Gone - but not forgotten

[In memory of my uncle, Rabin Kumar Pradhan. ]

I remember my uncle Rabin Pradhan. Affectionately called "Rabu Paju" by his nephews and nieces, and "Rab-bhai" by all who knew him, he was the soul of our hamlet Temi Tarku, in South Sikkim. Fair, good looking with his curly hair playing on his forehead as he used to strum his guitar, or hang out with his bunch of buddies. He was our hero - our friend - our dearest uncle.

I remember Rabu Paju as the guitarist of his club he founded in Temi Tarku - Young Star's Club.

I remember him riding his bike to Kalimpong to pick me up from school when my vacations began.

I remember him being nervous before his maiden flight journey.

I remember sending him the chords of "Hotel California" from school because I knew he really wanted those.

I remember him getting disappointed when he had to drop out of school.

I remember him when he was possessed by the spirit of a grandma who had just passed away then.

I remember him giving me letters to give to his girlfriend, and me feeling so proud to do that.

I remember leaving for Assam from Chennai (where I was doing my 10+2) to spend my Puja Holidays at home. The year was 1998.

I remember our family friend, Mishra Uncle, giving me tickets to Bagdogra saying that I would have to go to Sikkim instead of Assam due to "sudden change of plans".

I remember being happy inside at the thought of going to Sikkim - for then I'd get the chance to meet Nandini, my crush during those adolescent days.

I remember reaching Bagdogra happy. I remember Sahu Kaka picking me up and driving me to Temi Tarku.

I remember hearing the devastating news on the way to Sikkim - Rabu Paju was no more.

It was September, 1998. "Dasai", the primary festival for us Nepalis, was just a week away. We were also preparing for festivities - but who was to tell that it would end in a tragedy? The cause - landslide, the first ever on the way that goes to Temi. Later, I was told that the last word Rabu Paju spoke while he was being taken to STNM hospital, Gangtok, was the word "Mommy". I also heard later that he was to get married in a few months' time.

My grandma, who had to bear the loss of her youngest son. My mom, who had to let go of her youngest brother's ashes. My uncles and aunt, ruing the demise of the apple of their eyes.

In all these years, life has moved on.

I miss my Rabu Paju to this day - and I always will. There are so many things we'd have done as only uncles and nephews can do together. Confiding in him about my habits, my crushes, my love affairs, my highs, my lows, my fights...

I miss you Rabu Paju. You may be gone - but you'll never be forgotten.

With lots of love.