A Canoe with a Single Oar

Originally published December 25, 2024

Three years ago, on Christmas Day, my husband Naren passed away unexpectedly. Before his passing, Christmas held little significance for us.

Christmas was only special to Naren and me because of the kids. We decorated our home like others do and bought presents for the kids, but not for each other.

Diwali, the Festival of Lights, was our special day. We hosted festive parties, bringing the nostalgia of India into our otherwise American lives. We invited our Indian and non-Indian friends, explaining the significance of Diwali to our guests and our kids. Our two girls, who learned Indian dancing, performed at our Diwali parties.

We hoped it would instill Indian-ness in them—dancing to Indian songs, with Indian classical movements, in traditional attires, on the most celebrated day in India.

Now, December 25th has taken on new significance. Many friends reach out on this day, remembering Naren with fondness. It’s hard not to be reflective as I write this on Christmas Day, three years later.

I remind myself that at every stage of life it has been difficult to give up. And so was being married for 47 years with Naren, to now living without him. Leaving home to go to Roorkee—the engineering college in India—was sad. I then left India for America with a sinking heart, but America brought new opportunities. As a graduate student in America, with no friends, I was lonely. It was then I reconnected with Naren in the US. And did I fall for him.

“I fell for her when we first met,” Naren used to tell friends. That was different from my story, but an endearing one.

Leaving every stage had brought sadness but also sprang new life, new opportunities, and most importantly, a wave of enthusiasm.

Naren and I embraced life with an adventurous spirit. But I am also figuring out how to navigate with a single oar. Some old mutual friends are now closer to me in more meaningful ways. I can now figure out who I am imposing on and when it’s right to do so.

Another thing I appreciated about Naren was not looking back. Even in the most joyful moments, rough patches had to be overcome. When we decided to get married, barely a year after I came to the US, a difficult decision was whether to get married in the US or India. He opted to get married in the US, even against his parent’s wishes.

Now I refuse to look back on life and death, which are outside our control. We lived a life of active risk-taking duos.

He had no qualms about my starting a company when he had just done that himself a few years earlier — still in its infancy. Together we took financial and physical risks. Swimming in the ocean with very little experience, we tremendously enjoyed snorkeling when we first witnessed the rich underwater marine life, invisible when looking at the surface above. We both experienced close calls due to ocean currents.

We went skiing and tried to navigate steeper slopes than we could handle. Earlier, I had proclaimed I could never ski because of a childhood bout with mild polio—leaving one leg a bit stunned. But we skied for 47 years together and initiated our daughters, who are now excellent at the sport. The younger one, Serena, constantly challenges herself in the backcountry, climbing up and down through unplowed snow. She skied Mt. Shasta, impromptu, one weekend.

Did daring parents create daring daughters? One would never know. But the ride together was joyful. No regrets.

Then there was bridge, where we could not play together nor live without it. My last blog is about how Bridge Learning has its joy.

Three years back on December 25th, thankfully the kids were adults, and a grandchild was on the way. As usual, life was flowing our way, and there is no reason to think that it would not continue.

We still chuckle at Dad. Just two days back, my daughter Anneka retrieved a train from Naren’s closet, where he had hidden it away from me. He believed I would ruin his favorite train! Now his two-year-old grandson has it around his first Christmas tree. At two, the train is what lights him up!

I can finally let it go the way I want to while marching forward still working on my first book and playing a more intensely focused bridge — which takes me out of this world, like meditation. Suddenly, now I realize a canoe can be better navigated with a single oar when the waters are calmer.