Fish Friday Friday is discount day at the fresh fish counter in our local Morrison’s, and during the last few months of my mother-in-law’s life, we (Babu and I), would sometimes take her there in a wheelchair borrowed from her good friend, Mrs Duttaroy, to choose fish. It wasn’t always Morrison’s on these shopping days, which were always weekly, but a combination of the new found Aldi (near Lila’s flat in Leyton and source of many bargains); the constant of Waitrose in Stratford Westfield (her favourite Waitrose had been in Canary Wharf where she was a minor celebrity with the staff there who loved her – she’d been going on her own for a while once she was ill with the help of Dial-a- Ride, but Canary Wharf was a bit hard logistically with all the other required shops on one day); and Westfield M&S. She had online vouchers for both Waitrose and M&S which, for some reason, we never got round each week to choosing and downloading before we were actually in the shops and balancing bags, basket and wheelchair – it was always a laugh! There could also be a scattering of local Asian shops for specialist items, and after a coup with a £1.00 bowl of mini cucumbers and two aubergines (my mother-in-law had made me shift the aubergines to join the cucumbers, directing through the car window, so she could give the latter to Rajesh as she always did with his meal that Sunday – the shop keeper couldn’t see from inside the shop!) we’d routinely stop the car outside that shop near her house to see if they had any more. They never did. On the last Saturday before she died, my mother-in-law made the sterling effort of navigating Waitrose and M&S in one go, and then a new shop, Krishna Cash and Carry on Romford Road, as recommended by one of her carers. She tasked me with a complicated order that I was worried about getting wrong. Babu sensed this and gallantly insisted on trying. He received a massive telling off when he came back to the car with already puffed pani puri (which will go soft, obviously) and had to go back for the flat pre-puffed ones (it’s a complicated business.) Poor Babu! She said that was why she’d wanted me to go in and that I would never have made such a stupid mistake! (Not so sure myself, but I did enjoy the moment of her thinking the best of me!) She passed away the next Friday. Yesterday, I felt I managed to bring a chapter to a close; but then not really as my mother-in-law’s spirit is indefatigable, and in the many places it will live on, it will surely be in shopping. I went to Morrison’s and was served by the guy who’d always been so kind and helpful with (and I have to say this) my mother-in-law’s at times pretty demanding requests! He’d cut and scaled whole salmon to very precise measurements while queues formed; and memorably, on the Friday before mothering Sunday this year, had given her a huge amount of sardines for pennies after she complained that they were substandard. He’d agreed that they were a bad catch. I told him about her passing, and he was genuinely sad. I thanked him for how he’d gone out of his way to help us during that time, and he said he’d really liked her and what a strong woman she was. He also asked how Babu was bearing up. I reflected yesterday on the world that my mother-in-law opened up to me, often from these quotidian encounters. I already miss her weekly tips for special offers in the supermarkets that she’d find via Mrs Duttaroy or on her iPad, which she was using right up until the end of her life for shopping updates and YouTube recipe experimentation), but grateful that she gave me a ‘way in’: to east London, to finding enjoyment in food, and watching and learning from the way she engaged with people from all walks of life. She had no fear, really, which was utterly refreshing, and a charm that will keep her forever in so many people’s memories.

It’s difficult to register that my Mother-in-Law has gone. She was such a presence that it’s hard to think I’ll never speak with her again or hear her unique take on things. I have some solace, though, in the realisation that she lives on in so many ways and will continue to do so. For the two weeks or so since she passed away, I’ve often thought, ‘oh, I can ask her how that’s done’ but of course I can’t any more. I have her voice in my head, though, still, telling me not to worry and not to spend too much money. I do hope this stays. I have daily reminders of her from her huge influence in the food and shopping departments – she was expert in both areas, and I can’t make a meal or complete a transaction without some awareness of what she’d think about it. When she was very ill towards the end of her life, Babu and I would accompany her shopping every Friday or Saturday (she was in a wheelchair for this) and as frail as she was by then, she still had a boundless energy for finding bargains, choosing the best produce and planning inventive and experimental recipes to complement the traditional Bengali dishes that she delivered so expertly until her very last days (latterly with the help of Santanu and her carers, but still very much under her watchful eye.) She was an extraordinarily tenacious woman in every aspect of her life and her love of food and feeding the people she loved (family and friends alike) continued right until the end. I have many other shopping memories, but a particularly vivid one is from New Market in Kolkata. She sent me into the shop first because she said they’d charge double if they saw us together, and that she’d do all the talking. I wanted a figure of Ganesh that I’m looking at in my living room as I write. She bartered hard for it, making to leave the shop at least three times, each time followed by an increasing number of assistants. It was an entertaining and skilful performance (she told them that the day that money fell from the trees would be the day she paid their prices.) She got the Ganesh for me and some other lovely pieces that she convinced them to throw in. My Mother-in-Law taught me such a lot and I’ll be forever grateful to her: for understanding that women should value themselves and maintain their sense of self at the same time as supporting and nurturing their loved ones; for seeing the funny side of things even in terrible adversity; and for making me understand the importance of hospitality and kindness to others.

Ma always took great pleasure in her clothes and dressed so beautifully. I can see her now looking amazing in her stunning silk saris. She loved to wear bright colours and daring contrasts. Her saris were like works of art in themselves with their beautiful patterns and borders, some with incredible designs that you needed to admire close up due to their detail. Although Ma suited almost every colour, her favourite colour was definitely red.