31 Jan 2021
A letter to my Aunt
Dear Bhana Poowa
3 Feb 2020 started like any normal, ordinary summer's day - clear blue skies and an almost unbearable Durban humidity, and it was only 8am! Working Day 1 of any month in the life of a bean counter is tinged with craziness, and any fellow bean counter will tell you that it goes by in a blur, without much recollection. This Working Day 1 will remain etched in my memory forever.
How little I knew, on waking up that morning, the horror the day would bring. A darkness descended upon our family, as a tragedy of epic proportions unfolded. I received the call from Yashvir at around 11am. "Bhana Poowa passed away. She's been murdered. Dad's there now but don't call him just yet."
I was stunned, in shock, so I called my mum instead...only to be told that yes, it was true...no she doesn't have any details...and that she needed to keep both landline and her cell phone free, just in case anyone was trying to call. Her voice betrayed her and I could hear the emotion that she was trying to suppress.
Bhana Poowa ... your passing shocked us all, to say the very least. As a family, we had been through many things in the past, but something as brutal as this?? No...this could not be happening! I refused to believe that someone as bubbly and gregarious as you was no more! There had to have been some mistake, but sadly it was true. You had been brutally murdered a few days before, on 31 January, in your own home, the place you called your safe-haven, your sanctuary, your happy place and you had only been found the morning of the 3rd! The pain that you must have endured...the terror...oh Poowa...it is just wrong on every level that human beings can inflict such harm on another. Today, a year down the line, I reflect on our happy times...
You were never 'just my Dad's cousin'! You were so much more...you were my protector...my dance partner...my disciplinarian...my aunt! We are, indeed, so fortunate to have been touched by a soul like you. You were the cool aunt; the aunt we could have a glass or three of wine and crazy conversations with; the fashionable aunt, whose nail polish always matched her outfit (and that meant doing your nails every day!); the aunt who didn't think twice to rattle us if we put one toe out of line, whilst at the same time, taking off with whoever it was who had dared say anything to upset any of us! You were Bhana Poowa to so many ...and when we wanted to annoy you, it was "Ey Bhanwa! 'Ow you Bhanwa?"...to which you clicked your tongue, threw your head back and laughed. You called everyone, all your nieces and nephews, Baby. You were everyone's friend and mother. You were the aunt who changed your WhatsApp profile pic to my pic, and when I asked you why, you laughed and said "Because I can!"
You were there the day I graduated; the day Yashna got her matric results; the weeks of planning before Yashvir's wedding...you were always there to help my mum and dad, through good times and bad. You were the constant in an ever changing world...and then you left.
Psychologists say that the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. What nobody tells us is that one can bounce from 1 to 3 to 5 and then back to 1 and everywhere in between. It's a cycle, but a corrugated cycle. The anger part keeps coming back. Your killer/s have not been found. They still walk free and it just seems so unfair, but whilst the laws of our country may have failed you, Divine Justice will always prevail.
At your funeral, Donna Taggart's 'Jealous of the Angels' played during a slide show. I've heard the song being played so many times this past year, and every time that I hear it, I'm transported back to the day when we said goodbye to you. I'm actually not jealous of the angels. Instead, I am thankful that I got to call someone as amazing as you, "Poowa".
Wherever you are Bhana Poowa, I hope and pray that you are in peace. According to our Shastras, your soul's journey would have reached it's destination by now...to the Lotus feet of Bhagwan Sri Vishnu. I can only just imagine how you must be soaring through the skies, your raucous laughter filling the heavens. I smile now...a year later, and time has flown by, yet stood still! I can reminisce without the tears flowing. The pain is still there. It will never go away. We have just learnt to mask it.
So, until the day when we can dance together again..."Check you, Bhanwa!"
From your crazy niece...Ani.
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