Dear Bablu Dadu*1,

i write this letter as i sob, silently, alone, knowing fully well that this will not reach you. but i also know you will understand perfectly why i am still writing this to you when you are no more.

i got the news of your death two days back and since then i have been sad, really sad. now of course, i have learnt to deal with this strange phenomenon called death. i do no longer crumble on the outside, though there is a deep agony inside. but this will pass and i will get back to being my boisterous self, once again. i can see you giggle, with that characteristic twinkle in your eye and that naughty wave passing all over you.

you were not strictly even related to me or my family. you were Mashi's*2 father-in-law's cousin. it is strange that we got to know you... but had Mesho*3 not passed away, we would not have...

i can distinctly recall the first day i met you at the Kasba house where Mashi was staying with her daughters, sometime in 1983-84 and you had come to take us for a recital of Rabindrasangeet by Sumitra Sen. it was raining cats and dogs. the second meeting, same place, this time it was Jaws II.

thereafter you started coming home, often, but not regularly, mostly in the evenings, after work. you spoke little, sipped a cuppa, had a snack if offered and left silently. Dad liked you and often teased you to get married. and sure enough you did... around 1988-89. Ma and i had gone for your wedding reception. you looked happy, so did your bride.

years passed, i got married but you stayed in touch with my natal home... you kept visiting and each time, i visited, we would meet... you would make the effort to come and meet us, sometimes even late in the evenings. you had a son, he had an accident, at a marriage party, recovered... got into school, grew up, passed his 10th boards...

i kept up with your life as you did... you soothed my pain after Dad's demise, you constantly kept coming home, now my home. B liked you and understood the friendship we had. we shared a lot of time talking and in that, i was pained to learn that your wife and son did not really love you... i am busy with the lump in my throat now... and you are again smiling, i can see that...

you had retired from your job by now, but took up another... not so much for money but to get out of home every morning and as an excuse to return late at night, grab a bite and fall off to sleep. i recall your pain when i told you that i was deeply addicted to sleeping pills. you even threatened to blow the whistle and let B know if i did not stop...

i am out of my addiction. i am happy once again, having gone through a rough patch... and we met again this time when i went on vacation... you seemed ok, i could not prod you beyond the apparent, since everyone was around. you did promise to come back on the last day, but called to say you could not and said, "i am not feeling well."

how would i gauge that i had to blow the whistle to your wife? how would i know that your time was up?

on second thoughts, i have done some soul searching and come up with a logic for not calling in your wife... you had lost all will to live...

as a friend, i understood that, in my sub-conscious mind... and have accepted the fact that i did what i did, by design.

i again can see that grin of yours... a loving one this time, for your friend and sister, as you called me... and now the tears will not allow me to carry on.

S, the name you knew me in...

*1 Bablu -- a common name in our part of India; Dadu -- grandfather.
*2 Mashi -- Ma's sister
*3 Mesho -- Mashi's husband.