Air India
I try to keep up with what's going on back home on a fairly regular basis. One of the key news items in the last week is the commemorative events happening regarding Air India's crash and the resulting death of hundreds of Canadians. While reading, I came across this article which brought it all back. Although this article deals mostly with a critique of the Canadian government and its perceived inaction (of which I will not express an opinion on here) it is written about an Indian family that perished in the crash, by the best friend of the eldest boy, Sanjay.
Now, Sanjay was a few years older than me - my brother knew him quite well - but was not someone I knew very well myself. However, his sister Surekha was a different story, she was a friend of mine.
In public school (kindergarten to Grade 6) there were the four of us: Michelle, Jenny, Surekha and myself. Michelle and I were best friends in the foursome while Jenny and Surekha were the other pair of best friends. I have pictures of birthday parties with all four of us in attendance, dressed in pretty party dresses which in no way reflected the rambunctious little girls we were back in those days.
I don't remember Surekha's parents very well, but I do remember what car her Dad drove: a Dodge Dart - almost the exact same model as my mom's. How do I know this? Why do I remember? Well, I can remember hiding out and hiding cigarettes when seeing that car in the distance - only to discover as Surekha's Dad drove by, that I had needlessly thrown away my contraband. Not only was he far less scarier than my mother - he never would have told on me.
But by the end of Grade 6 the four of us were separated. Michelle and I went to the same school but Jenny and Surekha followed different paths. In my opinion, Michelle and I were lucky - because with the exception of a small jaunt at a different school for me - she and I managed to stay together until graduation.
Not so for Jenny and Surekha. Different high schools meant a different circle of friends and they slowly drifted apart. That is until just before the Air India trip. I don't know why, but just before she went on the family vacation Surekha reached out to Jenny one last time. They got to catch up, heal old rifts, reminisce about old times - and without knowing it - say goodbye.
I ran into Jenny not so long ago and she told me about their last visit. I don't remember her words exactly, but she was so glad that she'd had the chance to see her before she died. Her death was so unexpected - and although I hadn't seen her for many years - was deeply felt by all of us who went to school with her - and by the community at large. The Sakhawalkers had long been part of the neighbourhood and their absence was deeply felt.
I don't know really what I'm trying to accomplish here tonight, but I felt the need to write something a little more personal than the article I found - maybe as Sanjay's best friend it is still too painful to write something too sentimental. All I know is I hear the politicians talk, I hear them quote numbers, I hear the talk about terrorist activity - but to me it will always be about Surekha and her family and the other families like them.
My heart breaks for the relatives who have searched for justice and felt it has been denied. The only comfort I can offer is that these people are not forgotten. They are remembered not only by their relatives and in the media, but also by the friends and communities that were left behind.
Now, Sanjay was a few years older than me - my brother knew him quite well - but was not someone I knew very well myself. However, his sister Surekha was a different story, she was a friend of mine.
In public school (kindergarten to Grade 6) there were the four of us: Michelle, Jenny, Surekha and myself. Michelle and I were best friends in the foursome while Jenny and Surekha were the other pair of best friends. I have pictures of birthday parties with all four of us in attendance, dressed in pretty party dresses which in no way reflected the rambunctious little girls we were back in those days.
I don't remember Surekha's parents very well, but I do remember what car her Dad drove: a Dodge Dart - almost the exact same model as my mom's. How do I know this? Why do I remember? Well, I can remember hiding out and hiding cigarettes when seeing that car in the distance - only to discover as Surekha's Dad drove by, that I had needlessly thrown away my contraband. Not only was he far less scarier than my mother - he never would have told on me.
But by the end of Grade 6 the four of us were separated. Michelle and I went to the same school but Jenny and Surekha followed different paths. In my opinion, Michelle and I were lucky - because with the exception of a small jaunt at a different school for me - she and I managed to stay together until graduation.
Not so for Jenny and Surekha. Different high schools meant a different circle of friends and they slowly drifted apart. That is until just before the Air India trip. I don't know why, but just before she went on the family vacation Surekha reached out to Jenny one last time. They got to catch up, heal old rifts, reminisce about old times - and without knowing it - say goodbye.
I ran into Jenny not so long ago and she told me about their last visit. I don't remember her words exactly, but she was so glad that she'd had the chance to see her before she died. Her death was so unexpected - and although I hadn't seen her for many years - was deeply felt by all of us who went to school with her - and by the community at large. The Sakhawalkers had long been part of the neighbourhood and their absence was deeply felt.
I don't know really what I'm trying to accomplish here tonight, but I felt the need to write something a little more personal than the article I found - maybe as Sanjay's best friend it is still too painful to write something too sentimental. All I know is I hear the politicians talk, I hear them quote numbers, I hear the talk about terrorist activity - but to me it will always be about Surekha and her family and the other families like them.
My heart breaks for the relatives who have searched for justice and felt it has been denied. The only comfort I can offer is that these people are not forgotten. They are remembered not only by their relatives and in the media, but also by the friends and communities that were left behind.
posted by lala at
8:19 PM
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