Miss you, Mita
How can someone with such a dazzling smile, such a spirited presence, someone so innately cheerful, voluble, loving and happy, simply cease to exist? The news of Mita's death came as a shock. It shouldn't have. We knew she was suffering from cancer for long. She remained so strong, though knew she did not have much longer to live. She was a fighter, but a realist. We too knew that her days on this earth were running out fast and the time for her to reunite with her beloved husband Shahed was drawing closer and closer. But still her death came as a shock.
It was a shock because she was so alive, always so full of life. I don't think I know of anyone so vibrant, living every moment to the fullest, such a loving wife, mother, grandmother and friend. So talented. So vivacious. So beautiful inside and out. So charming, so good, so generous, so hospitable. I'm running out of words to describe Mita, but I still fail to portray the sheer positivity of her personality. She was life personified.
Am I exaggerating, as we are prone to when a loved one dies? No. If anything, I am understating the strength of her presence.
Memories come rushing in -- the gifts showered upon my children -- books, chocolates, knickknacks, our addas with select friends, sharing heartbreaks and sorrows, joys and happiness.
Mita's husband Shahed was another wonderful person. He would seem to be rather taciturn and serious, but once you got to know him, he was a veritable volume of anecdotes and knowledge. He was full of humour and was as good a listener as he was talker. A teacher by profession, he was very sincere, patient and kind. Mita and Shahed complemented each other perfectly, the proverbial yin and yang.
Their son and daughter, but naturally, are loving human beings too. Both of them excel in their respective careers. Most importantly, during their parents' illness, they looked after them with love and care.
Pictures of Mita spring to the mind -- as a teenager, long straight black hair swinging to her waist as she called customers to her stall at a Meena Bazar in Ladies Club at Eskaton, Dhaka, back in her late seventies. Her spellbinding performance in 'Nandita Narake', in 'Good Night Ma'. Chatting with friends and strangers with equal aplomb at our dining table. Hanging out at her flat in Dhanmondi with friends, food and fun. At restaurants, her infectious laugh making heads turn and diners at other tables smile. Her quirky junk jewelry, her crisp cotton saris, her little black teep. The picture she posted boldly on Facebook of her post-chemo shaven head (I had thought Persis Khambatta was the only woman who could look bald and beautiful at the same time until I saw Mita's picture).
Mita, I was just going through the last messages we shared on Messenger. You had been describing Shahed as a 'deeply, but privately, religious person' and the 'best of men'. He was. You are the best too, Mita, the very best.