Sumona Bhattacharya

Born in Rangoon, Burma, Mrs. Bhattacharya completed her B.A. in history with honors from Indraprastha College in 1975, and her M.A. in medieval Indian history from Delhi University in 1977. She began working at the Livingston Public Library as a bookkeeper, and her exceptional skills earned her the title of Financial Officer. She served the library for 27 years, overseeing the budget and accounts of the library during a significant reconstruction, leading to great esteem among colleagues and trustees.

She was preceded in death by her parents, Amulyaratan Bhattacharjee and Gouri Bhattacharjee. Mrs. Bhattacharya is survived by her husband, Partha Bhattacharya; daughter, Shohini Bhattacharya; son-in-law, Daniel Goldin, grandsons, Arohan and Liev; brother, Jyoti Bhattacharya; sisters, Nandita Mukerjee and Sunanda Banerjee; uncles, aunts, sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, nephews, and nieces. Mrs. Bhattacharya was a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, and friend.

A memorial gathering and service was held at Quinn-Hopping Funeral Home on Sunday, March 8.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be sent in memory of the deceased to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital or UNICEF. Condolences may be extended at quinnhoppingfuneral.com.

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There are about 400,000 humans born every day and 150,000 fade away.

I take the liberty to quote Thea White, a former colleague of Sumona at Livingston Public Library, that Sumona had been a very special person in the planet, well-loved and very respected by all. I witnessed this emotion at her retirement party in December 2016 when Barbara Bye, an eminent trustee, exhorted “Nobody would ever know what a treasure Sumona had been.” Another older colleague, George King, earlier exclaimed, “God had stopped creating women like this long ago."

These quotes give credence and validity to the Upanishadic pronouncement, “Verily doing work like this, you should live a hundred years. Om O will remember, that which was done remember, Om O will remember, that which was done remember.”

Not being able to match her standards, I have received a hundred dressing downs in 40 years.

She suffered inhumanly, and I am lachrymose often remembering the most precious time with her, I say her the fondest goodbye imaginable. I was glad she agreed to have me as husband again; the other part of the equation was given.

Om Shantih, Shantih, Shantih.

Partha Bhattacharya

March 8, 2020

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असतो मा सद्गमय ।

तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय ।

मृत्योर्मा अमृतं गमय ।

Lead me from unreal to real.

Lead me from darkness to light.

Lead me from death to immortality.

My mom and I had a saying in rough times — “I’m ok if you’re ok.” I know you’re at peace now and so I’m working on getting there, too. You were my rock growing up, and so I have tried to be the same for you the past few years.

It’s never enough time with the ones we love. But a sentiment from one of her favorite TV shows about a mother and daughter relationship comes to mind — as she goes out into the world after college, Rory Gilmore tells her mother Lorelai, “You’ve given me everything I need.” I’m trying to remember everything Ma has given me as I try to move forward.

She was the ultimate protective mother, and those of you who knew me growing up certainly know this. I’ll never know how I ended up procuring contraband like albums by Green Day and Alanis Morissette, but there were some things we could agree on. When Carly Simon was out promoting her album Letters Never Sent, we heard a beautiful song Simon had written for her own mother who had recently passed. It’s called Like A River. I would sing it for you but I’m not sure I can get through it. So I’ll play part of it for you now.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=leQhz8oIYRQ

I’d encourage you to listen to the whole song, as it is ultimately joyful, and that’s what Ma would want for everyone here.

The last few days have brought forward unexpected, but welcome, moments of levity. Many of you know that Ma valued punctuality as a measure of respect for both herself and others. To that end, one Christmas, she presented me with a small white alarm clock. I was probably all of six years old. But that little white clock remains, still going strong, in my childhood bedroom. I would like to say I inherited her penchant for punctuality, but the truth is I’ve definitely taken some latitude on that front since having kids. Sorry, Ma.

She was an amazing cook, though ever humble, she would say her skill paled in comparison to her sisters and mother. And my own skill pales in comparison to hers, though I’ve learned a couple things. When deep frying anything not being served right away, set the toaster oven to 200 to keep the food warm without drying it out. There were few things she hated more than food gone cold. “Eeesh! Thanda hoye gelo!” Many of you may have heard her exclaim. You also never ever, when feeding someone, feed them three spoonfuls. And two is too few. Four and up is acceptable. We talked about this as recently as last Saturday.

She was a fantastic singer, and the epitome of bhakti, or devotion, two traits closely linked through her love of bhajans and devotional songs of any religious tradition. This was evident in her deep appreciation for a traditional gospel song that I recorded myself playing and singing awhile back. The lyrics are fitting for this occasion so I’d like to play it for you.

https://soundcloud.com/sayitaintsho/wayfaringstranger

Ma drove me around all of New Jersey to nurture any singing talent I showed. Her own singing skill was evident by an invitation to sing at a prestigious festival in Calcutta in 1998. We should all feel blessed that her beautiful voice is captured on an album she recorded a few years ago, readily available whenever one may want to listen.

https://youtu.be/bdgVMKFpBS4

Her grace under pressure was almost supernatural. For the past few years, despite her suffering, she never once cried or complained to me, going back to our dictum of “I’m ok if you’re ok.” There have been times in my life when I feel I wasn’t as strong as I should have been. But I hope I made up for it somewhat in my support of her through these difficult times.

As many of you know, Ma worked at the Livingston Public Library for nearly three decades. We heard from many immigrant families like my own about how cherished the public library tradition is, and I spent a lot of time there growing up. We were incredibly fortunate that her work there made it possible for her to access the best possible care. I have to express gratitude to Ma’s medical team — because of their vigilance, she was able to meet not one, but two grandsons, and make cherished memories from holidays, vacations, and the simple joys of everyday life. She was even gutsy enough to take a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon as recently as last April.

For the last five years every milestone came with the question, might this be the last with her? The thought was always troubling, but forced me to be grateful for what we still had where I otherwise may not have seen beauty. And what remains is Ma’s steadfast desire to leave things better than she found them, something I hope translates to everyone who knew her.

For my First Mother’s Day as a mother, she gave me a beautiful wooden sculpture of a mother and child, with the proceeds going to UNICEF. It will remain among my most prized possessions forever. And at her retirement party, all she wanted was to redirect everyone’s goodwill towards St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. I will continue supporting these organizations every year on her birthday and Mother’s Day, and would ask anyone, if they are so inclined, to do the same.

The message she wanted to convey to her grandchildren most of all was this sentiment on fighting injustice from Swami Vivekananda: My child, what I want is muscles of iron and nerves of steel, inside which dwells a mind like thunder.

As I wandered my childhood house in the winter chilI, I found some of Ma’s clothes to keep warm. My cousin — my sister, really — Ruchira commented how she liked my sequined slippers. Ma’s slippers, I replied. Ma’s sweater. Ruchira and her parents echoed back, Ma’s daughter.

There is no greater compliment.

I’ll leave you with this passage from Rabindranath Tagore:

যারা কাছে আছে তারা কাছে থাক্‌, তারা তো পারে না জানিতে--

তাহাদের চেয়ে তুমি কাছে আছ আমার হৃদয়খানিতে ॥

যারা কথা বলে তাহারা বলুক, আমি করিব না কারেও বিমুখ--

তারা নাহি জানে ভরা আছে প্রাণ তব অকথিত বাণীতে।

নীরবে নিয়ত রয়েছে আমার নীরব হৃদয়খানিতে

Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are

Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words

Those who crowd my path do not know that I am walking alone with you

Those who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart.

Love you, Ma.

Shohini Bhattacharya

March 8, 2020

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The word Mashi we say means “like a mom”.

My Khuku Mashi literally was.

In my journey so far...

She was there when I stepped into this family and she was there when I got the news of my daughter Shriya. She was there as my playmate during those summer vacations and was there as a babysitter on special occasions. She was the one who bought my first gifts and was the one to be there on Shriya’s first birthday.

She was there through all my ups and downs and guided me when things went wrong.

She has set sail on a new journey, but I know she will still be the guiding star for my ship to sail through.

Sid Mukerjee

March 8, 2020