How I lost my mother to dementia
Growing up in a nuclear family of four in Delhi, my childhood was fairly happy. I say fairly because it is now coloured by adulthood desires of what could have been. I didn’t know any better then and for all I can recall, it was happy enough. My father was the sole earner, Ma, giving in to Dida’s (my maternal grandma) desire, chose to stay at home, not that she would have preferred to have been a housewife. One of the most social creatures I have known, Ma found every reason to be out, not for her the homely tasks of cooking and tending to children. Though she did these chores stoically, and in record time. She made friends everywhere she went, knew almost everyone around, joined the local Bengali club for a sewing and knitting class, made more friends, tried her hand at yoga, saw films with the “girls” and, much later, was part of kitty party groups too. She went to the Kali Bari, volunteered to officiate at the library, every member came to know her, and more importantl...