Following is a Record of Communications from 6 27 12 to 6 30 12. The photos appearing above are of Farrokh and Ruffina, and one of Farrokh and his best friend from St Xavier's College, Gulshan Singh. They remained friends right to the end. Dear Family & Friends, It is my sad duty to inform you that my Beloved Farrokh passed away peacefully today (Wednesday 6 27 12) at NE Christian Hospital, in the company of his two daughters, Anahita and Julee, our two dear friends in St Louis, Frank and Regina Popper, and myself. A Zoroastrian service will be held for him at Valhalla, 7600 St Charles Rock Road, St Louis, MO 63133, on Saturday 30th June at 9.30 a.m. My darling's love will forever stay with us all, his indomitable spirit will always give me strength, his courage will always inspire me. His unconditional love will buttress me through every storm, The blanket of love he put around me will always keep me warm. May his light be an inspiration to many. Thank you for being there for my family and me. Ruffina, Anahita & Julee ------------ Dearest, closest, sweetest family and friends, I wrote a detailed note to Farrokh's best friend from his college days, Gulshan Singh. It is an intimate account of events from my perspective on the last day of my Beloved on earth and how events unfolded at his last rites. Gulshan could not come to the service but his heart was with me. He had visited Farrokh last year (2011) and again 2-3 weeks before he passed away. He had served Farrokh so lovingly on the last occasion, I was deeply touched by his love for his friend. When Gulshan and I spoke, consoling each other a few days ago, he told me, "I don't know if I should offer you condolences or you should offer me condolences." For this reason, I wrote down all that I could remember so that he would feel that he too was here with us. I have realized that there may have been other small details that I did not notice because of my own state. Please forgive me if others say otherwise. This is how I saw and felt it. With love, Ruffina Here are some links you might have a look at as well. Obituary in the St Louis Post Dispatch. http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/stltoday/obituary.aspx?n=farrokh-k-anklesaria&pid=158273734 Article: http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/obituaries/farrokh-anklesaria-dies-taught-meditation-to-parolees/article_0bcef16a-42e5-587b-aced-33fbab997c8d.htmlRuffin Photo album: https://picasaweb.google.com/rfanklesaria/FarrokhKAnklesaria?authkey=Gv1sRgCMfhnKTHppb7YQ&feat=email# See program attached. ---------- Dear Gulshan and members of my family: Farrokh had the most beautiful and touching send-off. The service was exactly as he would have liked it. As you will see in the attachment, he was eulogized by Judge David Mason, his very dear friend. The judge spoke at length and covered every area of excellence that Farrokh lived - as the great pioneer in the field of rehabilitation, his achievement that will be enjoyed by so many more; that changed so many lives on earth; his greatness as a friend, son, brother, father and husband. He knew our family intimately and he had been through many trials with us, advising us along the way. No man could have asked for a better way to be bid farewell. The Zoroastrian priest recited prayers for about an hour. It was very soothing and calming for me. Something supernatural took place here. My brother, Tony, was here with us. He has the ability to see spirits and is a bit psychic. He asked us who was the woman singing the prayers loudly with the priest. There was no woman! He was distinctly hearing a woman's voice loudly reciting the prayers. He even turned to Julee and asked her if she was hearing the woman! Farida, Farrokh's sister, said it was her mother. Perin was from a priestly family and she knew all the prayers well. She prayed often, like Farrokh. Farida said Perin was also obsessed with prayers after death. Tony heard the woman again when the priest came home to continue the prayers afterwards. I'm glad about this as it has made Anahita, our daughter, even more appreciative of her rich heritage as a Zoroastrian, and made her want to begin her Zoroastrian prayers in earnest again, thinking her Granny and Daddy might be watching over her. On the morning of my Beloved's last rites, I got up very early because I had not slept well the night before. I went downstairs and put on Andrea Bocelli's "Sacred Arias" before I sat down at my computer. My heart was very full. It was full of sadness and of joy and I wanted to let my very dear friend, Dr Gil Younger Sr, know that he was the source of great joy for me at this time. I wrote him the following note through tears: "Dearest Gil, As I leave for the last rites of my Beloved Farrokh, my heart is sad but full. Thank you for allowing my husband to fulfill his mission on earth, working in Maharishi's service to the end. Maharishi entrusted my Beloved with a mission and he fulfilled it right to the very end. If anyone says he was not in the movement, they are wrong. He was the movement - in the place that Maharishi gave him. All who were close to Maharishiji, like Girish Momaya, will tell you, as he told me 2 days ago, Maharishi was very proud of Farrokh and his work. He was very very proud to have a doctor and a Barrister-at-law of Indian descent in his entourage. Farrokh was the latter. Because Farrokh had lost his father when he was only 11, Maharisjiji fathered him with great love and affection. I humbly touch your feet even as my tears are falling, for making my husband's last years so happy in being able to continue in service of his Master. May God bless you. I love you forever. Ruffina PS: My beloved husband gave up the applause of men to fulfill his mission in isolation. He was of such strength and integrity, he did not need the applause. http://www.stltoday.com/search/topic/?k=%22farrokh%20anklesaria%22&d1=&d2=&s=start_time&sd=desc&l=50&f=html&sForm=false&sHeading=Farrokh%20Anklesaria https://picasaweb.google.com/rfanklesaria/FarrokhKAnklesaria?authkey=Gv1sRgCMfhnKTHppb7YQ&feat=email End of note to Gil. ----- I arrived at the church (was not really a church; was a funeral home on a few hundred acres of land, old and beautiful) about 45 minutes before everyone, and went in alone. The director of the funeral parlor took my arm, like a bride, for that solemn, sad walk up to my Beloved's casket. I cried all the way up. I was dressed in a white shalwar/kameez, without makeup or jewelry, except for my wedding ring and his, one on each hand. I also held a bouquet of red roses and white "babies breath" flowers in my hand, so much like a bride's. I wore small white roses in my hair.. Before I left home, I had soaked one of these roses in my perfume, and wore it clipped to my top. As I reached his open casket, I plucked one of the large beautiful red roses in my hand and through my tears I said aloud "This is from your dear friend Gulshan. This is from me, and Julee and Annie." I laid four roses in his casket. Then I removed the white rose from my breast, similar to the ones in my hair, soaked in his favorite perfume of mine, and clipped it to his tan silk coat pocket, in which there was a cream silken handkerchief. Death had not deprived my beloved Farrokh of his good looks. He was so handsome. I had dyed his beard and eyebrows the week before, in preparation for our trip to Indianapolis, hoping to qualify for a liver transplant. I had been told that a make-over would have helped us so I had taken that drastic step to make him look a little younger. (He had aged very quickly in the last few months of his life because of his failing liver.) His hair was still naturally black/grey. I had also made his beard very neat, coming straight down on the sides from his mustache, neatly clipped at the bottom. In my last service for my beloved, the morning before, I had ironed his clothes. Which wife could perform such small last service without tears. His sacred shirt (sudra), I pressed so carefully, his white shirt, now size 15 1/2, his socks (which I lovingly pressed for the first time), his khaki- colored pants. I included a brown woolen vest to wear over his shirt. Julee heard me crying in the early hours of the morning as I pressed his clothes. She came and cleaned his pair of tan Indian shoes. I picked up his worn out kusti, the sacred string with which he had prayed for so many years, holding in his hands reciting his Zoroastrian prayers, that it was tattered. This tattered one is the only one I wanted to let go of; the others I have kept. This sacred kusti was to be tied around his waist, over his prayer shirt, in the traditional way. In order to do this, Farida, his sister, taught the funeral director, Randy, how to tie it. Farida and our daughter Anahita called the director's phone and recorded the prayer to be played while the kusti was tied on my beloved's body for the last time. Randy told me yesterday that he had done it all. In that early hour yesterday, private with Randy, Randy also told me that he had found something small and metallic on Farrokh and he wanted to show it to me. When he showed me it, it was the last bindi I wore in the hospital with my Beloved Farrokh. On that last day, Farrokh had put his arms out to be hugged many times. I had asked for the rails around the bed to be dropped on both sides to enable me to hug him. I had raised the long fat oxygen hose attached to a large triangle mask that was tightly fitted around his nose and mouth, to lie on his chest. I had my arms under his frail body, and my head against his chest. My hair came undone easily each time as I had not taken time in the morning to braid it, in my rush to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. We hugged like this a few times during the afternoon and evening. When, at the end of that sad night, I was leaving him, I noticed that my bindi (the circular red decoration married Indian women wear on their foreheads) was stuck to his hair. I must tell you that I thought this of no small significance for I have always worn my bindi faithfully as a mark of my marriage to my beloved Farrokh. I always walked with a spare pack of bindis in my purse in case I had forgotten to put one on before I went out and discovered so later. On one or two occasions when the spare bindis were not on hand I quickly improvised with a dot of lipstick! So, for me, my bindi was another symbol of my marriage. When I saw my bindi stuck to my husband's head as he lay in the hospice bed, the symbolism was not lost on me. My beloved was taking one of my wedding rings with him. This was the bindi that Randy had found and had kept for me. I asked him to put it on my husband's hand in the casket, which he did. At the end of the service when I went for my final viewing and benediction, he gently removed it and gave it back to me. On that last occasion I also put one red rose for my mother, saying, through tears, "and this one is from my mother who has loved you so much". My children did not have the courage to come up to the casket. They had sat way back in the church and I had told them it was ok, as long as they were in the church. I heard them sobbing from time to time on my friend Lisa's bosom. Lisa took them out for walks at times also. During the service, God gave me the strength I had prayed for so much, to be able to make it through that sad time. I was doing well until Jim Mayhew, our dear friend, started playing the Ave Maria on the flute, followed by his wife playing it on the piano. I was flooded with the memories of Farrokh sitting with me, his eyes closed, soaking in that beautiful prayer to Mother Mary. He enjoyed each rendition on the CD that has a collection of Ave Marias that I loved on it. I started to cry, and what was so well controlled before became a thunderous tsunami as all that I had tried so hard to hold back broke upon me. Even through the thick concrete walls of a 200-year old church, my children heard someone wailing loudly outside. They did not associate this type of crying with their mother who had been suppressing her grief for their sakes for so long. But someone told them it was me. They rushed back in and came to the top of the pews. Annie sat beside me clutching me and Julee knelt at my feet, pressed to me. I was crying into a large white cloth that Farrokh had used many times as a makeshift prayer cap. I had hoped this large cloth would have muffled my crying but it didn't. Farida hugged me tightly as the tsunami seemed to be flowing over the land. And Annette played the piano then gave a vocal rendition. So beautifully she sang, my Beloved must have wept in heaven with me. At the hospital on that last evening, it was difficult to hear any words that my Beloved uttered with the big triangular mask on. The girls and I were constantly trying to understand what he was saying. The mask was removed momentarily for us to hear him but he started to suffocate immediately as the oxygen was removed. This triangular mask was very uncomfortable for Farrokh and he kept trying to pull it off. We kept pleading with him not to do so. I finally told him that he would die as soon as he took it off. The nurses finally put on another oxygen dispenser which was a smaller hose that went above his lips with two projections into his nostril. This was comfortable for him and enabled us to hear his words. He spoke softly as his life force was no doubt fading, but we were able to understand him. While hugging him on one occasion, he told me "you're like the Indian actor..." I knew the rest. It was a Bollywood clip we had watched over and over on YouTube from the movie "Khandaan," as we had loved the song in which the wife was doting on her husband who was an invalid. Each girl was also told by him to "take care of your mother and your sister". His words were precious at this stage. He was in pain from a small bed sore on his back and they were administering morphine for it. He was very restless all day. His back was aching and at one point he told me "everywhere is hurting". He finally fell asleep, perhaps as the morphine kicked in. He was very peaceful. I sat with him, holding his hand all the time. Annie was holding one hand on the other side of the bed too. Julee, at my request, had asked her friend Kaitlyn to go to our home and bring my big statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary (about 2 feet tall), her scapular, the statue of St Therese of the Little Flower, a picture of Maharishi and his Master, Guru Dev, and a picture of Zarathuster. All these were standing close by. The scapular was placed around his neck by me. It held many promises of a peaceful death from Mother Mary if worn on just this occasion. Suddenly, my Beloved opened his eyes for the last time. They rolled back and looked upwards, very much like the look I have seen depicted in Lord Shiva's pictures. His teeth clenched. I called out to Julee who was on the sofa nearby to come immediately as something was happening. He expelled three short breaths then expired. The heart monitor showed us a flat line. I rested my hand on his forehead, and God gave me superhuman strength. In a clear, unemotional voice, I recited his Zoroastrian prayers, just as Aloo (the most senior member of our local Zoroastrian community who had been a source of comfort and strength for more than a year) had told me to do when his last breath was taken. I prayed loudly and clearly the "Ashem Vohu", "Yathar Hulio" and "Yenge Hatham". I followed this with the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Then our girls left the room with our two dear friends who had been there with us in the last hour or so, Frank and Regina Popper. I stayed holding the hand of my Beloved, knowing this would be the last time. For long afterwards, I felt he was breathing even though he was not. His body remained warm and flexible. He expired around 9.00 p.m. on Wednesday 27th June, 2012. I anointed his body with oil that was blessed by my church, brought by Annette and Jim Mayhew who came over as soon as they had received my call. I anointed his head and feet. I held the hand of my beloved for the last, propped up by unworldly strength. The tears were held back by the angels for the tsunami yesterday. Before Valhalla staff took his body from the hospital, I was allowed a private moment with my Beloved. I kissed my husband's feet - for me he was my Pati Parameshvar; he was the first expression of God for me in my home and in my heart. He had loved and served me so well. I had drunk deeply from his heart and he from mine. The draught was an elixir for life. It would sustain me for the rest of my life. It filled me so well that every pore in my body, every spiritual cell in my heart and mind, is loved, nourished with that elixir. There is no room for anything else. God filled me with His love, through the love of my beloved spouse, granting me an elixir for 15 years, enough to last a lifetime. We both drank deeply of it. Now the trough was being removed by our maker. My Beloved's spirit was moving to another place as his body was exhausted. I would continue my journey filled with that sweet elixir. I placed my kiss on those feet that had walked every step with me for fifteen years, those feet that were the foundation of our family. Then I bid farewell. At my last viewing of the casket with my Beloved, I placed a picture of Maharishi and of Guru Dev on him, as he wanted. I uttered the words with raised palm, "God bless my darling forever," and asked that the casket be closed. Before this, Farida, his sister, had placed two six-inch sandalwood sticks on his body and my brother Tony had held Farrokh's hand for the last time. The casket was closed and the lovely arrangement of red roses and white carnations was taken off, to be brought home with the many bouquets and vases of flowers we received. After a few minutes, Randy told me they were ready for cremation. I had told them I wanted to be there when my Beloved's body was being cremated. They said it would be very costly to keep staff there with me for the whole time so I had agreed to be there only for the beginning. Farida, Noshir, Jim Pearson, our very dear friend (Anahita's God-father), the priest and I, went into the cremation chamber. The priest asked us to join in the Ashem Vohu prayers which we all did. The inner box from the casket had been removed, carrying the body of my Beloved. It was now on a gurney. With a solid push, it was in the cremation chamber and locked in like a vault. And there ended the sad day. The church was filled to capacity and I have a memorial guest book. Everyone bid their last farewell before I had gone to make mine privately. Each person had viewed my Beloved for the last then came to me as I sat in the first pew. Each hugged me; most could not speak, with tears in their eyes. I had regained by composure by then and was able to thank each and every person as I would have wanted to. I burst into tears when Aloo Mistry came up, and I tried to touch her feet, embracing her as a mother, knowing that I could never thank her enough for being there for me at the most difficult time of my life. She was my confidante, advisor, friend, big sister and spiritual guide all rolled into one. How can one thank someone for giving them the strength needed at such a sad time in one's life? She was gracious, caring, considerate and all that a good mother could be. My mother was there in spirit, but Aloo was there in the flesh. I thanked her husband, Tehempton, for giving me his wife in a time of crises. And also Persis Mehta and her husband, Minoo. The Parsi community had adopted me like a sister and I was most grateful. They had rallied around me, fed me, sent gifts of money, and showed that they cared in every way.They were my family in St Louis. The only one related to me who came to be by my side was my brother Tony from Calgary. He was always the one who came to me when I was in distress. He was the only brother who also attended Farrokh's and my wedding. I will be forever grateful to my silent brother, Tony, whose strength carried me yesterday and so many times before. In the last days, Farrokh took great comfort knowing that Tony was here (he left his home in Canada and spent many months with us). Tony cooked for him and helped him walk, picked him up when he had fallen. My good brother Tony sat one chair across from me, crying his heart out throughout the service, silently. He has served me so well this lifetime, I can never repay him. I feel this is a time for quiet reflection for me. I do not wish to Skype or do too much talking. My emotions are still raw. My friend Christiane, in whose heart I have found a kindred spirit, is the only one I have spoken to in detail about yesterday. This detailed note should suffice for everyone else. I cannot speak out the unspeakable again. With love, Ruffina PS: Sometime during the day when I realized that my darling would be passing away soon, I asked for him to be airlifted to Indiana University but they said he could not be moved as he was too ill for the trip. I asked for him to be brought home as he kept asking me to bring him home. He told me over and over that I should learn what the nurses were doing to do it at home. I had told him before that I had become a good nurse at home because I had learned from all the nurses during his many hospitalizations this year. When I realized he was actually dying, I asked for him to be brought home. Again I was told that, sadly, he would not survive a trip home. Instead, they offered a beautiful room on another floor, in their hospice. We had transferred to that room and all thoughts of dialysis and ventilators to save his life were given up. The girls and I had made the painful decision to not put him on these machines in these last hours as it would have deprived him of his consciousness immediately and his ability to speak to us. We girls cried so much on that day as we made these decisions together. We all swallowed our tears to go back into the room each time with my Beloved, hoping against hope that this would not be the last day. We had also prayed the rosary at my Beloved's bedside during the afternoon when we realized that death would soon be upon him. I had frantically called up his sister, who had already started traveling to St Louis, our friends, the Joshis in India, my brother Robert in Trinidad, Dr Mahapatra, the Poppers who came immediately, the Masons who didn't get the message in time and the Mayhews. Aloo and her husband had come as soon as I told them in the morning, as well as Persis and Minoo Mehta, our supporters throughout. All were coming to bolster us up and to be of service. Aloo and Persis remained almost the entire day with me. They were in a private waiting room as only the girls and I were allowed in the ICU together. Small details of the day come back to me as the days go by. One that I remember is that when I realized my Beloved was not going to make it, I wanted to keep a lock of his hair. I wanted to clip it while the life force was still there but I didn't want to shock my girls into realizing that I was indeed anticipating the end by doing so. I carry a small scissors in my purse. I got it out and kept it in my hand, unseen. As soon as my girls turned their backs, I leaned over my Beloved and snipped off two generous locks of hair that my girls and I could have. I discreetly put it away unknown to them. ------------- Sent out to supporters on FaceBook, 6 30 12 Most dear and treasured members of my world family, I was moved to tears so many times reading your outpouring of love for my Beloved Farrokh and for your kind words to me and my family. I have drunk deeply of the elixir of love from my Beloved's heart. Now my maker has removed the trough as he knows my every pore, every spiritual cell is full. It is full of love for my Beloved. My Beloved Farrokh was the first expression of God in my life, in my household. He was my "Pati Parameshvar". His loving arms around me were the protection of the Lord. Now the Lord Himself will walk before me. May God bless all of you. I thank each and every one of you for your tributes to my Beloved and I ask at this special time of transition that whatever displeased you in my Beloved that you kindly, generously, graciously forgive him. With my love, Ruffina ---------- 6 28 12 FBook announcement My Beloved Farrokh, most devoted husband and father, brother, son and friend, passed away tonight peacefully in the company of his two children, our two dear friends, and me. The service will be held on Saturday morning at Valhalla on St Charles Rock Road. I am honored to have shared my life with such a good man. God bless him forever.