Of Surekha Pillai and unlocked superpowers

Surekha had been a moment of wild illumination. She happened, and then she was gone.

My superpower is that I believe in things. In stories. Connections. Intuition. People. Trees.

It can be messy. I don’t always have a ‘scientific’ answer to why I believe in things that seem strange and cannot be rationalised. Also I can be wrong. Usually the feeling that there is an error in my judgement is temporary. It is because I have measured outcomes in a shallow way, to meet the expectations of others. I have allowed the embarrassment of looking like a failure to overwhelm me and I have surrendered prematurely.

A few weeks ago I remembered the connection that my friend, Surekha, who died in June 2021 is one of the main reasons that I announced my first online Memoir workshop in October 2021.

Surekha and I knew each other from reading each other’s tweets since 2010. She was bold on twitter. I was shy. She tweeted constantly, like a river in spate. I framed and constructed and mulled over a single tweet for 24 hours before I posted it. She spoke to everyone. I spoke only to myself.

I was mesmerised by her presence. Every other popular Indian on twitter I knew was someone important professionally. Journalists, writers, comics, corporate honchos, opinion machines. They were popular and influential for something they did outside twitter. I tried repeatedly to figure out who the hell Surekha Pillai was.

Apparently she was just an extraordinary person. Surekha was funny, wise, engaging. She listened to everyone. She had infinite capacity for connecting with others. She was passionate about social and political justice. She made videos of the food she cooked and drove us commoners mad with envy and hunger. She was an artist. Everyone who knew her honoured her.

I didn’t expect much success but I wanted desperately to become @SurekhaPillai’s friend. I wanted a share of the love she showered randomly on everyone every day.

I got lucky. We needed each other and somehow, despite our personalised awkward ways, we managed to become excellent friends.

We chose the same school for our daughters. We met at school meetings and melas. We travelled together to a get-together of unschooling families. She complained that my charming husband flirted with everyone except her. Afzal dutifully obliged by going on a kachori and thums up date with her in a small town called Churu where we were roaming - each of us searching for our own pocket of peace. My aforementioned superpower of trusting things I don’t fully understand, helped realise all this.

Surekha also had a deeply personal backstory of trauma and loss that brought her to twitter to help keep her afloat. I would intuit this part of her story much later, of course.

Some of it she told me when we met years later. Most of it I learnt from her husband and best friend after she was dead, and the three of us reticent people were suddenly connected to each other. We became committed to each other as well. For Surekha’s sake. For the sake of her 11-year-old beloved daughter, V.

Surekha would often tell me in very certain and clear ways that there was something extraordinary in me. She would tell me that I was above and better than the ways in which I tried to fit in and seek the approval of others. She would say, “Are you mad to short-sell yourself? You are this, that, everything… etc. etc.”

I did not believe her. She was kind. She was extravagant with praise for everyone else too. It was prudent to stay small. Humble. Timid. To feel belittled and powerless was a safer way to spend my time as an adult.

And then she died. Now how could I not believe her?

Everything she ever said was true, otherwise why were we all hurting so bad. I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I went so far off in my grief that it took my husband’s anger at losing me to bring me back.

Online, we were collectively mourning a woman we knew largely through her tweets and online conversations. She had been friends with hundreds of us. Influenced thousands. Cheered up millions.

Surekha had been a moment of wild illumination. She happened, and then she was gone.

Surekha wanted me to grow fully into myself. I am still mindlessly angry and confused about why she is dead. But I cannot disobey her. Otherwise there will be no meaning in the fact that she was alive.

We mourned and celebrated Surekha and the gifts she left with us.

Surekha Pillai created an online circle of care and love by Amrita Dutta

Tributes for Surekha Pillai by her friends, fans and devotees

Art by Surekha’s daughter V, in remembrance of her mother.

Share a story in the comments about your unexpected friendships and about superpowers unlocked within you.
Love, Natasha