Wise-a

Children of the family, that of immediate as well as extended, called her ‘Phoola’, a common love-name in Kashmiri culture which is typically used for addressing aunts. But, when her niece, my elder sister, started to read and she learnt the meaning of the word ‘Fool’, she no longer wanted anyone to call her aunt by the name. It also didn’t take my sister much time to select a new name. If her aunt could not be a ‘fool’, she could very well be ‘wise’. Thus, ‘Phoola’ became ‘Wise’ and over the years, ‘Wise’  changed to ‘Wise-a’. No one in the family ever got tired of narrating the whole context of the name, whenever a family connection or a complete stranger enquired about it. We still tell the tale but, no one among us can tell it the way she herself would. A woman of enormous wit and sharp skills, Wise-a would always seal this droll story with her thunderous laughter. Our account ends with a lament now.

 On the intervening night of November 18 and 19, 2019, Wise-a fell into eternal silence and as we muse over that loudest likely laughter, the Heavens, am sure, are roaring with the same.

Heavenly Heavens!

Wise-a was an extremely sharp woman. She was strong but superstitious. She would sometimes miss out on the happy moments of life because some kind of an unexplainable superstition would make her anxious but, with a burst of laughter, she would always strike back, bright and breezy. Wise-a had an encyclopaedic memory and never in her life did she need to check a calendar. She remembered dates, events and rituals, as they were and without faltering for a detail, she could give a whole life-account of an individual, distinct details of a decades old event, and sacred specifications about all auspicious days and dates. People, who knew her, called her a walking computer. She remembered all the contact numbers in her mobile phone by heart and she remembered the best of the folklore of Kashmir. Death is pitiless and with an unapologetic cruelty, it turns a storyteller into a story.

Wise-a was the youngest of her siblings and she loved everyone immensely. We, her nieces and her nephews, were however, loved exceptionally. She loved us as much as she did her son and her daughter. From nursing us as new-borns to boasting about whatever little we all pulled off in our lives, she was effusively affectionate.  She would never holdback in showing her love. She liked buying gifts every now and then and she would never run short of reasons for inviting us on sumptuous meals. Away from home, during our college days, we would look forward to the ‘dawat’ she would arrange for us every summer. She was a skilled cook and her ‘dawat’ used to be an elaborate one. And, traditional also. Besides cooking all the standard dishes of a Kashmiri ‘dawat’ herself, she would make sure, an ample amount of Kashmiri ‘aanchar’ is sauted too! There was an unmistakable aroma and tang to the traditional Kashmiri ‘aanchar’, she used to put together. Once the lunch was taken care of and never-enough laughter had eternalised the day, it was essential to finish the feast with Nunchai and Makai szott which she would always bake on wood-fire. Makai szott dried out on gas flame was no Makai szott in her recipe journal. In one of his reminiscing anecdotes of Wise-a, Father told me that she would always accompany their mother in household tasks and that is how she learned every household skill to a T. She never played a victim of being burdened by her household chores. She loved to do it and, remained glued to the original ways of cooking of some dishes  even when she had a modern kitchen installed in her house. Long gone by, we will cherish our summer ‘dawats’ evermore.

 At her funeral, I came to know that all the children from her husband’s side, which is an extended family of ours as she was married to a cousin, called her ‘Mithai Mumma’. Apparently she would have her ‘chhakan mithai tokir’ (customary shower of sweets and almonds) ready, every time a child came home after passing an exam, be it an exam of a Primary class or a degree as big as Ph.D. She loved one and all and she loved wholeheartedly. At every event of a person’s life, Wise-a would shower her love the way no one else would. She had her signature style, the style of being lavishly loving. And, at every event of the family, she would crack jokes, make everyone laugh and herself, laugh the loudest. If written, her memoir will be the one of fulsome joy. 

In the upcoming events of our lives, we will miss you immensely, Wise-a.

 May you be at eternal peace, my dearest Aunt.

 May you be loved there the way you loved  here.

May your stay there be as fulfilling as you would make everyone’s life here.

And, please keep laughing like that, till we meet again. Insha Allah.