Vol. I. Kanishka

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THIRTY YEARS AGO, JUNE 23.

That’s when it happened.

The things that I want to tell you more about. The event that I alluded to when NPR host Frank Stasio asked me about it in this interview. The event I shared about at TEDx Raleigh, too.

The airplane.

The friend who ‘didn’t come back.’

What happened, why did it happen, what if it hadn’t happened?

These questions led to 30 years of running around the world “in search of meaning.”

Opened up new queries, the secondhand tiers of that pull you to the existential books on the shelves in libraries, entice you to the Himalaya just to see the moon rise. To look at the stars. To ask the Sheltering Sky things that only it might know. Kismuth means ‘destiny’ in my parents’—and her parents’—native language, Hindi.

A lifetime of search, of query.

Thinking out loud, in letters, stories, columns, and sometimes, in books.

I now give you the final story in the series Kismuth.

Kanishka is Volume I. Yes, I started with Volume II when I launched The Elopement in 2012. I just wasn’t ready yet to tell Kanishka right. Now, though. Thirty years after this tragedy shook the psyche of other 10 year-olds who, like me, wondered what had happened to our dear and no-longer-with-us friend, I’m now sharing the words I think are right.

Here.

Just released, on June 23.

This story is for –.

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‘There’s Not That Much Time Left’ at TEDx Raleigh

Published on Nov 17, 2012
‘Dipika Kohli, Director at Design Kompany, author, and thinker admonishes to embrace our mortality by being aware of how fragile life is and that one should decide what should be done with their finite days, and quickly:’ TEDxRaleigh. YouTube >

From the UK blog ‘Dying Matters’

When she was ten, writer Dipika Kohli’s best friend died in a terrorist attack. In an exclusive blog post for Dying Matters, she describes the lifelong legacy of losing someone so young. logo

Most people wouldn’t be bothered to talk about it, not this many years later. This feeling of having lived two lives, together, intertwined like strands of a stick of liquorice.

When we were both ten, my closest friend J.* died. Before, our paths were virtually one: our fathers had studied together in India, our mothers were best friends, our younger brothers were the same age, three years younger than us.

American born, we lived in the same neighbourhood, went to the same family potlucks at the houses of other Punjabi immigrants, and sat in the same room of fourth grade class at Woodcreek Elementary.

This was Farmington Hills, 1985. —Read “The Death of Childhood” at Dying Matters >


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3 thoughts on “Vol. I. Kanishka

  1. Pingback: There's Not That Much Time Left - Kismuth

  2. Pingback: 30. Years. On. - Kismuth

  3. Pingback: Kanishka, a memoir - Kismuth

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