Blessings

(based on real events)

When Aditya died, his family was called. It was Labor Day when they arrived. 

Diagnosis, illness, death—it all happened so fast that his friends and relatives had no map to help them around. 

The cozy apartment by the pond, his writings, his motorcycle, the books he had borrowed from the library, his debts, his photographs... Mr. and Mrs. S. had less than a week to comb through their son's belongings and choose what little things would board a plane to India with them.

I didn't go to the funeral. But I was privileged enough to share afternoons with Aditya's sister N. and her daughter D., whose age fell right between those of our girls. On each occasion, N. would throw a couple of scarcely crushed cardamom seeds on the milk that was simmering in the smallest pan, add a handful of powdered black tea and a little sugar, and, after boiling and straining the mixture, gift us both with liquid tenderness.

In the midst of their particular perfect storm, Aditya's family managed to make me feel welcome in my own home. May the dense and rich fabric of the universe bless them again today.

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