She lit up the world and continues to light up our hearts.
the silver apples of the moon
the golden apples of the sun, ...
She lit up the world and continues to light up our hearts.
the silver apples of the moon
the golden apples of the sun, ...
From Kamla:
I feel your love and your love is my energy, strength and hope.
Doston, soulmates,
It was 7th night when I heard about Meeto, my baby, my friend, my teacher, a big source of strength, hope, a big reason of my life, a hard task master; a source of happiness, pride, and, of course, at times anxiety.
I have not only loved Meeto but also liked, admired and respected her. In many ways she was my teacher. On many occasions she was wiser than me, had a bigger, more compassionate heart than mine; at times she was more understanding than me. I have never had a problem feeling this about her and also saying this to her. She of course smiled these sentiments away. It was difficult for her to take compliments.
I am FULL of pain, loss, bewilderment, questions, disbelief. BUT I am also FULL of love. I am feeling this immense ENERGY which all of you are sending me in different ways from different parts of the world. I am overwhelmed as much by your love and compassion as by the pain and loss. This means your love holds me, is keeping me going, giving me solace. Most of the time, my heart is quite peaceful (yes, I keep watching it). Even when I howl, which I do every time any dear one calls or comes to see me, I am not bitter or desperate. I am trying to accept things with equanimity and this trying/trial will, of course, be a life long journey/process.
I also feel connected to all of you. Meeto's going has brought us closer. Yet another gift from her. She has made us look once again at the essentials of our lives.
Family and friends have been with me. They have all been like my shadow, not leaving me for a minute, sharing my silence and my tears. I feel safe and protected.
Yesterday evening we saw Meeto in the Chapel of Rest. I was quite amazed to see the peace on her face. She looked like an angel with her long hair, her eyes lightly closed. She was dressed in an off-white Kerala sari with a very slight gold border and a deep mauve, Banarsi silk sari as a shawl. Meeto is looking very beautiful. We all felt she will suddenly raise her hands to hug us. Within all of us was a strange sense of calm in her presence. I could have sat there forever just looking at her and talking to her.
I have this feeling that Meeto has now become my Guru, my guide, my compassionate, Tara. I look to her for guidance, for love. I just need to practice a different kind of communication, a different kind of communion with her. I hope I will succeed. Actually, succeed I have to, because that is what Meeto would want me to do.
Balliol College and Meeto's professors and fellow students have been amazingly supportive. There is so much compassion, dignity and support all around.
Please remember that your love and prayers are not only reaching me, they are helping me. I will need your love, friendship, understanding even more than before.
I hug you and send you my love and deep appreciation.
Love and peace
Kamla
It was 7th night when I heard about Meeto, my baby, my friend, my teacher, a big source of strength, hope, a big reason of my life, a hard task master; a source of happiness, pride, and, of course, at times anxiety.
I have not only loved Meeto but also liked, admired and respected her. In many ways she was my teacher. On many occasions she was wiser than me, had a bigger, more compassionate heart than mine; at times she was more understanding than me. I have never had a problem feeling this about her and also saying this to her. She of course smiled these sentiments away. It was difficult for her to take compliments.
I am FULL of pain, loss, bewilderment, questions, disbelief. BUT I am also FULL of love. I am feeling this immense ENERGY which all of you are sending me in different ways from different parts of the world. I am overwhelmed as much by your love and compassion as by the pain and loss. This means your love holds me, is keeping me going, giving me solace. Most of the time, my heart is quite peaceful (yes, I keep watching it). Even when I howl, which I do every time any dear one calls or comes to see me, I am not bitter or desperate. I am trying to accept things with equanimity and this trying/trial will, of course, be a life long journey/process.
I also feel connected to all of you. Meeto's going has brought us closer. Yet another gift from her. She has made us look once again at the essentials of our lives.
Family and friends have been with me. They have all been like my shadow, not leaving me for a minute, sharing my silence and my tears. I feel safe and protected.
Yesterday evening we saw Meeto in the Chapel of Rest. I was quite amazed to see the peace on her face. She looked like an angel with her long hair, her eyes lightly closed. She was dressed in an off-white Kerala sari with a very slight gold border and a deep mauve, Banarsi silk sari as a shawl. Meeto is looking very beautiful. We all felt she will suddenly raise her hands to hug us. Within all of us was a strange sense of calm in her presence. I could have sat there forever just looking at her and talking to her.
I have this feeling that Meeto has now become my Guru, my guide, my compassionate, Tara. I look to her for guidance, for love. I just need to practice a different kind of communication, a different kind of communion with her. I hope I will succeed. Actually, succeed I have to, because that is what Meeto would want me to do.
Balliol College and Meeto's professors and fellow students have been amazingly supportive. There is so much compassion, dignity and support all around.
Please remember that your love and prayers are not only reaching me, they are helping me. I will need your love, friendship, understanding even more than before.
I hug you and send you my love and deep appreciation.
Love and peace
Kamla
Memories of Meeto
Kamla, I feel the atmosphere around you. You create a world full of love, friendship, beauty. It is everywhere. I am listening to the music in nature, touching the surface just near me and I feel you. Meeto, my young long, dark hair, lovely woman, gathered thousands of us around you. We will create new lives in solidarity. All friends from KADAV are with you. India
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Meeto has opened the hearts of thousands within her galaxy whose healing will hopefully bless many more stars like Meeto. Anonymous
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I remember having a conversation with Meeto in Mumbai during the World Social Forum there. She was debating the cruelty of some African cultures, but at the same time pained by the recognition that eliminating oppression meant destroying other cultural values. But she really empathised. She was really upset at the violence, and equally upset by the potential loss of civilization. That was the Meeto I knew. Even in the most abstract of conversations, she could relate to and understand the pain of others. Meeto, you damn fool. I know you've found the peace you were looking for. But we will all miss you. Anonymous
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She was so happy and bright and smart and fresh when we spent time with she and Kamla in Mumbai. Joan Ross-Frankson, WEDO
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She was a beautiful, brilliant, wise and kind person, and her loss is devastating. Suzie Lipscomb, Oxford
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I remember Meeto a few months ago at Nigar's house, lively, chripy, beautiful, full of enthusiasm for her thesis. She had become a young woman, grown from when I last met her at the Beijing conference her; puppy fat shed, now graceful and petite. Khawar Mumtaz, Pakistan
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We sit and talk of all the good times with you and Meeto...so many memories. Today I was looking for a paper and found a letter from Meeto from 1996 and a painting she made...I haven´t looked in those drawers for a very long time and now it seems there was a meaning somehow...We have lit a candle every evening for Meeto. We have a photo when we were in Jaipur. She is sitting between Guje and me and has a special Meeto-pose, a special smile. I feel so much love for her. She has always had a special place in my heart - my young friend. We will sit by her photo and play some music for her. Eva Warberg
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Meeto will definitely remain a source of inspiration and joy to us. Sultana Kamal, Bangladesh
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I met Meeto only once, when Kushi and Rohini were in town and we all danced together. Her spirit was special, even then, when she was much younger. Ruchira Gupta, India
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A brilliant and lively young life lost to all of us. Devaki Jain, India
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Kamla, we recall the contribution you have made to feminism through Meeto and her own contributions to feminism. Through the close relationship which you both shared, you have enriched feminism and you both had brought a different dimension to both feminism and relationships between mothers and daughters. Among all our children, Meeto was most connected and exposed to the joys and struggles within the women's movement. Flavia Agnes, India
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I remember Meeto from the Beijing Conference - so lovely, so much your daughter, dancing for us. Vanessa Griffen, Fiji
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Meeto was a wonderful young woman and I have fond memories of her, particularly when she came to Rome. Maybe one day in the future we can share them together. Alice Foubert, Italy.
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I remember Meeto from the Rishi Valley School. I used to see her all hubbly bubbly having so much fun and used to tell my daughter Molly "look how wonderful this girl is". I remember her playing music....... We have decided here, Molly and Ashok (my daughter and son), Mary, Dinesh, Subba and others that we should plant a tree here at Timbaktu in Meeto's memory. Timbaktu Collective, India
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Farah in particular remembers one encounter with your beautiful daughter when she was still just a teenager, finishing her studies at Rishi Valley. Although that was over ten years ago for a few hours on a winter afternoon, Meeto's intelligence and charm made a lasting impression. Ruby remembers the beautiful child with the brightest of eyes proudly showing off the baby brother and later the lovely young woman who unexpectedly dropped in at the exhibition, standing out among a host of other visitors - with a spark of Kamla in her. Ruby and Farah, Bangladesh
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All of us have lost a young and restless soul thriving with zeal to change this unjust world. She was our future. We wish she had stayed back. Neelima Sharma and Shamsul Islam from Nishant Natya Manch, India.
Meeto has opened the hearts of thousands within her galaxy whose healing will hopefully bless many more stars like Meeto. Anonymous
I remember having a conversation with Meeto in Mumbai during the World Social Forum there. She was debating the cruelty of some African cultures, but at the same time pained by the recognition that eliminating oppression meant destroying other cultural values. But she really empathised. She was really upset at the violence, and equally upset by the potential loss of civilization. That was the Meeto I knew. Even in the most abstract of conversations, she could relate to and understand the pain of others. Meeto, you damn fool. I know you've found the peace you were looking for. But we will all miss you. Anonymous
She was so happy and bright and smart and fresh when we spent time with she and Kamla in Mumbai. Joan Ross-Frankson, WEDO
She was a beautiful, brilliant, wise and kind person, and her loss is devastating. Suzie Lipscomb, Oxford
I remember Meeto a few months ago at Nigar's house, lively, chripy, beautiful, full of enthusiasm for her thesis. She had become a young woman, grown from when I last met her at the Beijing conference her; puppy fat shed, now graceful and petite. Khawar Mumtaz, Pakistan
We sit and talk of all the good times with you and Meeto...so many memories. Today I was looking for a paper and found a letter from Meeto from 1996 and a painting she made...I haven´t looked in those drawers for a very long time and now it seems there was a meaning somehow...We have lit a candle every evening for Meeto. We have a photo when we were in Jaipur. She is sitting between Guje and me and has a special Meeto-pose, a special smile. I feel so much love for her. She has always had a special place in my heart - my young friend. We will sit by her photo and play some music for her. Eva Warberg
Meeto will definitely remain a source of inspiration and joy to us. Sultana Kamal, Bangladesh
I met Meeto only once, when Kushi and Rohini were in town and we all danced together. Her spirit was special, even then, when she was much younger. Ruchira Gupta, India
A brilliant and lively young life lost to all of us. Devaki Jain, India
Kamla, we recall the contribution you have made to feminism through Meeto and her own contributions to feminism. Through the close relationship which you both shared, you have enriched feminism and you both had brought a different dimension to both feminism and relationships between mothers and daughters. Among all our children, Meeto was most connected and exposed to the joys and struggles within the women's movement. Flavia Agnes, India
I remember Meeto from the Beijing Conference - so lovely, so much your daughter, dancing for us. Vanessa Griffen, Fiji
Meeto was a wonderful young woman and I have fond memories of her, particularly when she came to Rome. Maybe one day in the future we can share them together. Alice Foubert, Italy.
I remember Meeto from the Rishi Valley School. I used to see her all hubbly bubbly having so much fun and used to tell my daughter Molly "look how wonderful this girl is". I remember her playing music....... We have decided here, Molly and Ashok (my daughter and son), Mary, Dinesh, Subba and others that we should plant a tree here at Timbaktu in Meeto's memory. Timbaktu Collective, India
Farah in particular remembers one encounter with your beautiful daughter when she was still just a teenager, finishing her studies at Rishi Valley. Although that was over ten years ago for a few hours on a winter afternoon, Meeto's intelligence and charm made a lasting impression. Ruby remembers the beautiful child with the brightest of eyes proudly showing off the baby brother and later the lovely young woman who unexpectedly dropped in at the exhibition, standing out among a host of other visitors - with a spark of Kamla in her. Ruby and Farah, Bangladesh
All of us have lost a young and restless soul thriving with zeal to change this unjust world. She was our future. We wish she had stayed back. Neelima Sharma and Shamsul Islam from Nishant Natya Manch, India.
exceptional
Back in school, Meeto was exceptional...
It was almost as if there was very little she could ever do wrong. She was loved by her classmates, her seniors, juniors, the staff, the helpers...
And if there ever was such a thing as an all rounder, Meeto was the finest example... be it academics, athletics, music, drama or what have you.
But never mind the many talents and achievements... there was something Meeto simply was...
I remember one time thinking this life isn't what it's made out to be... all its grandeur, hope, depth... was all superficial... and in walked Meeto... and said hi and asked if she could have some water, some music scores she left behind... and all of it with a persistent grin on her face. I was obviously finding it hard to smile given my earlier philosophical musings...
The more we talked (and the grumpier I seemed) - it was like adding fuel to the fire in her! She was increasingly excited, happy, thrilled, smiley and high pitched! After a bit, she decided it was time to leave... said something about catching up later on the basketball court... and with a swirl of her famous, thick, black hair - she was gone.
It was hard to remain the same after that... none of the circumstances around me had changed - but I certainly had... I actually skipped out of home - happy.
That's the thing about Meeto... she could warm the coldest winters at school with her awesome smile and bright spirit! It was like while the rest of the school was black and white, she came in color!
We shared many small and wonderful moments - and it was hard to find a more gracious, compelling and interesting person and friend.
There are some who lived just so others could too... Meeto I'll always remember as one.
TJ (a senior at Rishi Valley)
It was almost as if there was very little she could ever do wrong. She was loved by her classmates, her seniors, juniors, the staff, the helpers...
And if there ever was such a thing as an all rounder, Meeto was the finest example... be it academics, athletics, music, drama or what have you.
But never mind the many talents and achievements... there was something Meeto simply was...
I remember one time thinking this life isn't what it's made out to be... all its grandeur, hope, depth... was all superficial... and in walked Meeto... and said hi and asked if she could have some water, some music scores she left behind... and all of it with a persistent grin on her face. I was obviously finding it hard to smile given my earlier philosophical musings...
The more we talked (and the grumpier I seemed) - it was like adding fuel to the fire in her! She was increasingly excited, happy, thrilled, smiley and high pitched! After a bit, she decided it was time to leave... said something about catching up later on the basketball court... and with a swirl of her famous, thick, black hair - she was gone.
It was hard to remain the same after that... none of the circumstances around me had changed - but I certainly had... I actually skipped out of home - happy.
That's the thing about Meeto... she could warm the coldest winters at school with her awesome smile and bright spirit! It was like while the rest of the school was black and white, she came in color!
We shared many small and wonderful moments - and it was hard to find a more gracious, compelling and interesting person and friend.
There are some who lived just so others could too... Meeto I'll always remember as one.
TJ (a senior at Rishi Valley)
what keeps haunting me
Meeto attended my Urdu classes for several years, helped me with Hindi teaching and I also met her in India a few times. Her death makes me think how little I knew her.
At this time it is not a specific event that comes to my mind about her, but what keeps haunting me is her big smile in the classes. She was bright and reliable but this is not exceptional in Oxford. What singled her out was that she did not do anyhing to promote herself in front of the classmates, the teacher or herself, yet she had an intensive presence through her quietitude and smile. This always made seeing her a beautiful experience.
Meeto was present through the whole of her being.
Imre Bangha
Lecturer in Hindi
At this time it is not a specific event that comes to my mind about her, but what keeps haunting me is her big smile in the classes. She was bright and reliable but this is not exceptional in Oxford. What singled her out was that she did not do anyhing to promote herself in front of the classmates, the teacher or herself, yet she had an intensive presence through her quietitude and smile. This always made seeing her a beautiful experience.
Meeto was present through the whole of her being.
Imre Bangha
Lecturer in Hindi
Spending time with Meeto
Spending time with Meeto was like having cool air brush over your skin on a hot day. It was reviving, calming. It was like being at home. I remember the last time she came to my room here in Oxford and immediately slipped off her shoes and curled up on the sofa: and I remember thinking how few people would do that, and how comfortable it made me feel, how good it is to be with people you’ve known so long, and so well. It’s like putting on old slippers that fit your feet perfectly.
I look around and see how much of Meeto I have internalised. The little cotton mat she had under her laptop, I’ve ever since had under mine, her imprint is on my room, on my heart. We learnt Urdu together, chuckling over our stumbling pronunciation. We prepared for our finals together, writing gobbets on Indian history, and trying to learn from each other. We posed for professional photos together at a ball at St. Antony’s College, laughing at how silly we felt.
My memories of her are of her hair coming loose, and her reaching up, and pulling out the pin, and curling her long, glorious hair back up again in that thick, gorgeous bun at the nape of her neck, and then crossing her legs, leaning forward, and smiling. She was so easy to laugh, so generous. I remember her smoking these dreadful cigarettes, standing outside the Ashmolean together in the freezing cold, as it rained and we, underdressed, considered over her cigarette the moment when we’d have to make a dash for it. I remember eating custard apples with her in Delhi. I remember hosing our feet down outside in the garden. I remember touring the city by car with her and Santa, seeing it anew as her hometown; I remember their glamour, their ease. I remember trying to cycle Meeto across Oxford, her sitting on the seat of my bike, legs dangling, and me standing to cycle, cycle-rickshaw-like. The best places to eat in Oxford always make me think of Meeto: Edamame, the little Japanese restaurant she introduced me to, the vaults café under St Mary’s University church, the Ashmolean café. I can think of Meeto too in her different guises: in the trousers and gorgeous jackets and scarves she wore in Oxford against the cold. I can see her in Imre’s office, I can see the way she hung her bag on her shoulder. But I see her too in her cool shalwar kameezes. I see her stroking her brother’s hair, and smiling at him.
When I think of Meeto I think of her smile, her hair, her lips and dark huge eyes. I think of her jewellery – most of all, of the small silver hoped earrings she often wore, and of the ring inscribed with Arabic. I think of her lilting, beautiful accent. I listen out for it in other people’s voices. I think of how warm she was, how tactile. I think of her she batted away compliments, when she was so brilliant. She was so kind, so wise, so beautiful. Above all, I think of her laughing and I grieve for the times we won’t have together.
Suzannah Lipscomb
I look around and see how much of Meeto I have internalised. The little cotton mat she had under her laptop, I’ve ever since had under mine, her imprint is on my room, on my heart. We learnt Urdu together, chuckling over our stumbling pronunciation. We prepared for our finals together, writing gobbets on Indian history, and trying to learn from each other. We posed for professional photos together at a ball at St. Antony’s College, laughing at how silly we felt.
My memories of her are of her hair coming loose, and her reaching up, and pulling out the pin, and curling her long, glorious hair back up again in that thick, gorgeous bun at the nape of her neck, and then crossing her legs, leaning forward, and smiling. She was so easy to laugh, so generous. I remember her smoking these dreadful cigarettes, standing outside the Ashmolean together in the freezing cold, as it rained and we, underdressed, considered over her cigarette the moment when we’d have to make a dash for it. I remember eating custard apples with her in Delhi. I remember hosing our feet down outside in the garden. I remember touring the city by car with her and Santa, seeing it anew as her hometown; I remember their glamour, their ease. I remember trying to cycle Meeto across Oxford, her sitting on the seat of my bike, legs dangling, and me standing to cycle, cycle-rickshaw-like. The best places to eat in Oxford always make me think of Meeto: Edamame, the little Japanese restaurant she introduced me to, the vaults café under St Mary’s University church, the Ashmolean café. I can think of Meeto too in her different guises: in the trousers and gorgeous jackets and scarves she wore in Oxford against the cold. I can see her in Imre’s office, I can see the way she hung her bag on her shoulder. But I see her too in her cool shalwar kameezes. I see her stroking her brother’s hair, and smiling at him.
When I think of Meeto I think of her smile, her hair, her lips and dark huge eyes. I think of her jewellery – most of all, of the small silver hoped earrings she often wore, and of the ring inscribed with Arabic. I think of her lilting, beautiful accent. I listen out for it in other people’s voices. I think of how warm she was, how tactile. I think of her she batted away compliments, when she was so brilliant. She was so kind, so wise, so beautiful. Above all, I think of her laughing and I grieve for the times we won’t have together.
Suzannah Lipscomb
Meeto my sakhi
Meeto my sakhi, I will write about the past because it is too difficult to think through the present.
My earliest memory of you is when we both had just joined Rishi Valley, we were in the same dance class, and you asked if I wanted to do the shabdam for the first ‘special-o.’ Then I remember the rumour that you had cut your lovely long hair, I think all of Blue House ran into Red House to see for themselves, you had trimmed about a quarter of an inch. The rest is a blur – you were always very elegant and an incredibly dignified young teenager. Then came college, I was in my second year by the time you joined. I’ll never forget the trip to Uttarkashi, not only for the only time Santa and you yelled at Super and me for getting us hopelessly lost in the middle of the mountains, but for the episode near Meerut with beedis. You were so ‘proper’, so RV, a remembrance I never failed to remind you of, in later years and less ‘proper’ occasions.
My fondest memories are of us dancing, of working together as a group with both the Aditi’s and Akka, and for a while Anusha. I remember the car rides back from college to South Delhi and the fascinating discussions about feminism and classical dancing. I remember being introduced to Nusrat and Dead Man Walking on one of those car rides. Akka exhorted us to learn from each other, to watch each other: I still have vivid memories of your particular posture, adavus, and expressions. I remember the non-stop imitations, the trips to the Jain mandir in Rajasthan (the little lecture about dress codes), and Khajuraho. Lots of evenings, late afternoons, at your place, at Akka’s, walks, dance concerts, at a certain point we didn’t need to speak words because a raised eyebrow was enough to convey a mutually felt emotion.
And after I left and returned to Delhi, we had important conversations: about life, love, loyalty, friendships, about life-choices, career choices, the paths we didn’t want to take… I remember you had the energy to fight battles I didn’t and you had the courage to look critically at what was closest to you. I remember the pride with which you held Borders and Boundaries when it first came out, and, I remember your questions and views on civil society in India. But, and this never ceased to amaze me, you never raised your voice. You were always soft-spoken, almost delicate in your choice of words and tone. You were fiercely loyal, you were generous with all your friends, you cared deeply and thought deeply about very difficult issues.
And then we talked about History, what you wanted to work on, what I was working on. I thought we were on the same track. Your last email is titled, now I think ironically, ‘Fingers crossed.’ You wrote saying you had an instinct about these things and you were sure my thesis defense had gone well. And then we spoke, and I thought you were well, happy, better.
Meeto, why didn’t I have an instinct about these things? Why didn’t you talk to me, to all your dozens of close friends, who knew you, who loved you, who cared for you, who listened to you, who respected you, who looked up to you as a role model, as a courageous fighter who knew right from wrong? If I could give you one hug, I would never let you go…
I will end with a poem you sent to me, some ten years ago. Your email attributed it to Bhartrhari, dated sometime in the 6th century AD.
‘Do not go’ I say; but this is inauspicious.
‘All right, go’ is a loveless thing to say.
‘Stay with me’ is imperious. ‘Do as you wish’ suggestsCold Indifference. And if I say ‘I’ll die
when you are gone’, you might or might not believe me. Teach me, my friend, what I ought to say
When you go away.
Love, friendship, happiness and peace,
Neeti Nair
19 January 2006
My earliest memory of you is when we both had just joined Rishi Valley, we were in the same dance class, and you asked if I wanted to do the shabdam for the first ‘special-o.’ Then I remember the rumour that you had cut your lovely long hair, I think all of Blue House ran into Red House to see for themselves, you had trimmed about a quarter of an inch. The rest is a blur – you were always very elegant and an incredibly dignified young teenager. Then came college, I was in my second year by the time you joined. I’ll never forget the trip to Uttarkashi, not only for the only time Santa and you yelled at Super and me for getting us hopelessly lost in the middle of the mountains, but for the episode near Meerut with beedis. You were so ‘proper’, so RV, a remembrance I never failed to remind you of, in later years and less ‘proper’ occasions.
My fondest memories are of us dancing, of working together as a group with both the Aditi’s and Akka, and for a while Anusha. I remember the car rides back from college to South Delhi and the fascinating discussions about feminism and classical dancing. I remember being introduced to Nusrat and Dead Man Walking on one of those car rides. Akka exhorted us to learn from each other, to watch each other: I still have vivid memories of your particular posture, adavus, and expressions. I remember the non-stop imitations, the trips to the Jain mandir in Rajasthan (the little lecture about dress codes), and Khajuraho. Lots of evenings, late afternoons, at your place, at Akka’s, walks, dance concerts, at a certain point we didn’t need to speak words because a raised eyebrow was enough to convey a mutually felt emotion.
And after I left and returned to Delhi, we had important conversations: about life, love, loyalty, friendships, about life-choices, career choices, the paths we didn’t want to take… I remember you had the energy to fight battles I didn’t and you had the courage to look critically at what was closest to you. I remember the pride with which you held Borders and Boundaries when it first came out, and, I remember your questions and views on civil society in India. But, and this never ceased to amaze me, you never raised your voice. You were always soft-spoken, almost delicate in your choice of words and tone. You were fiercely loyal, you were generous with all your friends, you cared deeply and thought deeply about very difficult issues.
And then we talked about History, what you wanted to work on, what I was working on. I thought we were on the same track. Your last email is titled, now I think ironically, ‘Fingers crossed.’ You wrote saying you had an instinct about these things and you were sure my thesis defense had gone well. And then we spoke, and I thought you were well, happy, better.
Meeto, why didn’t I have an instinct about these things? Why didn’t you talk to me, to all your dozens of close friends, who knew you, who loved you, who cared for you, who listened to you, who respected you, who looked up to you as a role model, as a courageous fighter who knew right from wrong? If I could give you one hug, I would never let you go…
I will end with a poem you sent to me, some ten years ago. Your email attributed it to Bhartrhari, dated sometime in the 6th century AD.
‘Do not go’ I say; but this is inauspicious.
‘All right, go’ is a loveless thing to say.
‘Stay with me’ is imperious. ‘Do as you wish’ suggestsCold Indifference. And if I say ‘I’ll die
when you are gone’, you might or might not believe me. Teach me, my friend, what I ought to say
When you go away.
Love, friendship, happiness and peace,
Neeti Nair
19 January 2006
so many memories
I have so many memories of Meeto. Yet i knew her so very little. The first person I saw at Stephen's when I went to pay my fees. Meeto as a classmate in history honours, on the same ancient India tutorial group. Discussing historiography and sources for understanding Indian history. Attending a workshop. Ihat film festival at the IIC. And those gorgeous elegant clothes. Then bumping into her at Oxford when she began the DPhil and said she's "having a ball" ,"there's so much to do, so much going on". Glimpses at seminars and her "hello stranger". Exchanging fieldwork experiences and her "6 interviews in 6 days in Lahore". Discussing Gujarat, her work at the Ford Foundation and the suggestion that we must meet up. There still is so much to talk about. I last saw her on Mansfield road. "I have to go, am getting late".
Nikita, Oxford
Nikita, Oxford
one of those students
Meeto was one of those students at Rishi Valley whom people spoke about. Her literary prowess and maturity far beyond that of a high school student were often spoken about on campus. She was one of the more 'famous' alumni. In addition, there is a bond of sorts that binds all Rishi Valley students, past and present, together. Perhaps it can explain why I felt so upset when I heard that Meeto had passed away. At a time like this, I remember that immortal couplet from W.E.Henley's poem 'Invictus', one that speaks of hope after death:
"I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul".
"I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul".
At Oxford: A Message From Kamla
(Text of Kamla’s message that was read out by Dr. Neeraj Bhasin on 21st January, 2006 at Oxford.)
-----
ALL IS WELL
Death is nothing at all
I’ve only slipped in to the next room
I am I and you are you
What ever we were to each other; that we still are
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way in which you always used to
Put no difference in your tone and wear no air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed; smile and think of me
Let my name be all that it ever was and Let it be spoken with joy.
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same that it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I’m out of sight
I’m here for you.
ALL IS WELL.
-----
MESSAGE FROM KAMLA BHASIN
Meeto has been many many things to me. She has been and will have to continue to be the main, shining star in my life, the sun of my life.
Like all parents, I loved my child dearly, but I also liked, respected, and admired her for who she was.
She was the creation of many, many people who loved her and helped her grow.
It was a privilege to have been physically close to Meeto, birthed her, tended her, loved her and being loved by her for 27 years.
The challenge for me now is to develop other methods of being and communicating with Meeto for the rest of my life.
The biggest gift Meeto has given us is closeness to her many beautiful friends. We have indeed lost a daughter (physically) but we have won many young friends. To all of them I wish to say 'your presence and love gives us strength and hope for the future'. Please remember that as in the past, our hearts and homes will be open to you always. Visit us and bring some of Meeto to us.
Friends, I am overwhelmed by and most grateful for the compassion, love, sensitivity and support I have received from Meeto's teachers, friends and everyone at Balliol College last April & May when I came here to look after Meeto, and again this week.
Professor Judith Brown has been absolutely amazing. I feel I have found a friend. I pray that Judith continues to be strong, compassionate, and loving so that many young lives can be helped.
Dr Washbrook, Dr Zancani, Dr Douglas Dupree, the master of Balliol College, people in their offices, the porters and everyone else, have been nothing but loving and supportive. I celebrate their humanity.
May love and peace grow so much in all our hearts that no young life ever has to wither away.
-----
ALL IS WELL
Death is nothing at all
I’ve only slipped in to the next room
I am I and you are you
What ever we were to each other; that we still are
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way in which you always used to
Put no difference in your tone and wear no air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed; smile and think of me
Let my name be all that it ever was and Let it be spoken with joy.
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same that it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I’m out of sight
I’m here for you.
ALL IS WELL.
-----
MESSAGE FROM KAMLA BHASIN
Meeto has been many many things to me. She has been and will have to continue to be the main, shining star in my life, the sun of my life.
Like all parents, I loved my child dearly, but I also liked, respected, and admired her for who she was.
She was the creation of many, many people who loved her and helped her grow.
It was a privilege to have been physically close to Meeto, birthed her, tended her, loved her and being loved by her for 27 years.
The challenge for me now is to develop other methods of being and communicating with Meeto for the rest of my life.
The biggest gift Meeto has given us is closeness to her many beautiful friends. We have indeed lost a daughter (physically) but we have won many young friends. To all of them I wish to say 'your presence and love gives us strength and hope for the future'. Please remember that as in the past, our hearts and homes will be open to you always. Visit us and bring some of Meeto to us.
Friends, I am overwhelmed by and most grateful for the compassion, love, sensitivity and support I have received from Meeto's teachers, friends and everyone at Balliol College last April & May when I came here to look after Meeto, and again this week.
Professor Judith Brown has been absolutely amazing. I feel I have found a friend. I pray that Judith continues to be strong, compassionate, and loving so that many young lives can be helped.
Dr Washbrook, Dr Zancani, Dr Douglas Dupree, the master of Balliol College, people in their offices, the porters and everyone else, have been nothing but loving and supportive. I celebrate their humanity.
May love and peace grow so much in all our hearts that no young life ever has to wither away.
At Oxford: From Professor Judith Brown
(Prof. Judith Brown is Meeto’s supervisor of her post doctoral programme at Oxford; this is her message that she read out on the 21st of January at Oxford.)
-----
It is a great honour to be asked by Meeto’s close family to speak at this occasion when we celebrate her brief but remarkable life, and gently lay her body to rest. Meeto was never a person who did things by halves. She threw herself into life with immense zest and energy – whether in her work, in music and dance, and in her relationships and her care for others. As her mother reminded me she even took on single-handed the role of fashion police for the female members of her family, cajoling them about what they should or should not wear! Here in Oxford she had not one but two colleges. She first came as an undergraduate to read History at St. Hilda’s, where it became clear that she was a young woman of great intellectual range and promise as well as poise and compassion. She gained a 1st Class honours degree, predicted from her first term. After a brief break she returned to Oxford in April 2004 – this time to Balliol as a graduate student with a Clarendon Scholarship, the highest recognition of merit the University awards to incoming graduates. It rapidly became clear to her supervisors that she was a historian in the making of great subtlety and perceptiveness. Her main interest reflected much of her own life and background – the nature of religious identity on the South Asian subcontinent, and the vitality of multiple spiritual traditions. What perplexed and intrigued her, and what she sought to illuminate, was why sectarian senses of identity and rigid boundaries of belonging to one religion or another developed from the late nineteenth century, where earlier there had often been so much sharing of religious vision and devotional practice. This was for her not just a historical problem, but a matter of practical contemporary urgency in South Asia, and in India particularly, where sharpened religious differences and loyalties have become the sources of violence, division and destruction on a frightening scale. Meeto gained a distinction in the preliminary year of doctoral work, the Master of Studies in Historical Research, in June 2005, even though she was profoundly unwell for some of that time. To those of us who read her work with such pleasure and excitement it was evident that she had an intellectual power of an unusual kind which indicated the likelihood of a most distinguished doctoral thesis and subsequent career.
Many of you today have come with the question, Why? uppermost in your minds. Why did a beautiful woman of such potential, so capable of joy, so greatly beloved by her family and Lennie, so valued and cherished by her friends, turn her back on life? Those who were close to her knew that in the past year she suffered from deep depression, alternating with great exaltation, happiness and hope for the future. Early in 2005 she reached a deep pit of despair, at which point her mother came to spend a month with her in college at Holywell Manor and when she also received medical help. There followed a wonderful summer in the Punjab on a specialist Punjab Studies course, then back in Oxford and on holiday in Morocco – months when the joyous Meeto seemed to have returned to the fullness of life. But in the late autumn depression struck again, and this time she felt there was no point in seeking medical intervention. Kamla and I regularly talked by e-mail, agonizing over how we could help her. Depression is a cruel and potentially fatal illness, just as is diabetes or tuberculosis or heart disease. Those who suffer from it say it is like being in a dark hole or a tunnel without light at the end. The lights of life go out. Mercifully for most sufferers the light returns, but not for all, and not for Meeto. If there is one thing we can do to honour her life and her death it is to make the communities in which we live and work ones where sufferers from depression can cry out for help without shame, knowing they will be understood and supported and given whatever therapy may help them.
We gather today from many places and from many spiritual traditions, united in so much, as she would have wished. One vision many of us share is that of a mighty creative love at the heart of the universe. I would like to read for Meeto a poem from my own Christian tradition, by one of the greatest of England’s 17th century metaphysical poets, George Herbert. It speaks of a divine love which calls us and envelops us – in time and beyond time. It is called simply, ‘Love’.
Love
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack’d any thing.
A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, you shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
-----
It is a great honour to be asked by Meeto’s close family to speak at this occasion when we celebrate her brief but remarkable life, and gently lay her body to rest. Meeto was never a person who did things by halves. She threw herself into life with immense zest and energy – whether in her work, in music and dance, and in her relationships and her care for others. As her mother reminded me she even took on single-handed the role of fashion police for the female members of her family, cajoling them about what they should or should not wear! Here in Oxford she had not one but two colleges. She first came as an undergraduate to read History at St. Hilda’s, where it became clear that she was a young woman of great intellectual range and promise as well as poise and compassion. She gained a 1st Class honours degree, predicted from her first term. After a brief break she returned to Oxford in April 2004 – this time to Balliol as a graduate student with a Clarendon Scholarship, the highest recognition of merit the University awards to incoming graduates. It rapidly became clear to her supervisors that she was a historian in the making of great subtlety and perceptiveness. Her main interest reflected much of her own life and background – the nature of religious identity on the South Asian subcontinent, and the vitality of multiple spiritual traditions. What perplexed and intrigued her, and what she sought to illuminate, was why sectarian senses of identity and rigid boundaries of belonging to one religion or another developed from the late nineteenth century, where earlier there had often been so much sharing of religious vision and devotional practice. This was for her not just a historical problem, but a matter of practical contemporary urgency in South Asia, and in India particularly, where sharpened religious differences and loyalties have become the sources of violence, division and destruction on a frightening scale. Meeto gained a distinction in the preliminary year of doctoral work, the Master of Studies in Historical Research, in June 2005, even though she was profoundly unwell for some of that time. To those of us who read her work with such pleasure and excitement it was evident that she had an intellectual power of an unusual kind which indicated the likelihood of a most distinguished doctoral thesis and subsequent career.
Many of you today have come with the question, Why? uppermost in your minds. Why did a beautiful woman of such potential, so capable of joy, so greatly beloved by her family and Lennie, so valued and cherished by her friends, turn her back on life? Those who were close to her knew that in the past year she suffered from deep depression, alternating with great exaltation, happiness and hope for the future. Early in 2005 she reached a deep pit of despair, at which point her mother came to spend a month with her in college at Holywell Manor and when she also received medical help. There followed a wonderful summer in the Punjab on a specialist Punjab Studies course, then back in Oxford and on holiday in Morocco – months when the joyous Meeto seemed to have returned to the fullness of life. But in the late autumn depression struck again, and this time she felt there was no point in seeking medical intervention. Kamla and I regularly talked by e-mail, agonizing over how we could help her. Depression is a cruel and potentially fatal illness, just as is diabetes or tuberculosis or heart disease. Those who suffer from it say it is like being in a dark hole or a tunnel without light at the end. The lights of life go out. Mercifully for most sufferers the light returns, but not for all, and not for Meeto. If there is one thing we can do to honour her life and her death it is to make the communities in which we live and work ones where sufferers from depression can cry out for help without shame, knowing they will be understood and supported and given whatever therapy may help them.
We gather today from many places and from many spiritual traditions, united in so much, as she would have wished. One vision many of us share is that of a mighty creative love at the heart of the universe. I would like to read for Meeto a poem from my own Christian tradition, by one of the greatest of England’s 17th century metaphysical poets, George Herbert. It speaks of a divine love which calls us and envelops us – in time and beyond time. It is called simply, ‘Love’.
Love
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack’d any thing.
A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:
Love said, you shall be he.
I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
At Oxford: From Roo.
(Roo, Meeto’s closest friend was unable to be present on the 21st of January at Oxford, this is the text of her message that was read out by another friend, Dilshad Mariloa.)
-----
My Funeral Blues For Toe
Toe my love…
When I was asked to write something for today I had already made up my mind … I wasn't going to do it. Words seem so futile, so impotent to translate an essence… the inexplicable glue… that was us. However yesterday while I was staring out the window, smoking an insipid cigarette, I felt you hovering around me - threatening me to produce a piece of writing or else…. So here I am, completely bereft, writing you the most difficult letter, I will ever have to write.
Some people have been telling me you were sick, others say you weren't a happy bunny… but I never saw you like that. I never defined you when you were here… and I am not about to now. For me you were an artist, who just happened to be brilliant. I celebrate you for your exquisite capacity to love and be loved, for sharing of yourself, your home… in a crazy way you made the world seem like a small place with big feelings. I celebrate you for your magnanimity of spirit and joie de vivre, for making me an unconditional part of you, for your laughter, for bullying me into being a better person, for staying 16 forever like we promised, for the memories you left me… and most of all for your YOU-NESS and those enormously gorgeous eyes you wore on your face.
I'll remember you for being extraordinarily beautiful, with a beautiful mind… but quintessentially all soul. Perhaps you were simply too beautiful. I need a lifetime to finish this… so bear with me… Forgive me that all I am able to offer in this moment is a poem I stole… (its not from Eliot… because Eliot belonged to you and all of us who knew you share a verse…). So I stole a poem from Auden… I know you'll understand why… A couple of haikus and something for the road…
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good
-----------------------------------------------------
If now was
And was is
We'd be apart
Together..
Distance is not drifting
But giving FULLNESS
To space
Sleep well my pretty one..
Let the darkness be the light
And the stillness the dancing…
… and I know we will meet again…
Till then one word…
Kimochi…. x
-----
My Funeral Blues For Toe
Toe my love…
When I was asked to write something for today I had already made up my mind … I wasn't going to do it. Words seem so futile, so impotent to translate an essence… the inexplicable glue… that was us. However yesterday while I was staring out the window, smoking an insipid cigarette, I felt you hovering around me - threatening me to produce a piece of writing or else…. So here I am, completely bereft, writing you the most difficult letter, I will ever have to write.
Some people have been telling me you were sick, others say you weren't a happy bunny… but I never saw you like that. I never defined you when you were here… and I am not about to now. For me you were an artist, who just happened to be brilliant. I celebrate you for your exquisite capacity to love and be loved, for sharing of yourself, your home… in a crazy way you made the world seem like a small place with big feelings. I celebrate you for your magnanimity of spirit and joie de vivre, for making me an unconditional part of you, for your laughter, for bullying me into being a better person, for staying 16 forever like we promised, for the memories you left me… and most of all for your YOU-NESS and those enormously gorgeous eyes you wore on your face.
I'll remember you for being extraordinarily beautiful, with a beautiful mind… but quintessentially all soul. Perhaps you were simply too beautiful. I need a lifetime to finish this… so bear with me… Forgive me that all I am able to offer in this moment is a poem I stole… (its not from Eliot… because Eliot belonged to you and all of us who knew you share a verse…). So I stole a poem from Auden… I know you'll understand why… A couple of haikus and something for the road…
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good
-----------------------------------------------------
If now was
And was is
We'd be apart
Together..
Distance is not drifting
But giving FULLNESS
To space
Sleep well my pretty one..
Let the darkness be the light
And the stillness the dancing…
… and I know we will meet again…
Till then one word…
Kimochi…. x
At Oxford: Dilshad's Message
(Dilshad is a close friend of Meeto from Rishi Valley, she read out her own message as well as Roo’s who is Meeto’’s closest friend and was unable to be present on the 21st of January at Oxford.)
I have been asked to say a few words on behalf of all Meeto's friends from her time at Rishi Valley. We have known Meeto for 16 years, a long time perhaps, but too short. Far too short.
In the last two weeks, I have received innumerable emails from friends. Everyone expresses their shock and grief, everyone recalls how smart she was, how confident, but mostly how generous she was.
Generous is the word that comes to me first when I think of Meeto. Her generosity of spirit was immense.
There are small things that one remembers well, how when we were 11 and 12 and in a boarding school where the food wasn't always our absolute favorite, we used to horde food brought from home, but never Meeto. Many of us looked forward to Meeto's arrivals at meals, knowing she'd bring along some treat that Kamla or Baljit would have sent- a cheese spread or chilipaste. Funfoods, I think, the company was called. Thank you Kamla, thank you Baljit, for keeping us all very happily fed.
But cheese, chocolate, or her silver earrings and wardrobe which we readily helped ourselves to, all that aside, one could always count on Meeto to listen to your problems. From Meeto, there was always a ready supply of hugs, and love, whether it was being nervous before an exam, missing home or any one of life's many upsets.
One of Meeto's closest friends from Rishi Valley, Roo, tried very hard to be here today. But could not be. She has written a long letter to Meeto, a letter that reflects what many of us feel, and I want to share it with all of you and Meeto today.
Toe my love,
When I was asked to write something for today I had already made up my mind… I wasn't going to do it. Words seem so futile, so impotent to translate an essence… the inexplicable glue… that was us. However yesterday while I was staring out the window, smoking an insipid cigarette, I felt you hovering around me - threatening me to produce a piece of writing or else…. So here I am, completely bereft, writing you the most difficult letter, I will ever have
to write.
Some people have been telling me you were sick, others say you weren't a happy bunny… but I never saw you like that. I never defined you when you were here… and I am not about to now. For me you were an artist, who just happened to be brilliant. I celebrate you for your exquisite capacity to love and be loved, for sharing of yourself, your home… in a crazy way you made the world seem like a small place with big feelings. I celebrate you for your magnanimity of spirit and joie de vivre, for making me an unconditional part of you, for your laughter, for bullying me into being a better person, for staying 16 forever like we promised, for the memories you left me… and most of all for your YOU-NESS and those enormously gorgeous eyes you wore on your face.
I'll remember you for being extraordinarily beautiful, with a beautiful mind… but quintessentially all soul. Perhaps you were simply too beautiful.”
Roo, and I, wanted to offer Auden's Funeral Blues, a poem too long for me to
read here, but Meeto would understand why, and a couple of haikus and
something for the road.
If now was
And was is
We'd be apart
Together..
Distance is not drifting
But giving FULLNESS
To space
Meeto and I had a friendship where we felt free to tell each other what we thought, what we really thought of each other. She used to fault me for being compulsive, "relax Dilshad" she used to say "don't be so proper about everything". My compulsiveness, amongst other things, means that I have every email, letter and card that Meeto ever sent me. In the last two weeks, I have spent much time reading them over and over again. A line in one of them struck
me. "Dilshad" she said, "I don't think I ever laugh as much as I do when all of us are together". We shared many tears, but much more laughter. Much laughter.
Meeto, I hope that wherever you are now, you know only laughter. Much laughter.
You will always be missed.
Sleep well my pretty one…
Let the darkness be the light
And the stillness the dancing…
and I know we will meet again…
Till then one word…
Kimochi…. X
I have been asked to say a few words on behalf of all Meeto's friends from her time at Rishi Valley. We have known Meeto for 16 years, a long time perhaps, but too short. Far too short.
In the last two weeks, I have received innumerable emails from friends. Everyone expresses their shock and grief, everyone recalls how smart she was, how confident, but mostly how generous she was.
Generous is the word that comes to me first when I think of Meeto. Her generosity of spirit was immense.
There are small things that one remembers well, how when we were 11 and 12 and in a boarding school where the food wasn't always our absolute favorite, we used to horde food brought from home, but never Meeto. Many of us looked forward to Meeto's arrivals at meals, knowing she'd bring along some treat that Kamla or Baljit would have sent- a cheese spread or chilipaste. Funfoods, I think, the company was called. Thank you Kamla, thank you Baljit, for keeping us all very happily fed.
But cheese, chocolate, or her silver earrings and wardrobe which we readily helped ourselves to, all that aside, one could always count on Meeto to listen to your problems. From Meeto, there was always a ready supply of hugs, and love, whether it was being nervous before an exam, missing home or any one of life's many upsets.
One of Meeto's closest friends from Rishi Valley, Roo, tried very hard to be here today. But could not be. She has written a long letter to Meeto, a letter that reflects what many of us feel, and I want to share it with all of you and Meeto today.
Toe my love,
When I was asked to write something for today I had already made up my mind… I wasn't going to do it. Words seem so futile, so impotent to translate an essence… the inexplicable glue… that was us. However yesterday while I was staring out the window, smoking an insipid cigarette, I felt you hovering around me - threatening me to produce a piece of writing or else…. So here I am, completely bereft, writing you the most difficult letter, I will ever have
to write.
Some people have been telling me you were sick, others say you weren't a happy bunny… but I never saw you like that. I never defined you when you were here… and I am not about to now. For me you were an artist, who just happened to be brilliant. I celebrate you for your exquisite capacity to love and be loved, for sharing of yourself, your home… in a crazy way you made the world seem like a small place with big feelings. I celebrate you for your magnanimity of spirit and joie de vivre, for making me an unconditional part of you, for your laughter, for bullying me into being a better person, for staying 16 forever like we promised, for the memories you left me… and most of all for your YOU-NESS and those enormously gorgeous eyes you wore on your face.
I'll remember you for being extraordinarily beautiful, with a beautiful mind… but quintessentially all soul. Perhaps you were simply too beautiful.”
Roo, and I, wanted to offer Auden's Funeral Blues, a poem too long for me to
read here, but Meeto would understand why, and a couple of haikus and
something for the road.
If now was
And was is
We'd be apart
Together..
Distance is not drifting
But giving FULLNESS
To space
Meeto and I had a friendship where we felt free to tell each other what we thought, what we really thought of each other. She used to fault me for being compulsive, "relax Dilshad" she used to say "don't be so proper about everything". My compulsiveness, amongst other things, means that I have every email, letter and card that Meeto ever sent me. In the last two weeks, I have spent much time reading them over and over again. A line in one of them struck
me. "Dilshad" she said, "I don't think I ever laugh as much as I do when all of us are together". We shared many tears, but much more laughter. Much laughter.
Meeto, I hope that wherever you are now, you know only laughter. Much laughter.
You will always be missed.
Sleep well my pretty one…
Let the darkness be the light
And the stillness the dancing…
and I know we will meet again…
Till then one word…
Kimochi…. X
Doston - A Letter From Kamla
Doston/Friends and Soulmates,
Where do I begin? There is so much to share with you since I wrote to you last around January 15, from the UK. With those of you who have been with me I have shared a lot but not with those whom I have not met physically but whose presence I have constantly felt, whose energies have held me, kept me going.
Your messages on email, phone, sms of concern/love/condolence/support, being there for me/courage/wisdom/hope have all been received with love and gratefulness. Your being there for me/us has helped and is helping. I do not know how I would have coped with my loss and pain without this love and support. I am lucky to have you in my life and to have some space in your heart. It is wonderful.
It is already 50 days since Meeto passed on. I can still not believe what has happened, but days do pass. These days have been full of friends and relations coming to be with me/us. I have had NO time at all for myself or for looking at and responding to your messages. The presence of friends and relations around me has indeed helped. I feel friends have come not only to mourn my loss and share my pain but also to mourn their own loss and share their own pain. I have realised that Meeto belonged to many of us and not just to her biological family and therefore many of us have been hurting, feeling bewildered and bereft. Because of this friends like Nigar have been calling many times a day every day from Lahore. She says without speaking to me/us she feels restless. Many others have been doing the same. You can imagine how good and necessary such love is for me and my family at this time.
It is 5.30 in the morning and I have decided to write this common letter because I cannot wait any more to communicate to you at least some of what I want to share.
I spent about 15 days in the UK. Baljit (my husband) also came there a few days later. He had to get a new passport made. I got back to Delhi only on the 24th of January after the cremation and after sorting out most of the things which had to be sorted.
In the UK every thing went off well, again with the total support of my brother and his family, Sonya (Meeto's half sister), Lenny (Meeto's friend), my sister Guddy who joined me in the UK, many friends of Meeto and mine in London and Oxford and many people at Balliol College. Meeto's guide, Prof Judith Brown, the Chaplin of the College, the Master of Balliol College, Dr. Zancani, the Prefectus were all there to help, to grieve. All of them made me feel part of a large family of Balliol. They owned Meeto like family members and that really helped.
The cremation was held in Oxford on the 21st and as many of you felt and said it was really nice, secular, peaceful, dignified, with music, poetry and meaningful words. Just as Meeto Baby deserved and would have liked. We said goodbye to her physical form with her favourite Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing "Sahnu ik pal chain na aawey sajna tere bina, Sahda kalleyan jee nayeen lagna sajna tere bina" ( Not for a minute can I find peace without you my beloved, I will not be able to live peacefully without you, my love). Nusrat said it all for us in this powerful song.
Meeto's Rishi Valley and St Hildas' friends came from Canada, USA, Netherlands, Germany, Scotland, India to bid her good bye. My friends and relations came from different parts of UK and Europe.
At the same time on the 21st, family and friends had a prayer meeting in our home in Delhi. I am told this was very beautiful and soothing, with music and chanting by many friends. Later on I heard, at the same time on the 21st, there were prayer meetings for Meeto in Bangalore, Trivandrum, Bombay, Baroda, Dhaka, Kathmandu, Lahore, Islamabad, Colombo, Istanbul, the Hague, in the US. It is overwhelming to see this love and support given by all of you.
After the cremation all of us were invited by the Master of Balliol College for a reception in the College. This gave us the opportunity to spend time with all those who had come from near and far.
In the evening Meeto's friends had a memorial party in a small theater in the building Meeto stayed in. They recited Faiz, sang Tagore, played her favourite music. Lenny showed us more than 100 photos from their motor cycle trip to Spain and Morocco in September and October 2005. I am so grateful for these photos which capture Meeto's glory, happiness, zest for life etc. and which we keep looking at all the time.
In our home in Delhi friends and relations kept a Love Vigil from the 8th to the 24th of January. Every evening there was some singing, some prayers, some communion. Quite incredible and humbling. What a pity I was in the UK while many of you were at our home in Delhi.
On 19th of February, 15 of us went to Rishikesh and Dev Prayag with Meeto's ashes (in Hindi we call them flowers). It is difficult for me to use these words. I cringe. Our main purpose was to be together in Meeto's memory, grieve together and travel to some beautiful spots. In Dev Prayag in the mountains Bhagirathi and Alaknanda rivers merge and become the mighty and holy Ganga. This part of our journey was organised by Abha and Manjari. Both of them, my brother Brij, his son Bannu, my sister Guddy/Bina, Salahuddin, Meeto's and now my friend also Anusha, Roshmi, Syeda, my aunt Prema Buaji, her son Vinod, Margaret, (Meeto's other mother at home, who looked after and loved her no less than me), Ranjit, our driver who drove Meeto around(!) for years, Sonya and her husband, Edward were all with us on this journey. These three days helped us a lot.
Then my brother, Sonya, Edward, Ranjit and I travelled through Uttaranchal, Punjab, Haryana and Himachal Pradesh for another four days. We stopped in two beautifully located Gurudwaras, Paonta Sahib and Anandpur Sahib, listened to Kirtans, ate in the langars, reflected.
On 22nd night many of us together lit 1000 lamps in the Dolma Ling Buddhist Nunnery near Dharamshala. We did this thinking of all of you in different parts of the world who love Meeto.
On 23rd morning at 0600 (this was the 49th day) we had a Tara Puja in the same Nunnery. This was done by 59 Buddhist nuns and was very beautiful, powerful and soothing. It lasted till 0830. This very special Puja gave all of us a sense of peace and connection because Meeto had/has a special relationship with Goddess Tara. I am now trying to develop a better understanding of and love with Tara to connect more closely to Meeto.
After the Puja our Jagori Himachal team invited us for a nice breakfast in their office. We went from spiritual love to bodily love and loved all the hugs we got and gave. After that we drove for about two hours to Reverend Tenzin Palmo's Nunnery near Palampur and spent the afternoon with this amazing Buddhist nun who is also one of the 1000 Peace Women. Talking to her was again very healing. The Himachal part of the programme was planned and organised by Barbara, another soulmate and peace woman. All these prayers, reflections, being with friends has really helped. I feel lucky and blessed.
Several friends have written to say they have planted a tree in their home/organisation in Meeto's memory. Lovely.
Ever since I have come back to Delhi friends have come to meet me from different parts of South Asia. Nigar, Tariq Bhai and eight other friends came from Pakistan. Eva and Khushi, Indira Shrestha, Sunila (Abeysekera), Badal (Sengupta), Barbara, Vasantha, Veena, Nimisha, Teesta, Javed, Sheba, Anu (Kapur), Aruna (Roy) and many others left their work and family and came all the way to Delhi to be with me.
These moments have made me realize the strength and the multi dimensional nature of our movements and networks. I have experienced our feminist slogan Personal is the Political very intensely and palpably. In the last 50 days the personal and the political have been merged. Love and politics have come together in an amazing way. I have felt in my heart, body, soul this sense of belonging to a large family of feminists, peace activists spread across South Asia and the world. A family to which Meeto now belonged in her own right. She had grown in this family, accepted it fully and was accepted by it. Her work for the last many years was part of all our movements. She was with us in Beijing to dance in an ISIS organised youth festival. She worked for 6-8 months for South Asians for Human Rights. She worked with ICES ,Colombo for three months. She worked with Ford Foundation's Human Rights and Reproductive Rights Programme for 18 months. Her PhD was on the syncretic cultures of South Asia. She went and lit candles of love and peace at Wagah border. Went marching in UP against the destruction of Babri Masjid, wept for days during and after the massacres in Gujarat etc. etc. May be I should sit down and write all this down properly for myself and our daughters and sons.
In the last 50 days I have realised what our movements have given to us, how much they have enriched our lives. Normally we only think of what we give to the movement. Now I know that my whole existence has been shaped by our work and involvements, my friends have been given to me by our movements. All of you have held me, wept with me, heard me, sat in silence with me. I hope you realize how much you have given to me. I suppose I could have experienced this only in a tragic moment like this. I have received letters from friends whom I had not met for over 20 years. Our love and friendship does not die, does it. It may hibernate, go silent, become invisible but it emerges at such moments. Really amazing and so positive.
Another realisation I have is that our movements, networks and involvements are also going to provide me the main reason to continue to live. This work, I feel, will hold my finger and take me forward. It will give me the courage to get up, wipe my tears ,smile through my grief and move on. I know all of you will help me move forward. You will not allow me to sink and grieve for ever. And in this support group my colleague, Meeto will be standing right in front urging me to smile, to write new slogans and songs, to sing them even if out of tune. She is already doing this. I cannot imagine the VOID there would have been if I did not have all of you and my work in my life.
What more do I share about Meeto and me? I really had no idea Meeto's being has permeated my being so completely. No idea really. At home everything is Meeto-decor, music, books, food, my clothes, bags, water bottles, watches, the torch in my toilet bag, my mobile. Every thing reminds me of her. Even I remind myself of Meeto. I am Meeto's Amma.
I still want to and do actually share every thing with her, like I did in the past. Every thing beautiful, every thing difficult and painful, every thing exciting, every thing prosaic and ordinary.
I feel I am only now discovering my love for her and also my loss. I feel I love her more and more every day. I love her like a mother, daughter, friend, comrade. I love and miss her like a junooni (mad) lover. I might sound mad but so be it. Every love poetry seems now to be about Meeto and me. Khusro's words for Nizamuddin Aulia seem like my words for Meeto. Rumi and Hafiz seem to be expressing my love, pining, separation for Meeto. Nusrat and Abida sing the songs emerging from my love and pain. Flowers in our garden seem to be all for her, the gentle breeze of February reminds me of her. It caresses me like She often did. The birds twitter to remind me of her twittering. I better stop here before you write me off.
Just a little more sharing about what her and my friends are doing, planning to think of Meeto. Her friend Suzie Lipscomb created a blog soon after. My friend Marilee Karl in Rome is making a website. Megha and Suzie at Balliol College are planning a day long seminar on 22nd April on the theme on which Meeto was working. They will read her paper on which she got a distinction last year. Several other academics will present their papers. The Graduates of St Hilda’s College(where Meeto did her second BA/Masters) have voted to donate 50 pounds each to Rishi Valley Rural Health Project/Samaritans of Oxford and to plant a tree in the College as a memorial.
Amrita Dutta (a young friend who used to work with us in Jagori) is working with me to compile some of the letters, poetry etc. which have come to us in the last 50 days. This is for me and others who may like to share it. This work will help me heal I think. Let us see. Amrita is doing it with amazing love and sensitivity. Juhi of couse supports every thing all the time. Without her support I would not have been able to communicate with all of you.
I have been slowly getting back to work now, although doing most of it from home. On the 10th of March I am going to Colombo to meet friends and to attend a SAHR Bureau meeting. On my way back I plan to go to Chennai to see Chandralekha who has not been well and to go to Rishi Valley School where Meeto spent many years and where she was going to teach. At least that is what she and many of us hoped.
On the 28th of March I will go to Switzerland for the 1000 Peace Women meeting. I am now the Co-President of this initiative. So slowly I start moving and it is great that all my work takes me to close friends.
Please keep in touch and take care of yourselves. I will try and do the same.
With love and peace
Kamla
Where do I begin? There is so much to share with you since I wrote to you last around January 15, from the UK. With those of you who have been with me I have shared a lot but not with those whom I have not met physically but whose presence I have constantly felt, whose energies have held me, kept me going.
Your messages on email, phone, sms of concern/love/condolence/support, being there for me/courage/wisdom/hope have all been received with love and gratefulness. Your being there for me/us has helped and is helping. I do not know how I would have coped with my loss and pain without this love and support. I am lucky to have you in my life and to have some space in your heart. It is wonderful.
It is already 50 days since Meeto passed on. I can still not believe what has happened, but days do pass. These days have been full of friends and relations coming to be with me/us. I have had NO time at all for myself or for looking at and responding to your messages. The presence of friends and relations around me has indeed helped. I feel friends have come not only to mourn my loss and share my pain but also to mourn their own loss and share their own pain. I have realised that Meeto belonged to many of us and not just to her biological family and therefore many of us have been hurting, feeling bewildered and bereft. Because of this friends like Nigar have been calling many times a day every day from Lahore. She says without speaking to me/us she feels restless. Many others have been doing the same. You can imagine how good and necessary such love is for me and my family at this time.
It is 5.30 in the morning and I have decided to write this common letter because I cannot wait any more to communicate to you at least some of what I want to share.
I spent about 15 days in the UK. Baljit (my husband) also came there a few days later. He had to get a new passport made. I got back to Delhi only on the 24th of January after the cremation and after sorting out most of the things which had to be sorted.
In the UK every thing went off well, again with the total support of my brother and his family, Sonya (Meeto's half sister), Lenny (Meeto's friend), my sister Guddy who joined me in the UK, many friends of Meeto and mine in London and Oxford and many people at Balliol College. Meeto's guide, Prof Judith Brown, the Chaplin of the College, the Master of Balliol College, Dr. Zancani, the Prefectus were all there to help, to grieve. All of them made me feel part of a large family of Balliol. They owned Meeto like family members and that really helped.
The cremation was held in Oxford on the 21st and as many of you felt and said it was really nice, secular, peaceful, dignified, with music, poetry and meaningful words. Just as Meeto Baby deserved and would have liked. We said goodbye to her physical form with her favourite Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing "Sahnu ik pal chain na aawey sajna tere bina, Sahda kalleyan jee nayeen lagna sajna tere bina" ( Not for a minute can I find peace without you my beloved, I will not be able to live peacefully without you, my love). Nusrat said it all for us in this powerful song.
Meeto's Rishi Valley and St Hildas' friends came from Canada, USA, Netherlands, Germany, Scotland, India to bid her good bye. My friends and relations came from different parts of UK and Europe.
At the same time on the 21st, family and friends had a prayer meeting in our home in Delhi. I am told this was very beautiful and soothing, with music and chanting by many friends. Later on I heard, at the same time on the 21st, there were prayer meetings for Meeto in Bangalore, Trivandrum, Bombay, Baroda, Dhaka, Kathmandu, Lahore, Islamabad, Colombo, Istanbul, the Hague, in the US. It is overwhelming to see this love and support given by all of you.
After the cremation all of us were invited by the Master of Balliol College for a reception in the College. This gave us the opportunity to spend time with all those who had come from near and far.
In the evening Meeto's friends had a memorial party in a small theater in the building Meeto stayed in. They recited Faiz, sang Tagore, played her favourite music. Lenny showed us more than 100 photos from their motor cycle trip to Spain and Morocco in September and October 2005. I am so grateful for these photos which capture Meeto's glory, happiness, zest for life etc. and which we keep looking at all the time.
In our home in Delhi friends and relations kept a Love Vigil from the 8th to the 24th of January. Every evening there was some singing, some prayers, some communion. Quite incredible and humbling. What a pity I was in the UK while many of you were at our home in Delhi.
On 19th of February, 15 of us went to Rishikesh and Dev Prayag with Meeto's ashes (in Hindi we call them flowers). It is difficult for me to use these words. I cringe. Our main purpose was to be together in Meeto's memory, grieve together and travel to some beautiful spots. In Dev Prayag in the mountains Bhagirathi and Alaknanda rivers merge and become the mighty and holy Ganga. This part of our journey was organised by Abha and Manjari. Both of them, my brother Brij, his son Bannu, my sister Guddy/Bina, Salahuddin, Meeto's and now my friend also Anusha, Roshmi, Syeda, my aunt Prema Buaji, her son Vinod, Margaret, (Meeto's other mother at home, who looked after and loved her no less than me), Ranjit, our driver who drove Meeto around(!) for years, Sonya and her husband, Edward were all with us on this journey. These three days helped us a lot.
Then my brother, Sonya, Edward, Ranjit and I travelled through Uttaranchal, Punjab, Haryana and Himachal Pradesh for another four days. We stopped in two beautifully located Gurudwaras, Paonta Sahib and Anandpur Sahib, listened to Kirtans, ate in the langars, reflected.
On 22nd night many of us together lit 1000 lamps in the Dolma Ling Buddhist Nunnery near Dharamshala. We did this thinking of all of you in different parts of the world who love Meeto.
On 23rd morning at 0600 (this was the 49th day) we had a Tara Puja in the same Nunnery. This was done by 59 Buddhist nuns and was very beautiful, powerful and soothing. It lasted till 0830. This very special Puja gave all of us a sense of peace and connection because Meeto had/has a special relationship with Goddess Tara. I am now trying to develop a better understanding of and love with Tara to connect more closely to Meeto.
After the Puja our Jagori Himachal team invited us for a nice breakfast in their office. We went from spiritual love to bodily love and loved all the hugs we got and gave. After that we drove for about two hours to Reverend Tenzin Palmo's Nunnery near Palampur and spent the afternoon with this amazing Buddhist nun who is also one of the 1000 Peace Women. Talking to her was again very healing. The Himachal part of the programme was planned and organised by Barbara, another soulmate and peace woman. All these prayers, reflections, being with friends has really helped. I feel lucky and blessed.
Several friends have written to say they have planted a tree in their home/organisation in Meeto's memory. Lovely.
Ever since I have come back to Delhi friends have come to meet me from different parts of South Asia. Nigar, Tariq Bhai and eight other friends came from Pakistan. Eva and Khushi, Indira Shrestha, Sunila (Abeysekera), Badal (Sengupta), Barbara, Vasantha, Veena, Nimisha, Teesta, Javed, Sheba, Anu (Kapur), Aruna (Roy) and many others left their work and family and came all the way to Delhi to be with me.
These moments have made me realize the strength and the multi dimensional nature of our movements and networks. I have experienced our feminist slogan Personal is the Political very intensely and palpably. In the last 50 days the personal and the political have been merged. Love and politics have come together in an amazing way. I have felt in my heart, body, soul this sense of belonging to a large family of feminists, peace activists spread across South Asia and the world. A family to which Meeto now belonged in her own right. She had grown in this family, accepted it fully and was accepted by it. Her work for the last many years was part of all our movements. She was with us in Beijing to dance in an ISIS organised youth festival. She worked for 6-8 months for South Asians for Human Rights. She worked with ICES ,Colombo for three months. She worked with Ford Foundation's Human Rights and Reproductive Rights Programme for 18 months. Her PhD was on the syncretic cultures of South Asia. She went and lit candles of love and peace at Wagah border. Went marching in UP against the destruction of Babri Masjid, wept for days during and after the massacres in Gujarat etc. etc. May be I should sit down and write all this down properly for myself and our daughters and sons.
In the last 50 days I have realised what our movements have given to us, how much they have enriched our lives. Normally we only think of what we give to the movement. Now I know that my whole existence has been shaped by our work and involvements, my friends have been given to me by our movements. All of you have held me, wept with me, heard me, sat in silence with me. I hope you realize how much you have given to me. I suppose I could have experienced this only in a tragic moment like this. I have received letters from friends whom I had not met for over 20 years. Our love and friendship does not die, does it. It may hibernate, go silent, become invisible but it emerges at such moments. Really amazing and so positive.
Another realisation I have is that our movements, networks and involvements are also going to provide me the main reason to continue to live. This work, I feel, will hold my finger and take me forward. It will give me the courage to get up, wipe my tears ,smile through my grief and move on. I know all of you will help me move forward. You will not allow me to sink and grieve for ever. And in this support group my colleague, Meeto will be standing right in front urging me to smile, to write new slogans and songs, to sing them even if out of tune. She is already doing this. I cannot imagine the VOID there would have been if I did not have all of you and my work in my life.
What more do I share about Meeto and me? I really had no idea Meeto's being has permeated my being so completely. No idea really. At home everything is Meeto-decor, music, books, food, my clothes, bags, water bottles, watches, the torch in my toilet bag, my mobile. Every thing reminds me of her. Even I remind myself of Meeto. I am Meeto's Amma.
I still want to and do actually share every thing with her, like I did in the past. Every thing beautiful, every thing difficult and painful, every thing exciting, every thing prosaic and ordinary.
I feel I am only now discovering my love for her and also my loss. I feel I love her more and more every day. I love her like a mother, daughter, friend, comrade. I love and miss her like a junooni (mad) lover. I might sound mad but so be it. Every love poetry seems now to be about Meeto and me. Khusro's words for Nizamuddin Aulia seem like my words for Meeto. Rumi and Hafiz seem to be expressing my love, pining, separation for Meeto. Nusrat and Abida sing the songs emerging from my love and pain. Flowers in our garden seem to be all for her, the gentle breeze of February reminds me of her. It caresses me like She often did. The birds twitter to remind me of her twittering. I better stop here before you write me off.
Just a little more sharing about what her and my friends are doing, planning to think of Meeto. Her friend Suzie Lipscomb created a blog soon after. My friend Marilee Karl in Rome is making a website. Megha and Suzie at Balliol College are planning a day long seminar on 22nd April on the theme on which Meeto was working. They will read her paper on which she got a distinction last year. Several other academics will present their papers. The Graduates of St Hilda’s College(where Meeto did her second BA/Masters) have voted to donate 50 pounds each to Rishi Valley Rural Health Project/Samaritans of Oxford and to plant a tree in the College as a memorial.
Amrita Dutta (a young friend who used to work with us in Jagori) is working with me to compile some of the letters, poetry etc. which have come to us in the last 50 days. This is for me and others who may like to share it. This work will help me heal I think. Let us see. Amrita is doing it with amazing love and sensitivity. Juhi of couse supports every thing all the time. Without her support I would not have been able to communicate with all of you.
I have been slowly getting back to work now, although doing most of it from home. On the 10th of March I am going to Colombo to meet friends and to attend a SAHR Bureau meeting. On my way back I plan to go to Chennai to see Chandralekha who has not been well and to go to Rishi Valley School where Meeto spent many years and where she was going to teach. At least that is what she and many of us hoped.
On the 28th of March I will go to Switzerland for the 1000 Peace Women meeting. I am now the Co-President of this initiative. So slowly I start moving and it is great that all my work takes me to close friends.
Please keep in touch and take care of yourselves. I will try and do the same.
With love and peace
Kamla
...if you'd like to share with us the memories you have of Meeto, please send an email to rememberingmeeto@gmail.com.
-
- From Kamla:
I feel your love and your love is my energy, strength and hope.- Memories of Meeto
- exceptional
- what keeps haunting me
- Spending time with Meeto
- Meeto my sakhi
- so many memories
- one of those students
- At Oxford: A Message From Kamla
- At Oxford: From Professor Judith Brown
- At Oxford: From Roo.
- At Oxford: Dilshad's Message
- Doston - A Letter From Kamla
