At intervals, yes, but i've seen my cousin all my life. He died on Saturday night.
I was a babe in his mother's arms
For a month, so long ago i can't
Remember. She called me
Chom Chom!
He was four years older. Very
different, bold, keen sportsman,
Cyclist, tennis player, a breaker
Of records.
Always knew what he wanted,
Tried hard to get it, got it mostly,
Didn't waste time on sacrifice
Or sentiment.
Worked, played, partied, loved
His family dearly, travelled
Continents, settled, resettled,
Returned home.
Sick by dark choice, he scratched
The wall beside his bed, asked me
"What is that?" To my "What?"
He said "The children".
In '98, he'd said "They're the ones
Who matter, not us". I recalled
In '25. He felt so deeply about
Life's future,
Babies, babies on the way, next
Generations. I liked this in him.
Love rushing to us from the unknown
With open arms.
My Mashima slowly lost her mind
In '73 and died. He saw her off at
New Delhi station, never again.
It was very sad.
Who knows? Did a part of him
Wait on the platform, looking at
Trains returning, souls disembarking,
The lost in the found?
We weren't so deep. I never got to ask him. And then it was over.
Sanjib Basu 