Desi Girl!!

I saw you yesterday, dancing to Desi Girl. You were dressed in a blue salwar, flitting gracefully across the giant television screen as we all watched and wept. It’s hard to believe that you are gone permanently from our lives. You have been such a beautiful, glamorous, graceful part of this family from the moment you first entered it as a young bride. We saw all those pictures of you that you probably didn’t even know existed. You were a photographer’s dream-- perfect from any angle. We saw pictures of you smiling and laughing and always fashionable in beautiful sarees and stylish outfits, dazzling jewelry and fancy hats. You could do traditional and you could do western, you could be demure and you could shake a mean hip, and you always looked good whatever you did.

How did you do it? How did you live your life with so much joy and enthusiasm? You were always the life of the party, planning and coordinating each event, filling it with fun and laughter, making sure everyone always had a good time. It takes a generous spirit to think about everyone, to be inclusive, to be considerate, to watch over things that way. Everyone wants to have a good time, but who has the patience and the energy to skillfully create those moments, colorful bright memories that will live on in each of our hearts for a lifetime? I remember the parties. Your parties were always special. You had DJs, you had lights, you had music and fabulous food. You had to force us sometimes to come out of our selfish shells, nudging us gently to let those inhibitions go and to be young again. I remember the games: charades and pictionary and taboo and guesstures. You provided the venues and the carefully orchestrated events that helped us forget our own troubles and connect with each other as friends and family. I remember Holi, all of us becoming children again in the warm sunshine of your backyard. You had colored powders for us, and water pistols, and we frolicked on the green grass, shooting at each other and collapsing in drenched laughter. You had a graceful way of creating those moments and then stepping back, standing quietly at their center and taking a keen pleasure in our enjoyment.

Service to humanity is a term that is thrown around pretty loosely nowadays. Does anyone recognize, I wonder, the value of the kind of service you provided to all those who knew you? Above and beyond the charity work with orphans and the school for the blind, the feeding of the poor and other countless generous acts, you provided the invaluable service of constantly rekindling joy in our hearts. There were so many times when I felt down in the past decade, when your contagious enthusiasm for life pulled me up and out of those lows. “Come over, come over, come home.” This was your constant refrain. It wasn’t just for me but for all of us. You loved people and in feeding them, entertaining them, and making them feel special, you derived your childlike joy. With your warm welcome, coming over always felt like coming home.

Your life was too short, Anita. You have left behind a void that can never be filled by anyone else in this family. None of us has the generosity of spirit and largeness of heart to be what you were to all of us. You kept us connected and you kept us young. Your courage over the past three years and your defiant spirit despite illness and tremendous pain have been an incredible inspiration. Many of us have had our share of troubles but how many of us can dance as joyfully as you did in the face of impending death? You showed us what it is to be not only strong and stoic, but to never stifle our love for life and to live each moment with zest and enthusiasm, even if it is literally our last. You will always be my hero.

Love,
Jyothi