- you felt welcomed at her home! May God rest her soul in peace. We will miss you-Lakhimi baidew .

MY COUSIN LAKHIMI BAIDEW
-Dr. Niloy Kumar Das (Biju)
The name Lakhimi baidew makes me nostalgic and takes me back to my childhood and those wonderful times. She was my cousin (My mother's elder sister's daughter) who became my aunt (by marrying my father's younger brother Manik Kaku- Late Dr. Dilip Das). Lakhimi baidew, the eldest amongst the grandchildren of our maternal grandparents was a quiet person who was, always smiling and helpful. 
I still remember the sudden news that Manik Kaku is marrying Lakhimi in Calcutta (Kolkata). Uncle was posted in Calcutta as US Army personnel. After the end of the llnd World War, she went to USA as a war bride with uncle Dilip. They used to visit India with their children Naomi and Phillip and later with their grandchildren Pamela and Cathy. She was still the quiet person and very attached to the family.
The last time I met Lakhimi baidew, for a long while, was in Guwahati when she with her sister Akonu (from Kolkata) came for instituting the Late Dilip Kumar Das Memorial Mathematics Award in Cotton College his alma mater in Guwahati, Assam. 
Though we lived most of our lives in different countries, we were a close knit family and the death of our dear Lakhimi Baidew has left a void in our lives.
 Me and Arati pray to the all mighty for peace of her soul.

Aroti Das Memories

As I recollect: Lakhimi baideu spent her early childhood with her maternal grandparents in Guwahati where she also attended middle/high school as her parents (my uncle and aunt) were in Korongoni Tea Estate, where formal schools were not established that she could attend. I remember Lakhimi baideu coming to Sibsagar to pay visit to our maternal grandmother - AKA Ai Deuta' - on her way to and from Korongoni Tea Estate to Guwahati during her vacation. Among other things, I noticed one thing that she would cry a lot every time before leaving Sibsagar. I was quite young then and could not understand why she cried so much. Our house in Melasakkar in Sibsagar town, AKA Bongola', was (still is) a place where at any given time there is continuous flow of other people besides cousins, aunts, uncles who lived there - relatives and guests, etc. etc. and seemed a place full of life, lot of activity and most importantly, the love and affection we as children were ushered upon. Perhaps Lakhimi baideu was missing that the most being away from it all by living in Guwahati. I also fondly remember she liked to sit close to me, and how soft spoken she always was, and always with a smile.

Baideu moved to Tuligonj in Calcutta (present Kolkata) and attended Asotosh College. My elder (and only sister) and I were also in Tuligonj at that time to continue our schooling. Following the passing (untimely) of my sister, I spent few years with Lakhimi baideu; and I will always remember she was there to fill in the void  she must have understood what I was going through, the pain of losing my sister, who I always used to look up to and was very close to.
On a special note: While in Calcutta, baideu was the first artist to sing Assamese song that was also for the time broadcasted in All India Radio'. Upon completing college in Calcutta, Lakhimi baideu went to Benaras Hindu University in order to pursue higher education.

Years later, during my visit to US in 1984, I was able to spend a few days during the summer with baideu and bhindeu in Boston. Bhindeu was also very caring and affectionate. It so happened that it was my birthday the day of my arrival in Boston and bhindeu made sure a birthday cake was there to celebrate, along with other flavorful meal I was treated with.

In December of 1993, baideu came to Texas to attend our son Jit and Susan's wedding in Bryan and Sugar Land, Texas. I am so grateful that she was able to come and I savor that time we were able spent - another opportunity for us to bond and reconnect.

Our next memorable visit to baideu and bhindeu in Boston was during my visit with my husband, Bipinpal Das, to US in 1999. This was meant to be for us to recollect, go back in memory lane of years' worth of events we could catch up on! Another memorable weekend during that visit was when Jit and Susan drove both of us and my elder brother (Satyabrata Chaliha) and sister-in-law (Jayashree Chaliha), who were also visiting US at that time, to New Jersey to attend Assam Convention in July of 2000. Baideu and bhindeu attended that convention as wellquite a memorable time that was, happens very rarely indeed!

My last visit with baideu and bhindeu in US was in 2010 in Pacific Palisades, California, where they eventually moved from Boston to be near Naomi and Philip. Susan made all the arrangement for our visit. I was looking forward to see them and happy that I was able to goI will always remember the time spent with baideu and bhindeu during that visit.

Between those years, and the last one with bhindeu before his passing, baideu and bhindeu made many trips to India and they always made it a point to pay us a visit in our house in Guwahati - even if it was only a short one!

Lakhimi baideu always remained truly a very affectionate, loving and caring cousin sister to me. I always felt a special bond between baideu and I which I will always keep close to my heart.


Arati Das (Jeena Mahanta)

Jayashree Chaliha
Sibsagar 
Assam

When I came as a new bride to Sibsagar, I was very young. In my teens I became a part of a large family. I was raised in a large joint family also but after the death of both my parents, my aunt took charge of me and I shifted to their Railway bungalow, as my uncle was working with the Indian Railways. So, when I got a joint family again after my marriage, I was very happy.
The huge bunglalow in Sibsagar was full with a large family comprising uncles-in-law, aunties and their children. There was not a single dull moment in the house with the family members, live-in-guests, casual guests, and countless children. Uncle Jadav Prasad and aunty Debabala, Lakhimi's parents, who were living in the tea garden, used to come on Sundays.
Once in 1962, aunt Debabala said "Lakhimi is coming from America after a long time with Manik and their two children Naomi and Philip. We would like to throw a party In Sibsagar to meet all the people here."
We were overjoyed! We started spring cleaning the house. Tutu, my husband, Lakhimi's cousin, volunteered to paint the room for them. It was a festive occasion for the whole family. The family members gathered together like the bye-gone days.
Uncle Jadav Prasad and aunt Debabala had come a day before to organize the party. Dipu, Jaya, Akanu, Ruby came early in the morning from Korangani, the tea garden. Aijoni, Ronu came along with Lakhimi ,Manik and the children in the afternoon.  The house was bubbling with gaiety and laughter. Aunt Putali (Dr. Chaliha) came from Shillong. It was like a wedding celebration.
 Offering oblation at the altar of our temple, Lakhimi met each and everyone, crying with joy and emotion. She was a loving soul and cared for everybody.
Even today when I think of that day I am thrilled . After their visit this time, they used to come quite often. Lakhimi always wore Assamese costume during her stay here in Sibsagar just like the olden days. She never used English words while speaking in Assamese which made us very happy. We loved to listen to her sweet conversation.
A long time passed. Our children were grown up. Our elder son Paran went to U.S.A. for his higher studies. When we went to see him in  U.S.A.,  Lakhimi invited us to spend a few days in Bedford. My aunt-in-law Suniti was staying with her daughter Geeta at that time. Tutu, myself and aunt Suniti, all three of us boarded a bus and went to Boston from where Manik took us to Bedford.
Lakimi and Manik's house was like a picture. We were fascinated by the way they arranged everything for us-the bed room, the drawing room, the kitchen and the equipment they used. We loved them all.
We enjoyed the Piano concert that was shown in the t.v. and spent long hours watching it.
Bihoo, the Assamese festival of New Year came. Manik planned a sumptuous dinner and divided the cooking schedule amongst us. I had to cook 'alur dam'. a dish of potato and also aubergene fry. When I wanted to boil the potatoes for the dish, Lakhimi said, "you take rest now, cook later." After taking rest when I came down to cook I found Lakhimi had already opened a tin of boiled potatoes for me to cook.
We had a sumptuous dinner with 'Alur dam, bengena bhaji ,puffed up luchis and sweet and sour tomato chutney.' Aunt suniti made the puffed luchis.
Lakhimi took us to see many sights around Boston, she drove. Once she took us to visit Mukut, our nephew and his family.
Lakhimi used to keep the kettle boiling for tea all the time. It used to make a continuous clicking sound  click,click,click,click, it reminded me of our household in Tezpur where an iron kettle used to be kept boiling for tea and it used to make the same kind of noise:click,click,click,click.
I remember those few days very distinctly even today. These memories are like the multi-coloured dream sequence of bye gone days.  

Picture

Jayashree,Aunt Suniti and lakhimi in the kitchen preparing Bihoo dinner.

Lakhimi Baideu
May C. Das was my eldest sister older to me by 9 years. Her name at home was Lakhimi and as she was my elder sister or my Baideu in Assamese I used to address her as Lakhimi Baideu. Because she went away to the U.S. when I was just 9 years old my interactions with her were confined mainly to a limited period. Even during that period she went away to study at Benares Hindu University for two year I to boarding school at Shillong.
Anyway my earliest recollection of her is of a very gentle, kind, fair and beautiful lady. Once I came into possession of a shining four anna coin. For some reason Lakhimi Baideu was in need of the coin and she borrowed it from me. Every day thereafter I would pester her for return of the money. When she did return I remember to have made a scene because the coin she returned was not the one I had lent to her. At my very tender age I had no concept of money and so wanted back the very same shiny coin which I had given her. Ultimately another equally shiny coin assuaged my confused feelings.
I don't know what subject she studied at Benares. But while there she produced a beautiful water colour painting in the classical Indian style of a girl with a deer under a tree. The painting was framed and given pride of place in our sitting room in Kolkata. I remember there was a flaw in the painting with one foot of the girl being fatter than the other as if she had sprained it and it had got swollen.
One occasion which gave a lot of merriment to Lakhimi Baideu was at a faux pas I made in a conversation with her. I was learning to speak in the Bengali language from my newly acquired friends in Kolkata after we had moved there. The word Yearkie can be used to convey the meaning of to bluff in Bengali. The 2nd World War was going on and each locality had its Air Raid Patrols (ARP) to monitor bombings by Japanese planes at night. So the word ARP was bandied about regularly in conversations and  it came to my ears too. I had heard both words but was thoroughly confused what was what. In reply to something which she said I meant to tell Lakhimi Baideu not to try to bluff me and I blurted out don't ARP with me. Lakhimi Baideu found that very funny and for years reminded me about it.

Minakshi Basu(Aijoni)
Kolkata.

We addressed her as Lakhimi Baideu. Lakhimi,her pet name means the goddess of wealth Lakshmi. Her school name was Maya, meaning enchantment. According to Indian Philosophy, the world is an enchantment, a divine play house of God, the Absolute.
She was an enchantress in the real sense of the term. She was loved by everyone who came to know her. She was the eldest of the eight siblings of whom one sister named Nani died very young and another brother Pradeep died at the age of seven from brain tumor.
She took it on herself the responsibility of the five brothers and sisters and looked after them as far as it is possible for a girl of her age. We lived in the ancestral house at Sibsagar in a joint family.  The huge bungalow was full of life with children.
Lakhimi Baideu, as I addressed her, being an elder sister, was very loving and caring. She was so emotional that every time she left us for her schooling at Guwahati, she used to cry. She was studying at Guwahati staying with our grandparents  because there was no school in the tea gardens where our parents lived. So we were separated. Myself and Ronu, our youngest brother stayed with our parents while the elder ones were sent to Guwahati for schooling. Thus we were separated after a time only to meet on summer and puja holidays.
Lakhimi went to Benaras  University for her graduation and thus we didn't see each other for a long time.
Her marriage was arranged by our parents, as was the custom of the time and she came over and met her husband-to-be for the first time in Calcutta. After her wedding Lakhimi went away to the U.S. with her husband with the intention of coming back soon.  She did come back after two years but had to go back again.
Then she came for a visit after a decade when Naomi was 15 years old and Philip 9.
In 1974, Mother and myself went to Bedford for a long holiday and Lakhimi looked after us, took us for site seeing to different places starting from places around Boston. Our long trip to California was very enjoyable. Lakhimi hired a car for us to travel which she drove. We thought it was she was very brave.
Lakhimi took great care of our mother who was not familiar with the California climate-the fog  of the region. We had a lovely trip all three of us-Mother,Lakhimi and myself.
After our visit she used to come to India every two years, and her frequent visits enthused us with new ideas.

Akanu's Tribute 

Ours was a big family.  Maya (Lakhimi) was the eldest of the siblings,  Noni, the child just after Maya, died very young,  Indrajit (Dipu),  and Ruby, the twins born after her, then myself, Rekha (Akanu).   Pradip (Bhaity)the brother after me passed 
away at 7.   Minakshi(Aijoni) and Ranjit(Ronu) are the youngest sister and brother. 

Our parents lived in our Tea Estates, far from educational institutions. Maya was sent to Guwahati(erstwhile Gauhati) to stay with our maternal grandparents, where she was admitted in a well known Girls' school.  Our grandfather was a liberal and progressive person, and under our grandparent's tutelage Maya was trained in music and used to perform in public functions.  Ruby followed Maya after few years and I joined them when I was 9. 

 Under our grandfather's strict supervision, we did well in our studies. Himself a good Tennis player and sportsman our grand father taught us outdoor games like Badminton and indoor games such as carrom and chess. He used to read out poems of Rabindranath Tagore to us.  Our grandmother, a lovely, sweet little lady concerned for everybody, was proud of her granddaughters and loved them dearly to the point of spoiling them. 

We were very happy at our grand parent's place.  In the absence of my mother,  Lakhimi took me under her wing, would check my Class works every day as soon as I was back from school.  Once as I was in a hurry to go out to play after school I didn't show  my class work to her which was my bad luck as I didn't do well that day.  Like a responsible guardian she had gone through my work and was fuming and accused me of not showing my work that day because of poor marks.  Not being an obedient sister I retaliated, and we had a big fight. At the end we both cried and hugged each other.  Very soon after she stitched a cute little dress for me. Such was my WONDERFUL ELDER SISTER, Maya (Lakhimi).



Our big sister was our idol, whatever she did we thought was the best. Where ever she went, never forgot to bring lovely little gifts for all of us which we loved. I remember when she came home from Benares she got us beautiful  colorful bangles, which were not available at Guwahati at that time. She was embodiment of Love and compassion.  In 1946 she went to the USA with her newlywed husband Dilip Kumar Das, (who happened to be my aunt's brother-in-law) and settled there for the rest of her life. 

But the family bond never ceased.  During the early years the communication was
difficult. For the phone connection one had to book through telephone services and had to wait for the call. It was much before the E-mail, Mobile phone era. Postal communication was simpler, but was time consuming. Nevertheless, invariably, her Birthday Greeting card would reach each  member of the family in good time.

I cherish the times when my sister and brother-in-law stayed with my family at Kolkata. My husband,Tarun was very fondof Lakhimi. My children loved their Americar Jethaidew and my grandchildren loved their Americar Aita. In 2011 She came over to my grand daughter's wedding when Ruby and Ronu also  came down from Guwahati while Aijoni was already there. By that time Dipu had passed away. We brother and sisters had a grand get together. Four sisters met after a long time and enjoyed each other's company for the last time, and the warmth of that memory still lingers. The vacation she promised me with her in Hawaii never happened. She had no idea at the time that it would be her last visit to her dear Motherland.


Hearing about her failing health, in 2014, I visited her. She was much excited at my visit. Though it was a short one she was extremely happy to have me with her. Subsequently, whenever I called her over the phone, first thing she would ask,"When are you coming again". I thank my stars that I could make such a long journey at 84, just to be near my ailing sister.

In the Geeta, Shree Krishna says to Arjuna," Jatasya hi drubo mrityuh"- 'Whoever is born, to him or her death is certain.'.

Dear Naomi and Philip

Lakhimi baideu's passing saddened me a great deal.  It reminded me of her kindness and care for me when I was a student at Harvard-- as if she was a parent (although she was my first cousin). She had all the great characteristics of the Chaliha family: smarts, talent and most of all, a beautifully calm and caring quality. I loved the portrait and also all of the pictures.

Dear Pam and Kathy,

Heard the news about Aita's passing. 

Please accept my deepest condolences. My thoughts and prayers are with you all at this difficult time. 

Avinash

Hi,
Just heard about Aita. Please accept our deepest condolences. My sister and I have many many fond memories of Lakhimi Aita and Koka and we always looked forward to their visits to Golf Club Road. Lakhimi Aita or America Aita as we called her was one of the gentlest, kindest and most loving people I knew.We will miss her and I know Akanu is devastated

Love to you all through this difficult time.

Mummum, Rani, Wriju, Radha and Rajbir xx

Dearest Naomi,
I am really sad to have lost my loving Lakhimi Jethaidew. I have grown up looking forward to her visits to Calcutta. In the days of non connectivity she brought the exciting western world to our homes. She was a darling and on every visit she would bring magazines and books with the latest trends in the US which for me was fascinating. She would always bring loads of presents for all of us and I always wondered when she got the time to shop. Then she told me once that she started shopping as soon as she got back from here!

My heartfelt condolences to Pam, Kathy and you. May you have to strength to get over this terrible loss.

Lots of love,
Lipi

Dear Naomi,

We are shocked at the sudden demise of Lahkimi Baidew.
We pray for the eternal peace of dear departed soul.

Lakhimi Baidew had a successful and fulfilling life.

Our condolences to you and the family.
Biju and Arati

That's a lovely portrait. Thank you. The best thing is that she lived a full life and she had the spirit of Barmai baidew, your grandmother. My mother sends you her condolences and her best wishes that you may cope with your loss with the knowledge that Lakhimi  baidew had a good life and that you remember her with all the sweet memories. Our best wishes to you all.

Regards,
Zina.

Please convey our heartfelt condolences to the family. I met Naomi many, many years ago, still have her pic with our family when she visited Guwahati. I think the last time I saw baidew was at an Assam Convention, I still have the image of a tiny vivacious, very smart lady with short hair and glasses. You had mentioned that she was living in some kind of assisted living community. So very sad, all our family is leaving one by one every year. Very depressing. But that's life I guess. She brings Bormai baidew to mind.
Our condolences once again.

Regards,
Zina.

Dear All,

It is with deep sadness, sharing the news of passing away of Jeena Mahanta baideu's aunt and Naomi Neufeld's mother Mrs. Maya Chaliha Das, a long time citizen of USA.  The write up below has been sent by her daughter Naomi Neufeld, MD, FACE, who lives in California. Our heartiest condolences and prayers to the family and may the soul rest in peace. Let's all pray together.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maya Chaliha Das
September 11, 1925-November 8, 2016


Mrs. Maya Chaliha Das, formerly of Bedford Massachusetts died on November 8, 2016 of heart failure in Seal Beach California. at the age of  91.  She and her husband Dilip Kumar Das resided in Bedford from   1955 until 2009.  Mrs. Das was born on September 11, 1925 on a tea-garden in  Sibsagar,  Assam, a province of India.  She was the oldest daughter of a tea-plantation owner and industrialist, Jadav Prasad Chaliha, who was active in the India Independence Movement. When she was 9 years old she met Mahatma Gandhi.  
She received a Bachelor's degree in Economics from Benares Hindu University in 1944 at the age of 19.  In  1945, at the end of World War II she married Dilip, who had served with the US Army in Burma, and they traveled by troop ship to the United States. She eventually became a naturalized citizen.  After Dilip received his Ph. D. from Notre Dame University in South Bend Indiana,  they moved to Massachusetts, and settled in Bedford. 
She obtained a Master's Degree in Education from Boston University, in a program that educated older students.   She was hired by the Reading Public School District,in Reading Massachusetts.    She taught the 3rd and 4th grades, as well as computer skills classes,  at the Pearl Street School until her retirement.  

Mrs. Das was an avid gardener and tennis player.  She and her husband were founding members of The Wedgwood Club in Bedford Massachusetts in 1959.  She leaves behind two children, Dr. Naomi Neufeld of Pacific Palisades California, and Dr. Phil Das of Long Beach California, as well as 5 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren.  She will be missed by all for her kindness and gentility. 

Thanks you!!
Anjana Bordoloi
General Secretary,AANA

Dear Naomi,

My thoughts and prayers are for you and your family. A good long life...but still difficult to lose our loved ones.

Dear Naomi, I tried to call to you but could not get through. We are feeling the absence of Lakhimi baideu every minute since she has left us for her heavenly abode.She was such a warm and loving sister! All these years she remembered and sent birthday cards,only the last two years she forgot. It will take a while to get used to her absence. It must be much harder for you and Philip and the grand children. Please keep in touch. With love. Aijoni.

Dear Ronu Mama
 We have just returned from the Cremation ceremony held today in Westminster.  It was very samll, attended only by Pam, Kathy Ashish, Dennis Dale, little Maya and me. Our priest Pandit Vinod Dave, who has known my Mother for the past 7 years conducted the service.  It was simple, but dignified, traditional and still somewhat unconventional. He performed the cremation rites with Ashish in place of her son, as well as with me and my daughters.  I don't know how traditional it was, but it brought peace and hope to our family at this time of huge loss.  
The good thing- one of the few in this process- is to find how well my Mom is regarded and about her many friends and kindnesses, not just here but around the world.  I will miss her of course- who cannot miss a mother that says" You would lose your head if it were not attached to you, Naomi!", and "you are smarter than 99% of the people in this world. Use it!"  She was my inspiration and my comfort and an amazing role model.  I only hope that I can be half as good as she has been, but as a friend of mine has said, "She lives in you. . I am including a copy of the notecard that was given at her cremation.  The Tagore poem was one which Pam selected.  Lots of Love, Naomi  .

Dear Naomi - By now the cremation of your mother would have been over. I am sure the ceremony went off very well. I had informed Dip Das about the cremation and he probably also carried out some rituals here in his home. I shall always cherish the sweet memories of my association with her from the time I could remember. She was the eldest sibling in the family and I the youngest and we always had a special relationship. She was beauty and kindness personified. It is the law of nature that all life born into this world must leave it one day. But when that happens to a near and dear person one feels sad and helpless. Lakhimi Baideu was the second of our siblings to have passed away after Dipu Kokaideu. My her soul rest in everlasting peace. Jeena Mahanta of Sugarland, Texas is the daughter of our cousin Arati Das. May be Zina is the same person.Glad to learn Pamela's pregnancy is going well. Love to you, Philip and the rest of the family from me, Upa, Jit and Debajit . Jit's son Ronojit is studying music on a full scholarship at Berklee College of Music in Boston since last September. 
Ronu Mama.

Dear Naomi,

Thank you so much for sending this picture and keeping us informed about the ceremony. Shahnaz and I have very fond memories of visiting your parents in
Massachusetts, in their beautiful home, in the late 70's, 80's and early 90's (I don't know if that was where you grew up).

I distinctly recall one trip in '79, when Shahnaz and I drove from St Louis to Boston, picking up Bhaity from Chicago on the way, with all his belongings (he was moving to Harvard) and arriving at your parent's doorstep in a very dishevelled state. And your Mother was soooo gracious (we remember that as her defining characteristic). We will miss her very much.

Hope to see you soon in California (we hear rumors that after last week's election California, Oregon and Washington may split away from the Union and join Canada - to form "Cancalistan"- in which case we will move there in a heart beat).



Dear Naomi,
Much love to you, Philip and the family at this sad time. Your mother was such a wonderful person; no words of praise can do her justice. Our memories of your parents are wrapped up in memories of our youth. We were two twenty-somethings on a new continent with not a solitary relative we knew - for Indians raised with relatives in every nook & cranny, most disorienting! Through due diligence, Ranjan came up with 'I have some older cousins I barely know because they left Assam when I was a kid, but we can try contacting them'. Well, that was your Mom & Jituda, and it was love at first sight. I'm so glad we managed that last visit with her.
Shahnaz

OBITUARY

Maya Chaliha Das

September 11, 1925 – November 8, 2016

Westminster Memorial Park and Mortuary

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