On Saturday afternoon, I heard of a family friend’s passing through her brother on Facebook. And while I had not met Jyothi Auntie in my adulthood, she remained alive to me through my mother’s many conversations about her. My mother had last met her in September 2014 when Auntie was visiting her daughter in Kolkata – after that the two friends spoke only on the phone.

My mum knew Jyothi Auntie from her Hyderabad days. My father and Auntie’s husband, a dashing Army officer called Captain Sarkar (since retired as Colonel), were fast friends. And it was only natural that their wives would carry that friendship forward. But it was not like that. My mum says that even if the men hadn’t befriended each other, she and Auntie would have definitely struck kinship, somewhere. For they were not just two newly-wed, nervous, young brides thrust in the chaos of domesticity – that neither had experienced earlier – and newness all over. They were also meant-to-be-friends who sheathed their new friendship in girly giggles, Bollywood films and spicy food.

My dad moved out of Hyderabad, Captain Sarkar Uncle too. The girl-friends stayed in touch on and off, mostly. Then they lost touch. After a gap of many years, Auntie’s brother discovered me on Facebook (Thank you, Mr. Zuckerberg). In 2013, contact was re-established between the long-lost-and-found friends and details exchanged. They now lived a retired life in Siliguri. My mother would have a happy tone in her voice whenever she spoke to Auntie. Of course, the joy of exchanging girly secrets and banter remains unmatched, across generations.

The year 2015, so far, has not been very kind to our family, and especially my mother. There have been five deaths in the family – and all, incidentally, from her side. I stopped before I gathered the courage to break the news to my mother. Cause I knew that her universe would not be the same after this. I knew that it would take her more than a Sunday afternoon to process this loss. And put up a brave and smiling face and carry on with life as is. But, as an incredibly strong woman, (and my fount of strength, too) I know that she wept silently for the friend who was snatched away by the dreaded C-word.

And barely had the news of Jyothi Auntie sunk in, that I heard of an ex-colleague’s death. To us journalists at CNN-IBN and elsewhere too, the passing of Diptosh Majumdar was a shock. A “fine journalist and a bloody good human being” as my ex-superboss Rajdeep Sardesai described in his blog, this was a man whom I remembered only with a smiling face. During my interaction with him, I remember a man who was an astute political analyst, a courteous person and a smiling soul in the newsroom madhouse. Rarely did one see him stressed or worried. For a man who had survived two heart attacks and a bad car accident, his spirit kept him going. That’s why, when he disclosed on Facebook that he had been diagnosed with blood cancer and was going to be treated soon, I thought, like many others, that of course he will pull it through this time as well.

But that was not to be. On Sunday afternoon, he gave up his fight, to the dreaded C-word.

And, with that, in just a matter of a few hours, the world lost two warriors.

The Heavens will be in august company now.

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality….

~Emily Dickinson, c.1863