Remembrance

It's strange, that after writing so much about the man named Abhijit Mahato, I can't for the life of me remember his face. I can't for the life of me think of that place in India he came from, that lab at Duke he worked in, or anything else about him, other than the fact that he died a little more than a year ago.

During my stint as news editor for The Chronicle last year, I oversaw the publication of nearly 20 stories about the 29-year-old graduate student, but I don't think I ever said his full name out loud-he was a last name, the shell of a person that once lived, breathed, talked and moved. It was cleaner this way. Thinking about the person he was would mean admitting his reality, and admitting his reality would mean acknowledging the hollow his absence leaves, even for a stranger like me.

But life has a way of teaching you lessons. Less than a month after Abhijit's death, I lost a friend and classmate of my own at Duke. Aalok Modi was 20 years old. He loved basketball, was passionate about global health and had the most infectious smile I've ever known. Aalok was the friend who made banana bread with me, who always held the door open, who indulged me when I complained about physics class or MCAT prep or any number of other things.

I remember seeing the newspaper the day after he died. My eyes scanned straight to the right column, where I knew the story would be. I remember cringing at hearing him called by his last name. Modi. It was cold, distant. It was not him, was not the person I remembered. We had written something about defibrillators and ambulances, something about the hospital and the vigil. But none of it could capture him, none of it could capture how much we loved him, how much we all miss him.

By the time you read this, Abhijit's anniversary will have passed and Aalok's will be only days away. Like both of them, I was raised a Hindu, and was taught never to grieve those who are gone, but to celebrate and remember them instead.

So know that Abhijit liked poetry. Know that he was from Kolkata, the "City of Joy, city of intellectuals and much much more," as he once wrote. Know that he attended the Indian Institute for Technology, one of the country's most prestigious universities and that he loved to play chess. Know that he had a charming smile, and friends and family who still miss him very much. But most of all, know that he was real, that he touched our world in a way that we can never erase, that we shared something with him. Remember that and you will honor him.