In Memoriam: Ranjit Jose (1980-2023)

 Note: On September 24, 2023, my niece, Amita Sudhir, arranged a yacht-ride around Manhattan to celebrate the life of my nephew, her cousin, Ranjit Jose, who passed away at the age of 42 last summer.  A group, a fraction of his many friends around the world, came to pay tribute to an amazing person. I'm not going to mention them by name, since my vision was frequently unable to attach a name to a voice. Suffice it to say that it was a lovely, lively group. What follows is a eulogy which I prepared for my blog before the boat trip. It consists largely of the comments which I gave onboard. Poor Ranji! His death profoundly affected us all.

Shortly after our dear nephew passed away, my wife Nirmala and I were sitting on our porch, drinking tea, while enjoying a beautiful morning of early summer. We have many potted plants and flowers on the porch. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something happened: a hummingbird swooped down to gather nectar from one of the flowers. “Look!” said my wife in hushed tones. We live in the city; I don’t recall ever seeing a hummingbird in our yard before. I looked on amazed, but after a few seconds, when I looked again, it had already flown away. I remember thinking that this was a message from Ranji. A few days ago, I wrote this haiku-like poem:

The Hummingbird

How lovely last summer while

Sweet nectar flowed! Wings hovered,

Then vanished. Where did he go?

 

Where did that sweet hummingbird go, indeed. Nearly every day, I exercise on my stationary bike while listening to a Mozart piano concerto. The bike faces the stairs. It was on these same stairs that Ranji, on his first visit to the United States, learned to walk in 1981, with the help of my son Philip, who was born at the same time Ranji was born. I remember carrying him all over the place! He was so light, he was so young!

There are so many incidents in Ranji’s life that I was privileged to have witnessed. I will mention only two of them. When Ranji graduated from the New School with a masters degree, we were very proud. The graduation ceremony was in Madison Square Garden in New York City. Ranji was sitting next to an African American friend. I was busy taking pictures, when I heard his friend say, “Who is that white dude who keeps taking our picture.” ‘That’s my uncle,” Ranji replied to his surprised companion. I beamed with pride.

Fast forward a few years. It is now November 2, 2016, Ranji, visiting us from Indonesia, and I were watching on TV  the results coming in  of the U.S. presidential election.  It was after midnight, when I decided to go to bed. The race was still undecided. “Don’t worry, Ranji—The American people are not so stupid as to elect Trump! Go to bed!” The next day, the expression on Ranji’s face conveyed the results to me. “Sorry, dear Uncle, but you were wrong.”

Where did that sweet hummingbird go?

Twice weekly a musician friend comes over. He plays the flute, while I accompany him on the piano. A few days ago, we played all the songs by Stephen Forster that we could remember. I recall singing to myself  the following doggerel lyrics to one of his once-famous songs:

Flown from our sight, to a country far away,

Left us with stairs where he learned to walk and play;

Gone from this Earth, to a better land I know,

And yet my mourning can’t help asking, ‘Why did you go?’

I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low,

Yet in mourning, I’m still asking, Why did you go?

 

We’ll never know why he left us so early, but we do know this, Ranji loved the world, and we loved him. He taught us what is most important in life: human relationships. It is not success or fame, as research has shown, but the quality of our relationships that brings happiness. As you that are here, and so many who are not here, know: Ranji learned this lesson early, and he knew it well. We shall miss him.