In (rambling, excessively wordy) Memoriam...

I should have written this post a while ago, but struggled with it for a number of reasons, the least of which is because it's a departure from the blog's cheeky irreverence (I don't actually know what that means). I wanted to tell The Baby Vohra a little bit about Neha's mom, its Nani (a familial Indian word for maternal grandmother), Veena Singhal, who was taken from us on December 27, 2007, at the far too young age of 60. The Baby Vohra's Nani was super excited about her first grandchild, and I still cannot describe how unfair it is that the two won't get a chance to meet. But I thought I should write this post, to let The Baby Vohra know just what an incredible woman Nani was.

More than anything, Neha's mom cared about family, and constantly impressed upon us the importance of respecting and remembering Indian traditions as they related to family. When my brother got engaged in 2000, Neha's mom insisted that I immediately start calling my future sister-in-law "bhabi," the respectful term in India by which one is supposed to address his older brother's wife. To Neha's mom the title was not only one of respect, but also a term of endearment that would show my efforts to welcome my brother's fiancee into our family. What amazed me about this was the fact that at this point, she wasn't my mother-in-law, and I don't think she was certain that Neha and I would end up married. Nonetheless, she insisted that I make every effort to use the term, because family was important, no matter whose family it was. Another example: after Neha and I were married, Neha's mom constantly reminded Neha and I that we needed to call my mom regularly (especially after we moved out to Washington), and that Neha needed cultivate her relationship with my mom to the fullest extent possible. Maybe that's not a big deal, but I always found it amazing that she was so adamant that her daughter establish a strong relationship with someone else's mother. But that's just who she was.

In the immediate aftermath of her passing, numerous friends and family members spoke about Neha's mom's selflessness; how she was always ready and willing to help others and never wanted anyone to take care of her. It was amazing how consistently we heard to same thing over and over again. And of course, it couldn't be more true. Two weeks before Neha's mom passed away, we were in Michigan for the 25th wedding anniversary of Neha's aunt and uncle. Though we didn't realize the severity of it, Neha's mom was already sick - she was suffering from shortness of breath and a terrible cough (we thought that she had some sort of bronchial infection) - and was confined to her bed while we waited for her condition to improve. That Saturday afternoon, she started crying while talking to Neha. Not because of her condition, but because she desperately wanted to help with the planning of the party, and felt totally helpless. It was not a position she was used to being in, and she absolutely hated it. I think back to it now, and it's crazy - in that condition, her biggest frustration was her inability to lend a hand and help out.

Another great story about Neha's mom along those lines - she was driving through the University of Michigan campus one day (Neha's parents live in Ann Arbor) in a snowstorm when she saw a student trudging through the blizzard (I'm sure I'm exaggerating just how bad it was out, but that's alright). She immediately stopped the car and demanded that he get in so that she could give him a ride. I'm sure the kid was sufficiently surprised, but appreciative more than anything. It was a sweet, random gesture, and perfectly embodied her.

Neha's mom was an incredible cook, and was never satisfied until you were not only fed, but stuffed. Which you always were after eating her cooking, because it was just so good. She was a master of Indian food, and prepared a variety of dishes I'd never had before meeting Neha, including dal bati (baked balls of wheat eaten with lentils) and kadu (a pumpkin-based dish), which she would make without fail when Neha and I were in Ann Arbor, because she knew I was such a fan. And her goal was to make me fat. If she thought you hadn't eaten enough, look out. One time, the summer after we finished college, I spent the night at Neha's parents house in Ann Arbor. For reasons too complicated to explain, the next morning before breakfast, Neha requested that I not let on that I had stayed at the house, and instead pretend that just came over that morning for breakfast. There was some sort of controversy brewing, I believe, and both Neha and her mom were decently stressed about it. Anyways, because it appeared I was the cause of said controversy, I decided to eschew breakfast altogether by quietly leaving the house and heading back to my ratty campus apartment. This decision did not go over well with Neha's mom, as I realized an hour later when she showed up at my doorstep. In her hands? A plate with an omelette on it. Regardless of the fact she may have been concerned about something else, I was not about to leave her house without having eaten. More than seven years later, I remember that moment vividly, because it was so absurd and wonderfully funny.

Neha always gets mad at me, but I loved laughing about the way her mom spoke. Her speech was an incredibly fast staccato, and because she was easily excitable, there was rarely a time when she wasn’t talking in a total rapid fire. You always had to pay close attention, or you'd miss something. And when we were at the house in Ann Arbor, Neha's mom would yell to us whenever she wanted something, and her call of "NehAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" would always ring through the house. It never failed to cracked me up. Another great thing about the way she spoke - the way she said "apple" and "fresh," as "ay-pple" and "fraysh." In fact, one of the last things Neha's mom said to me was that I looked "skinny and fraysh" (which is just another example of how kind she was - I may have looked fresh, but certainly not skinny). I'm sure Neha will get mad at me for writing that, but these are the things that I remember, and the things that made The Baby Vohra's Nani so endearing.

Neha’s mom loved margaritas. She wasn't a drinker, but a trip to a Mexican restaurant (in Michigan, usually Mexican Fiesta) almost always included a margarita that she would share with Neha's dad. Under his disapproving eye, she would take enough sips (maybe three?) to cause her to giggle uncontrollably and talk at breakneck speeds (if she wasn’t doing so already). And she would insist that she could have a little more, whilst Neha's dad voiced his displeasure and tried to keep the drink away from her. Trips to Mexican restaurants were always a joy for just that reason. In the spring of 2007, Neha's parents came to visit us in DC, and Neha's mom really wanted to eat at Rosa Mexicana, an uppity Mexican restaurant (read: tableside guacamole preparation) in DC's trendy Gallery Place area. Unfortunately, the wait for a table was well over two hours, and so we settled on a good, but not nearly as fancy Mexican restaurant near our apartment in Arlington. Neha's mom was visibly disappointed, and to make amends, we insisted that she have her own margarita. About a quarter way through the glass, she was laughing hysterically and talking endlessly about everything and nothing all at once. It was just so much fun, and my favorite memory of Neha's parents last trip to visit us in DC.

Nothing I can say does justice to her memory, but I had to write something anyway. Neha’s mom was a wonderful, fun, sweet and caring woman. We miss her so much, but, though this will sound cheesy, I know that she’s watching over us. And I also know that wherever she is now, she’s taking care of someone, and almost certainly making them eat. Hopefully they’re having dal bati.

This whole thing has caused Neha and I to think about a lot. Anyone who has read this blog since it started knows that the majority of my posts over the past few months have detailed Neha’s morning sickness. That sickness was so bad it forced Neha to go back to Ann Arbor for three weeks – three weeks in which she was nursed back to health by her mom. Neha hadn’t been able to spend three straight weeks with her mom since probably 2004, right before we got married. And yet, just a month before this horrible event, they were able to spend all that time together. I’ve never really been sure where I stood in terms of my belief in God (that’s a topic for many other blog postings) , but to repeat a sentiment a friend of mine conveyed so eloquently at dinner last week, you’ll never be able to convince me that there wasn’t some sort of higher power at work that brought Neha and her mom together when it did. Who knows why she was ultimately taken from us so soon, but the fact that Neha and her mom were able to spend all that time together was something for which we’ll always be appreciative.

Finally, it’s worth saying again – there is nothing more unfair than the fact that The Baby Vohra and Nani won’t have a chance to meet in this life. That being said, I also know that until The Baby Vohra joins us out here sometime in June, Nani is taking care of him.

I can’t imagine anyone I'd rather have babysitting.