Human. Being.
Human.
My brother was born in Kolkata in February 1982. He was a beautiful baby - the apple of my mother's eye. His striking golden locks and light skin made him inescapable.
He was full of adventure. Afraid of nothing. Mum always worried he'd hurt himself. He wasn't allowed a bike until after he was 10. And this one time he jumped off the mezzanine floor at a holiday house. He thought he was superman.
His fondness for mountains developed early, probably through the numerous holidays my parents took in the Himalayas, Bhutan and Nepal. All of his childhood photos have him brandishing his signature smile with a backdrop of snow covered mountains.
He didn't really showcase his intellect until he was sent to boarding school. But school really brought out the best in him. He was athletic, intelligent, loyal and committed.
For the last 20 years he called Australia home. He travelled a lot, but always found his way back here. It was probably because of the easy lifestyle, perfect weather and proximity to family and friends.
He suffered from a severe case of psoriasis. He never talked about it, but I know it worried him all the time. He spent a long time being ashamed of his body. He hid it behind long sleeved shirts and long trousers in the middle of summer. He stopped swimming. He was on immunosuppressants for nearly 10 years.
He loved U2, Eddie Vedder, Coldplay. He cooked the same recipe over and over, as long as it took to perfect it.
Being.
He was thoughtful and considered. He rarely let a mean word slip, but he was also brutally honest. He found the quiet place within himself early in life. My husband calls him the posthumous sage. He is.
He was everyone's confidante, but rarely spoke of his own troubles. He constantly strengthened his internal resolve so that the psoriasis wouldn't define his life.
He meditated every day, sometimes for nearly two hours. He searched for meaning in his own life, and the Universe. He was open to spiritual ideas, but also poured through the latest physics, trying to find a way to marry the two. We talked about physics often, when he would share the latest video or science he had read about.
He'd call me in the morning to let me know what a beautiful perfect Sydney day it was. He stood on his balcony and watched as storms rolled in. He took photos of countless sunsets. He would go through extraordinary trouble to make sure he got the perfect shot. He was a perfectionist. He was hard-working. He was sincere. He knew life is full of suffering, and he never complained about it. He was just amazing.
I don't think there are many people who know amazing people in their lives. I am so blessed that I did.
I wish I knew more about his being, his essence. I just wasn't awake enough to notice how awake he already was.
He knew he was one with the Universe, not separate from it.
I will not forget you.
It was an honour.
My brother was born in Kolkata in February 1982. He was a beautiful baby - the apple of my mother's eye. His striking golden locks and light skin made him inescapable.
He was full of adventure. Afraid of nothing. Mum always worried he'd hurt himself. He wasn't allowed a bike until after he was 10. And this one time he jumped off the mezzanine floor at a holiday house. He thought he was superman.
His fondness for mountains developed early, probably through the numerous holidays my parents took in the Himalayas, Bhutan and Nepal. All of his childhood photos have him brandishing his signature smile with a backdrop of snow covered mountains.
He didn't really showcase his intellect until he was sent to boarding school. But school really brought out the best in him. He was athletic, intelligent, loyal and committed.
For the last 20 years he called Australia home. He travelled a lot, but always found his way back here. It was probably because of the easy lifestyle, perfect weather and proximity to family and friends.
He suffered from a severe case of psoriasis. He never talked about it, but I know it worried him all the time. He spent a long time being ashamed of his body. He hid it behind long sleeved shirts and long trousers in the middle of summer. He stopped swimming. He was on immunosuppressants for nearly 10 years.
He loved U2, Eddie Vedder, Coldplay. He cooked the same recipe over and over, as long as it took to perfect it.
Being.
He was thoughtful and considered. He rarely let a mean word slip, but he was also brutally honest. He found the quiet place within himself early in life. My husband calls him the posthumous sage. He is.
He was everyone's confidante, but rarely spoke of his own troubles. He constantly strengthened his internal resolve so that the psoriasis wouldn't define his life.
He meditated every day, sometimes for nearly two hours. He searched for meaning in his own life, and the Universe. He was open to spiritual ideas, but also poured through the latest physics, trying to find a way to marry the two. We talked about physics often, when he would share the latest video or science he had read about.
He'd call me in the morning to let me know what a beautiful perfect Sydney day it was. He stood on his balcony and watched as storms rolled in. He took photos of countless sunsets. He would go through extraordinary trouble to make sure he got the perfect shot. He was a perfectionist. He was hard-working. He was sincere. He knew life is full of suffering, and he never complained about it. He was just amazing.
I don't think there are many people who know amazing people in their lives. I am so blessed that I did.
I wish I knew more about his being, his essence. I just wasn't awake enough to notice how awake he already was.
He knew he was one with the Universe, not separate from it.
I will not forget you.
It was an honour.
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