Remembering you

You cheated us Sushmita.

 

You were too young to take so final a step, too young to leave us.

 

Yes, young, small and slender, with a tendency to plumpness. That's how we remember you, Alethea and I. The mischievous glint in your eyes. Feisty and restless. A zest for life and living it fully.

 

Our acquaintance was brief but the friendship it spawned was lasting. Life-long, even if we didn't keep in touch in the interim.

 

It was the early eighties when you and Arti came to Hoshangabad from, I think, Tilonia, in search of a vocation in life. We were neighbours in those train carriage tenements of Yaduwanshi's house in Anand Nagar. Constantly in and out of each other's houses. Our two children (the third came much later) a vital link.

 

Some of us were setting up Eklavya at the time, an organization for rural education. I remember how many times I tried getting you and Arti to join us but you kept steering the conversation to other topics because of the strong yearning for independence I sensed in you, which resisted cloistering within institutional boundaries. It led Arti to joining Shantiniketan, the school where Alethea was teaching.

 

Those were good days. Talking about education, teachers and children. Designing posters on knowledge and understanding, science and development for travelling exhibitions we took to villages.  Days when we were all discovering ourselves, understanding ourselves and the meaning and purpose of our lives. They fashioned lasting friendships.

 

And you gave me one of the best gifts I've ever received from anyone. An introduction to Kumar Gandharva. He has been my constant companion ever since, especially in moments when I felt like communing with my inner self.

 

But there was the hint of ill health even then. If I remember correctly, your severe asthma used to cause you a lot of suffering, even occasionally incapacitating you.

 

Alethea and I shifted to Bhopal shortly thereafter because our children couldn't adjust to the schools in Hoshangabad that were still caught up in a time warp of regimented learning. That meant we met only occasionally, when I came to Hoshangabad or you visited Bhopal on work.

 

When I launched Chakmak for Eklavya in the mid-eighties, you were one of the first persons I pursued to write for the magazine. But again you kept avoiding committing yourself. I finally did succeed in getting a small piece out of you for a special issue on water. You chose to write on water in our bodies and the way you approached the subject was unique. You told the story of a fish that swam down a human gullet into the stomach and other organs, discovering water and digestion in the body along the way.

 

It was this unconventional creativity that informed the work you did later in life when you left Hoshangabad for Jaipur, designing teaching learning materials for adult learners, publishing a magazine for neo-literates and training both trainers and learners.

 

I met you only once thereafter, about a decade later, during a trip to Jaipur. I was apprehensive about the welcome I would receive. I needn't have worried.

Your warmth dissolved those intervening years of no contact. But the meeting left me disturbed, because I got a glimpse of the ravages caused by the ill health that had dogged you and so affected your working life.

 

Every time I listen to Kumar Gandharva hereafter I know I will remember you. And the image that will come to my mind will be of you, in our train carriage tenement, singing 'sunta hai guru gyani' in a mock baritone voice, the laughter never leaving your eyes.

 

Farewell to you Sushmita with fondness and love.

 

Rex