Snow fell and vanished. Wind came and blew. In the midst of it all, my Aunt Janaki passed away at 83 years of age. I have known her all my life, in all of the important stages. She was a great believer in civil and individual rights. She worked tirelessly with an orphanage in Pondicherry, wrote plays performed on the radio, and played Carnatic violin. She carried her violin to the States and to Europe where she traveled by herself, and with a friend. She was the middle sister, and now only my mother and her brother, my beloved uncle remain. I loved my Aunt very much, and relied on her presence. She once told me I needed to be more generous to others, and she is right. Her generosity overflowed, which doesn’t mean she didn’t get annoyed or hurt or bothered. My mother’s family as my father’s family experienced loss too early and too unnecessarily. One thing that resulted on both sides was a sense of equanimity about the world, a sense of flexibility. I am still learning to be more generous, to others and to myself. I think it is an ongoing process. My Aunt gives me courage in this.She died peacefully, unexpectedly after getting over a recent illness. My beloved Elder-Uncle Subbaiah was napping with her after they had finished dinner, and my beloved Aunt died in her sleep, holding onto his hand.