shiri
The captain of our Goa chapter. The first among us to leave. Quite sudden, her exit. I write today to acquaint you with Shiri, my elder sister.
As deaths go, I think it is comparatively easier to come to terms with the departure of parents and folks in that generation. It is extremely difficult to accept that one of your siblings is gone. And that too someone as dear as Shiri. It’s been two decades and four years now but seldom does a family gathering go without a mention of her.
From the moment we would land up in Goa till the time we departed, we were under her direct supervision and care. This was every summer holiday in school and college. And we were a huge contingent — around two cricket teams full. All ages, shapes and sizes. She was tireless; the Shirodkar version of the Energiser bunny.
She was our general when it came to mango gathering, fruit plucking, sighting stuff that us folks from Mumbai took fairly long to spot, getting food organised right from breakfast to dinner and generally watching over us like one big mother hen. Back then, parents would simply leave children with such elders and go about doing whatever life demanded of them.
She was our mediator to resolve disputes, our “Guru” to get us out of trouble and also our physician who tended to all manner of boils and scrapes that the summer would bring. And as the monsoon would threaten, she was the chief organiser my mama would hand us over to get all the firewood and other essentials stocked. Great organisational skills.
She was resourceful to say the least; extremely forthright with her views and would never scare easy. Cometh the hour, cometh the woman. All that obviously rubbed off on us as well. Summer shorts for all of us; same color, same style — quite the fashionista, our Shiri.
Extremely fond of plants and flowers, i remember the pooja preparations at home. We would need a lot of flowers for the different gods and everything was always set up to perfection. The bhat did not have to move an inch, every thing placed within arms length of his requirements in a semi circle.
My brother Jai and she would collect cashew seeds and sell them in the market. They would use that money to see Hindi movies in the Shiroda market — the building that now houses a junior college. Chair tickets were 1 buck and on the ground seating was 50 paise. He recollects that they would prefer sitting on the ground; thereby enabling them to see more movies. I will write separately on our movie watching mania some other day.
Get Maruti Naik’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Every Goa trip meant a trip to “Vaagrya Temhar” — the peak (Tem) of the hill behind our house, where shepherds had made a small idol of a tiger (Vaagro). She would decide the day and the menu which usually was “Fejaav”, Black coffee, poiee, boiled bhiknaa (jackfruit seeds). It was fairly long trek and we carted verything on our heads. Then we would get to the peak, clean everything and light a small lamp kept near the idol. AFter paying our respects, we would have a lovely picnic, play games, sing songs and yes, polish off all the food.
Growing up, she got a job at the local library, so evenings meant going with her and reading to my heart’s content. Truth be told, never noticed a young man who would also be around; they were to marry soon. That was an epic marriage, happened in my dad’s village, at our family priest’s place— they cleared up the area behind the house, decorated everything the best they could and the marriage happened in the most exciting of circumstances.
They set up home; built it one room at a time. And what a lovely home it was. We would all meet her there. It became the nerve centre of our family; folks would drop in for advice, generally chit chat about how their day had gone, have a cup of tea or a meal, catch a nap and be on their way. She carried on the family tradition of treating everyone with care and respect no matter their station in life. And there was always a little goodie bag to take back home — vegetables from her garden or coconuts or home made ghee or pickles or something sweet. This is something I have seen all my folks do; no matter what little we have, there always seems to be something to give.
She was the main lead in my marriage; leader of the Goa pack of relatives. Organised every ceremony that happened before and post marriage. Her calm and composed handling of everything is still fondly remembered. And then a few years later, all of a sudden she was gone. Felled by some stroke , more like the gods wanting her back young.
For many years now, that is the image I somehow remember — her lying prone on the ground, early morning, the light streaming in, the smoke from the incense sticks swirling around her covered head. And I have hated death for it. And for some time, life as well.
You may wonder, what the photo of the parrots is doing here. Well you see, I vaguely remember that Shiri had a pet parrot and that it had somehow flown away once. I remember her frantically and very determinedly searching for it.
I saw these parrots on my balcony sometime this August, the day after Shiri’s daughter delivered a baby. Appropriately the stork delivered a girl; we call her Lily.
I am reminded of Nehru’s words “Nature goes on repeating itself, there is no end of its infinite variety, and every spring is a resurrection, every new birth a new beginning, especially when that newborn is intimately connected with us; it becomes a revival of ourselves and our old hopes centre round it”.
I will understand if some readers would think it completely foolish when I write that on that day on my balcony, I thought my sister had come back. I mean, we have stayed here some 20 odd years now and this is the first time I am seeing one on my balcony. It was further accentuated when I met Lily for the very first time a few days ago.
Can’t wait to take her to Vaagrya Tem. Something tells me she will enjoy the place. Feel very much at home. Just like her grandmom.
