We never thought that we would write a eulogy of Anvita Kant one day, when we first met her.
The rumors spread by those who were both too afraid and too insecure to be anything like her were: she had "done it all." This impression preceded her, succeeded her, surrounded her, enveloped her. But there was no stopping Anvita: she had the confidence of a lion, and the personal authority of one too. There was no one else in control of her life; she fiercely held the reins over her own time, energy and space. She was an artist. She loved and knew the city like the back of her hand. She loved fabrics, sound, culture, friends, and the correct shades of color. She knew where to go, what to do. She dealt with people like a queen; no one dared to push her the wrong way. She could say no without guilt or shame. She could say yes without guilt or shame. She laughed markedly and spontaneously, as if reveling in the moments of her own joy. She enjoyed the little things: the afternoon winter sun, plush green lawns, a pool, a plan. She would be bursting with plans. She would be bursting with ideas. She looked forward to changing seasons; each of them a new bouquet of possibilities in her mind. A "serial offender"- that is what she left as her final bio on her Instagram page.
The night she died, we happened to be in the same city, and almost the same street as her. We were hardly the people who knew her best, and yet the news of her death jarred us for days, and then, more subtly, for weeks, and now, uncannily, around her second death anniversary.
It seemed jarring to us that someone we knew now knew something as final and inescapable as death.
Are we supposed to tell people what we see in them while they are alive? Or ask them about the secret of their being? Or are we supposed to march forward, emptying our minds of thoughts of acquaintances, and think, determinedly, instead - only of our own individual futures?
Maybe, now, we won't know.
Rest in Peace, Anvita. ●