Upon hearing of Daddy’s demise, John and I rush to call Mummy in Ottawa, Canada. Mummy reminds us to inform Kaushalya Aunty, Daddy’s older sister, of his passing. We drive to Oak Brook, where she lives with her daughter, Sucharita, and her family. Wailing and sobbing her heart out, my aunt insists on talking to Mummy on the phone – a long, sad emotional conversation.

John and I leave Chicago for Canada the same evening. Munna and Vinni have gathered everyone at their home. Juji, Fred, and Sudhir have also arrived. After much discussion, plans solidified for Mummy, Sudhir, and me to travel to India. Mummy’s passport will be renewed shortly.

As we boarded the flight to Delhi, John spoke with Kelly and Jason. Kelly wants to talk to me. She commiserates and consoles, knowing what losing a parent is like. Jason is on the phone next, and I can hear Kelly’s whispered prompts to him. John tells them to put Millie on the phone, and both yell “I love you,” before Millie gets on the line. A nervous Mille asks John if he is also traveling to India. She heaves a sigh of relief to hear John is flying back to Chicago the next day. Millie dreads minding two teenagers alone for a couple of weeks.

Within twenty-four hours of Daddy’s passing, our uncle, Karam Narain, conducted his cremation ceremonies, and our cousin, Vijay, stood in for Sudhir as per tradition. We are all siblings, even though we have different parents. Sudhir and I and our two younger sisters share the same DNA as Vijay and his siblings. His parents are Mummy’s older sister and Daddy’s older brother.

Upon our arrival in Delhi, the fourth day (Chautha) rituals are underway. Vijay’s house is in deep, solemn mourning. Mummy receives a day-long stream of sorrowful, condolence-offering friends and relatives. It’s been years since anyone has seen her. We go to bed the next few nights, spent and drained, and catch a few hours of fitful sleep.

Vijay’s parents have planned the day-by-day funeral rituals with meticulous care. Under guidance from our Panditji, no detail is missed. All arrangements and announcements are taken care of. Sorrowful obituaries appear in the Delhi and Bangalore news media.

Daddy’s ashes must be immersed in the holiest of waters, the Ganges. Transportation is ready to take us to Haridwar, the sacred city on its banks. It is a day-long trip. Mummy, Sudhir, and I pick up the urn from the crematorium, draped in a fragrant web of marigolds, jasmines, and roses strung together. It is a heartbreaking sight. Sudhir clutches the urn in his lap for the journey. His tears dropping like dewdrops on the flowers.

Our cousin, Pran, has offered to go with us. He knows the ins and outs of Haridwar. The sect of priests, record-keepers of births, deaths, and major events for the Arora clan, is known to Pran. We can trace these records from eight to ten generations in the past, from the 1700s onwards. Now, these priests will record Daddy’s name as the youngest son of Asa Nand and Jwala Devi in these annals.

Time has stood still in Haridwar. I remember key landmarks from when I visited it as a child a few decades earlier. Despite the overcrowding, the streets and scenes are unchanged. Fakirs and sadhus, smeared with ashes, are everywhere to save charitable humanity. These devout figures almost guarantee Moksha’s freedom from the endless cycle of birth and rebirth. An aura of spirituality – stark, tangible – seeps into my bones. Life is a brief journey. It is a quick stop on Earth as the immortal soul traverses the cosmos, seeking ultimate Nirvana.

This toxic mix of yearning, hope, and faith is the sacred city’s offering. Devotees and visitors, believers and non-believers, choose what each will.

On our return from Haridwar, the rituals continue. The significance lies in the thirteenth day of mourning; it marks the official end of the grieving period. The karma cycle involves releasing the soul through rituals and reincarnation. A close relative delivers the eulogy on this last day of remembrance and respect.

I sit rapt, listening to fascinating details of the early days of our parents’ wedded life together. Yashwant Uncle is an amazing speaker, enthralling the guests with his slow, measured narrative. He occasionally wipes off a tear as he picks and shares from his rush of memories. His words carried me away to a time before I was born. I sense Daddy sitting behind me listening, smiling, and shaking his head. I am surprised to not find Daddy when I turn around. A realization hits me hard, bringing me back to reality. This is Daddy’s teherwe, the finality of Daddy gone and not coming back.

I steal a look at Mummy. Seated next to Sudhir, she is sobbing. Tears are rolling down Sudhir’s cheeks even as he comforts Mummy, his arm around her. Vijay’s sad and solemn parents perform the rituals at our Panditji’s direction and bidding.

I scan the crowd and recognize a familiar face. It is Dr. Pamra, an old colleague of Daddy’s from decades ago. Our cousin Usha is sitting next to him. In a flash, I remember and understand. Usha is now a full-fledged medical doctor and is a warm and welcoming host to her favorite uncle’s old associate. I admire and thank Usha for her cordiality and care for Daddy’s old colleague.

A little more on Daddy and Usha’s special bond growing up in Delhi as neighbors. Daddy was a father figure to his sister’s four daughters and son. The three older ones had ambitions to join the medical profession following their uncle’s footsteps. Among the three, Usha didn’t make it to med school. She opted for a nursing program instead. Years of resentment at failing to get into med school rankled deep. Despite a successful nursing career, the old failure festered, until a brilliant idea hit her. With Daddy’s encouragement, support, and sheer grit and determination, Usha again applied for med school. This time, she used her nursing grades and experience as the basis. She succeeded and, specialized as a pediatrician. Dr. Pamra congratulated her, and I am sure her proud uncle was close by, smiling.

Mummy, Sudhir, and I return home to Chicago. Everyone is exhausted and needs a boost. Mummy gives John and me the go-ahead with the wedding as planned.