Swarna Chalasani was the quintessential work-hard-play-hard New Yorker. Somehow shemanaged to squeeze extensive travel and humanitarian pursuits into her 80-100 hourworkweeks at the Fiduciary Trust International, where she was a research analyst. If shewasn’t jaunting off to Thailand or rafting in whitewater rapids, she was counsellingvictims of domestic abuse or teaching English at Hunter College.
But for her mother, Lakshmi, sitting in her son Rao’s Manhattan apartment, theconversation repeatedly returns to a maroon silk sari. Lakshmi bought the sari on a tripto Madras, thinking it would be ideal in the event of her daughter meeting a prospectivegroom. Maroon was her daughter’s favourite colour. Lakshmi was extremely carefulabout not buying anything too heavy, knowing fully well how her 33-year-old daughter wouldrespond to it.
When Lakshmi returned to New York, she called up Swarna and described the colour, theborder and the design of the sari. "She thought it was much better than those zarisaris," says Lakshmi, as her son sits nearby. "She was very good at wearingsaris. She carried herself very well, though she didn’t have many chances."
The doorbell rings. It’s Swarna’s sister, Sandhya. She considers joining hermother and brother in the discussion, but on second thoughts, moves silently into thebedroom. "Anytime the family’s together, it’s painful," says Rao.
He speaks at length about the madness of terrorism, and the government’s equalabsurdity of responding to violence with violence. He and his family struggled, he says,to find comfort together, considering that they had to perform Swarna’s last riteswith just one bone. Perhaps, he feels, there is merit in the trillion-dollar lawsuit filedby the families of some victims against the members of the Saudi royal family.
As a teacher in Queens, Lakshmi found occasional relief in her work, but this being thesummer break, too much free time brings back dark memories. "If I sleep, I wake up intwo minutes because I feel guilty at not thinking about her," she confesses. Dreamsabout Swarna frequently invade her sleep. In one, Lakshmi can’t tell whetherit’s night or day. In another, she speaks to Swarna over the phone. And Swarna tellsher that she’s fine, and that she can hear everything going through her mother’smind.
A week after the towers fell, Lakshmi was ferreting through Swarna’s apartment inJersey City, New Jersey, when she came across a greeting card. No one knows whether Swarnahad bought it or received it, as it remains unsigned, but they like to believe those wereher last words to the family. The card shows a young lady with a suitcase in each hand,and on the back, a small airplane flying over a hill. The card reads:
I am safe. It’s only change.
I cross all bridges with ease and joy.
The old unfolds into wonderful new experiences.
My life gets better all the time.
