After the Havan

I knew my Nani Ji mainly through stories. He escaped a bombing at a train station, shot a tiger who threatened the life of his employees and wore finely tailored Italian suits. He was an Intimidating man, both feared and respected. An atheist, who believed in equality and the power of hard work. My mother grew up with a father who wanted her to be educated and free. Most of the time I spent with him was towards the end of his life. Every day he would have warm milk, play
a game of solitaire and sit on his leather recliner to watch the cricket. He passed away at the age of 97 on the 18th of February, 2018. The days that followed his passing were painful and exhausting. The Havan -the last day of the funeral processions- took place on the 21st of February. The day was long, and my immediate family would rest on the charpai (daybed) in the backyard
of our house for a moment of respite. One by one my family floated in and out of the backyard, as I sat waiting and taking pictures.