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Around the kitchen table...
...Mama would tell stories that often made her laugh and ones that occasionally made her cry. Mama was unconditionally kind, resilient, and inventive throughout her 90 years and nine months of life.
Chandar Prabha Mehra
Born in Lahore, India, on April 4, 1935, Chandar Prabha Mehra was known to her friends as Prabha. She shared her Nani's serious life advice: put 10% of every paycheque away for emergencies. She also shared humorous stories of how her Nani's bhateeja, Raj Kapoor, was avaara before his father pushed him into the film industry. Because her father was often transferred for his job as an Income Tax Officer, she got to live in Peshawar, Rawalpindi, and many other cities.
She recalled her Nana sensed what was coming, so he sent the extended family to live at Mussoorie hill station, where they took up an entire floor of a hotel.
One of the rare stories that made her cry was how two of her Mamajis didn't survive Partition.
When several other dislocated families needed refuge, the Mehras took them in at their home in Amritsar.
Whether from Partition or from personality, she learned that you could lose your home, land, wealth, and family at any time. It was best to save and protect your future.
In Hissar, she studied for her Class 8 exam using a flashlight because of scheduled blackouts. In Simla, she helped her father melt the house's frozen water pipe by going outside to wrap the pipe and light a kerosene-soaked cloth. This was also the house where Prithviraj Kapoor brought his theatre troupe to meet his sister and her family.
She earned her B.A. and then her B.Ed. from Panjab University. During this period, she taught Hindi, mathematics, and English at Sanatan Dharma Girls High School, Ambala Cantt.
She laughed as she recalled Dilip Kumar's visit from Bombay. Dilip asked permission to take her to Bollywood. Her father slapped him.
Marriage offer after marriage offer came in, but she kept rejecting them. Her mother, exasperated, wondered who she was waiting for.
In the den of the house...
...Papa would be working with pen and paper on a math problem when he'd turn to share an anecdote or a humorous riddle. Papa was unflinchingly dutiful, honest, and brilliant throughout his 74 years and nine months of life.
Kul Bhushan Lal Kohli
Born in Patiala, India, on April 18, 1927, Kul Bhushan Lal Kohli was known to his friends as Bhushan. He lived by meticulous calculations of finance and of life. When Revenue Canada made a mistake of a few pennies in his favour, he shared how he'd written them a letter showing their miscalculation and enclosed a cheque. He chuckled, knowing the stamp was worth more than the difference. When colleagues asked if he worried his wife could run away with the assets he kept in her name, he smiled and explained in his booming, gravelly voice, "If you can't trust your wife, you don't have a marriage."
He was indignant, recalling how Indian history was taught to him from a book entitled Tangled Tales, while the British history book was entitled The Glory of the British Empire.
In Pasrur, India, he excelled at sports and studies. He thought about becoming a writer as he voraciously read literature and poetry in English, Hindi, Sanskrit, Punjabi, and Urdu.
In 1945, he graduated at the top of his class with a B.A. Honours Mathematics from the University of Panjab, earning him the Fuller Exhibition Scholarship and the Rai Bahadur Lala Sagar Chand Medal. In the university's history, only one person, a future Nobel laureate, scored higher — and that by only one mark.
In 1947, Partition.
In 1949, he again graduated at the top of his class with an M.A. in Mathematics from the East Panjab University.
Whether from Partition or from personality, he learned that you could lose your home, land, wealth, and family at any time. It was best to spend and enjoy today.
His first job was as Editor of the "Eastern Economist" in Delhi. Every week, after he approved the magazine for the printing press, he took the rest of the day off to watch a Hindi movie. Although he wanted to be an academic in pure math, as he said, "In those days, you couldn't even starve doing pure math." So at this job, he decided to simultaneously study for his actuarial exams. Perhaps you have to sacrifice what you want for what needs to be done.
He qualified as a Fellow of the Institute of Actuaries in a record three years. During this period, he also left India to work in London at The Mercantile and General Reinsurance Company Limited and then the Yorkshire Insurance Company. He returned to Bombay to work for the New India Assurance Co., Ltd., and then Eastern Life Assurance Co., Ltd.
By age 28, he was sent abroad to open new insurance offices and hire actuaries. Over the next several years, he opened offices in Turkey, Lebanon, Iraq, Kuwait, the United Arab Republic, and Saudi Arabia. Wherever he went, he always sent money back to India to pay for his siblings' education.
Returning to India with international senior management experience, he wanted to stop living abroad and finally settle down. Marriage offer after marriage offer came in, but he kept rejecting them. Friends and family questioned his resolve by asking him what sort of girl he thought he was going to get.
Third Time's a Charm
Kul Bhushan Lal Kohli and his father arrived in Ambala to meet Chandar Prabha Mehra. However, she and her parents were visiting family in Delhi, and the letter informing the Mehras of the Kohlis' arrival was in their mailbox in Ambala. So the meeting had to be rescheduled.
Later, the two Kohlis arranged to meet the Mehras in Delhi. They met Chandar Prabha Mehra and the extended Mehra family, who answered their questions.
Shortly after, the two Kohlis returned. But this time, they requested to speak only with Chandar Prabha Mehra. With the blessings of both families, they married on August 5, 1959, in Ambala Cantt.
Baraat
Milni
Mala
Now married and living at his parents' ancestral home in Jullundur, they learned they had both spent time growing up in the same small Badami Bagh area of Lahore. Despite having friends in common, they never met — possibly because she followed her mother's strict order not to talk to boys. He had heard of the girl who never so much as looked at a boy, but he had yet to meet this rumoured person.
Soon after marriage, to their surprise, the Life Insurance Corporation of India assigned him to open its first international office in the UK. He wrote her letters every day until she could join him with their first child.
Reunited, they enjoyed dinners out every night and garden parties at Buckingham Palace, and toured the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, France, Switzerland, and Italy.
She made it clear she didn't approve of some of the parties they attended because the husbands drank and smoked in one area, while the wives sat in another. New rules: no drinking, no smoking, and wherever men were allowed to go, she would also go. Conventions of the time be damned.
After London, they returned to Calcutta, India. That's when they received an opportunity to go to Canada. He was hesitant. She wasn't.
On March 25, 1966, they landed at Toronto International Airport in Malton, Ontario, while their trunks of belongings were still en route via steamship. That year, he began working for the Government of Canada and became a Fellow of the Canadian Institute of Actuaries while she began teaching for the South Peel Board of Education.
After a couple of years in Toronto, they bought a house on Otami Trail in the Town of Mississauga, near the new Sheridan Park research community, which was drawing a wave of scientists, engineers, and technicians to the area.
He became fluent in French as required by his new job, and she secured full-time work as a teacher at Mineola Public School. On her first day, another teacher came up to her and said, "You people take all our jobs." She said nothing then, nor when several parents complained to the school board that a foreigner was teaching their children. She didn't need to. Her principal told her that, every year, her students earned the top grades in the school.
But neither stoicism nor accolades equipped them for their most painful moment.
He didn't know if he could go on. Although she bore the same loss, she reminded him that his family still needed him.
He found a way to continue, but he never said a word about it. On rare occasions, she would start telling parts of the story before tears forced her to stop.
If you were family, you implicitly understood: only listen, don't press, never bring it up on your own. It was the only way not to cause more pain.
When he received an offer that required a move to Ottawa, she decided to leave teaching to raise their growing family full-time. In 1973, they bought their new home in Country Place, Nepean, a recently built subdivision near the Greenbelt known for its diplomats, professionals, and tech workers. Among the many friendly neighbours were a few who regularly made it clear they didn't want another immigrant family moving in.
Mr. and Mrs. Kohli put a sign up above the garage that read कोहली निवास (Kohli Nivas).
I was three years old when Papa had a heart attack. It was in the middle of the night. Papa told Mama something was wrong, and Mama called the ambulance.
I don't remember how long Papa was in the hospital. But I remember one day it was just Mama and me in the kitchen. Visibly upset, she knelt to my height and told me Papa was having an operation right then, and we had to pray for him.
Papa came home, but just barely. Mama told us that during the operation, the surgeon was shocked to see how bad the blockages were.
In contrast to his career up to that point, Papa now declined lucrative job offer after lucrative job offer because of his heart condition. Perhaps success is family.
As per his doctor's orders, he walked every day and took his heart medications. All the while, he purchased properties, stocks, and bonds, knowing his time was now precarious.
At home, Mama taught us to read and to do our times tables before we reached kindergarten. Papa told us riddles, gave us logic puzzles, and had us read and discuss Sanskrit shlokas from the Ramayana. While Mama made sure we had Amar Chitra Kathas and science textbooks to read, Papa made sure we had two new Hindi movies to watch every week.
My eldest siblings had tennis, piano, and swimming lessons. They went to Girl Guides or Boy Scouts, whereas we younger siblings played at home. I was content riding my Big Wheel, building with Lego, and wandering in my mind. Papa would play chess, badminton, and table tennis with all of us.
Alongside Mama's home-cooked rotis, puris, daal, sabji, dahi ballas, and birthday cakes, we got any treat we wanted. With Papa driving our station wagon, we'd argue over whether to go to McDonald's or Burger King, but always agreed on Ponderosa or Pizza Hut. Papa brought home a non-stop supply of mangoes, rasgullas, dosas, chana bhatura, samosas, chocolates, donuts, and croissants.
After dinner every night, Mama offered each of us our favourite flavour of ice cream.
Mama and Papa hosted sannyasis at our house and took us to listen to sannyasis at other people's houses. They supported the community financially as founding members of the Hindu Temple of Ottawa-Carleton and the Hindu Mission Temple of Montreal, were lifetime members of ISKCON, and regularly visited and donated to every temple.
One day, Mama sat us down and told us she was adopting vegetarianism. She asked us to think about how other creatures want to live, want to be free, and want to be happy. She let each of us reach our own conclusion.
Over the years, we went to garden parties at Ottawa's High Commission of India, havans with our Arya Samaji friends, Holi celebrations with our West Indian friends, and all-night Maha Shivaratris with our South Indian friends.
When we visited family and friends, Papa liked to share his riddles and jokes while Mama sang bhajans and led kirtans. When guests visited us, we played cards — usually Judgement or Teen Patti — but never with real money. As Mama explained, "Money makes people too serious and takes the fun out of it."
Mama opened three Hindi Vidyalay branches under the Carleton Board of Education. Students of all ages and all backgrounds were welcome to learn for free.
Her students performed at Dominion Day and Canada Day celebrations, Nepean Day, Manotick Day, Ottawa Folk Arts Council events, and the Opening Day of the Canadian Museum of Civilization.
She produced five half-hour TV programs showcasing her students.
She taught Hindi to Foreign Service Diplomats at the Department of External Affairs. Mama devised the "Hindu Religion in Life" program for the Boy Scouts and for the Girl Guides of Canada. She also volunteered as a translator and interpreter with the Family and Patient Communications Centre of Ottawa.
Somehow, with her young children in tow.
Now that I, their youngest, had reached high school, Mama decided to return to full-time teaching. When she received an offer at Folkstone Public School in the City of Mississauga, it was Papa's turn to return the favour — so he requested a transfer. In 1991, they bought their final home in Sherwood Forrest, a mature neighbourhood just minutes from Otami Trail, where they had bought their first house over two decades earlier.
Papa advised all his children on what to study, what career paths to take, and on their finances. Meanwhile, Mama went on to teach at Edenrose Public School and Fallingbrook Public School. They paid for all of our degrees, hoping only that we would get good educations, build good careers, and be good people. We each took our own path.
After twenty-eight years of public service, Papa retired from his post as Director of Special Projects at the Office of the Superintendent of Financial Institutions. He kept busy with consulting work referred his way, solving math problems from actuarial magazines for fun, and writing articles with the latest Hindi word processor. On his daily walks, he befriended many neighbours. He continued to send letters and money to his siblings in India, even though they no longer needed it. Perhaps duty is for duty's sake.
Out of her love for teaching, Mama continued to tutor Hindi, math, English, and Hindu philosophy for free at their home. As she would softly explain, "Religion is what's good for one group. Dharma is what's good for the whole world." Out of her love for community service, Mama volunteered to prepare hundreds of children to perform annually at Hindi Divas events organized by Toronto's Consulate General of India.
In the evenings, Mama and Papa played cards together.
At Papa's request, Mama took early retirement from the Peel Board of Education so they could spend more time together. They enjoyed retired life by walking and playing cards daily — particularly the family favourite card game, Judgement. Of course, true to Mama's nature, she modified the game so they could enjoy it as a duo.
His children still regularly came to Papa for financial advice, which he freely provided. More valuable was the occasional advice he tactfully offered, deduced from a lifetime of contrasting people's words with their behaviour.
1927 — 2002
On February 4, 2002, Papa completed his life. True to their humble and pragmatic ways, there was a simple cremation with no priest. True to their quiet love, Papa had already arranged all of their assets and left instructions as his way of taking care of Mama even after he was gone.
Many people visited in the following days. Cards and letters arrived from across Canada, the USA, England, and India.
Over time, I realize more and more how astutely he wove morals into his anecdotes.
Over time, I realize more and more how prescient his calculations on life were.
Over time, I grow more and more grateful for the ability to understand the depth of his sanskar.
Mama kept busy with her tutoring and community service. She donated regularly to Seva Bharathi and sponsored the education of underprivileged children through Chetanaa. She encouraged everyone to do the same.
She decided to start the first Indian seniors club in Mississauga and helped other Indian senior groups get spaces of their own. In total, Mama founded and ran three clubs, all while refusing to take any membership fees from the seniors or funding from the government. As Mama explained, "Money makes people too serious and takes the fun out of it."
It was the middle of the day, and just Mama and I were at home. Mama was in the kitchen when, audibly upset, she called me. I rode in the ambulance with her. Mama survived the emergency operation, but just barely. While explaining the serious complications Mama had suffered on the operating table, the surgeon was abruptly paged back to operate on her again.
The doctors expected Mama to wake up within days. But the days kept passing, and no one knew the outcome.
I remember working on my laptop in Mama's ICU room when Mama finally woke up and managed to whisper, "Pani." Despite even more complications and the difficulty of rehab in the midst of the pandemic, Mama persevered until she was strong enough to walk again.
From home, Mama continued to donate to various temples and charities, and to advise seniors' groups. On the phone, she reminisced with her friends in Canada and family from India and the USA.
Every day, Mama played Rummy with anyone willing to learn, and she was always willing to teach. Of course, true to Mama's nature, she modified the rules to her liking.
Inside the house, Mama wore the outfits she made on her sewing machine, always with one of Papa's shirts over top. When out of the house or when people visited, Mama dressed up. She was overjoyed to see her many friends and family.
At breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Mama would often laugh and say, "Do you want to hear a joke — a real joke?" This was Mama's way of telling you that you were about to hear a story from her life. Occasionally at the table, she argued with me about politics, and then we'd both laugh, knowing she was still strong enough to stand her ground.
On sunny days, we sat on the backyard deck looking at the flowers, talking, and having chai or juice.
Mama taught us how to make baingan, maa sabut daal, sarson ka saag, karela, bhindi, paranthas, pudas, and the secret to her famous mithais.
After dinner every night, she smiled when her bahu Seema offered her fresh homemade ice cream.
1935 — 2026
On January 3, 2026, Mama completed her life. True to their humble and pragmatic ways, there was a simple cremation with no priest. True to their quiet love, Mama requested that her ashes be reunited with Papa's ashes.
I'll always remember Mama's stories around the kitchen table and Papa's anecdotes from the den. And I'll always be thankful for the privileged life they gave us.
I couldn't have cared for Mama without Seema, who loved her as family and looked after her from the many hospital stays to the miraculous birthday celebrations at home. Together, we wish to thank all the caregivers who helped us maintain Mama's dignity, comfort, and sense of humour. We also thank our dear friends who walked with us for six years on this part of our own path.
We say goodbye with the blessing Mama said to us every morning and every night — always three times. Of course, true to Mama's nature, she modified it...
जय सीता राम, युग युग सुखी रहो। (Jai Sita Ram, yug yug sukhi raho) — first, for you
जय सीता राम, युग युग सुखी रहो। (Jai Sita Ram, yug yug sukhi raho) — second, for the people around you
जय सीता राम, युग युग सुखी रहो। (Jai Sita Ram, yug yug sukhi raho) — third, for the whole world
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