Panna Kiron Mazumder was born in Kolkata on 8 May 1941 and grew up in Mumbai. Her official name was Nivedita, after the Irish woman who, as a disciple of Swami Vivekananda, became a philosopher, social activist and mentor to those fighting for Indian freedom. That name set the high example Panna was to follow all her life.

She studied sociology at St Xavier’s College, University of Bombay, earning a BA and then an MA, followed by a law degree in 1967. Admitted to the Bar in 1968, she practised as a solicitor with Ramanlal & Harjivandas and lectured part-time at St Xavier’s, all while coordinating the lives of her parents, Kiran Chandra and Sova Rani Bose, with great skill and no little enterprise.

In 1972 she moved to London, the first step towards fulfilling her wish to see the world. She lived with her brother Mihir, worked as a legal assistant, and quickly became an important part of his social circle. The friendships she made there lasted a lifetime.

In January 1973 she married Tapan and moved to Toronto. That October they bought the house on Pape Avenue, in what is now Leslieville, that would be her home for the rest of her life. She adapted to her new world with characteristic skill, strengthening and widening Tapan’s social life while establishing herself professionally and building friendships of her own. Marriage also brought her a very large extended family, and she became a good friend and didi to her new sisters and brothers.

She joined Strauss & Strauss as a senior law clerk in 1974 and from 1980 onwards worked as a legal assistant and conveyancer. Behind her gentle manner lay a sharp mind and firm principles, and she would not tolerate unethical practice from anyone. She was also an active member of Toronto’s Bengali community. The friendships she made at work and in the community became lifelong anchors, an extended family for Anjali, Tapan and herself. Her loyalty to her friends was unwavering; she loved and supported them fervently.

Her daughter, Anjali, was born in October 1977 and was Panna’s pride and joy. Anjali’s friends became her daughters and sons; she would even host and cook for groups of them while Anjali was studying at Oxford. Her nieces and nephews also brought her much joy.

Nothing showed her gift for mastering new situations better than her cooking. She had not learned to cook in India, yet in Canada she became a superb cook, known for her tandoori chicken, shingara and mishti, and her culinary flair was second to none as she taught herself cuisines from around the world, from Thai and Italian to Greek and sushi. At her peak she entertained large numbers at Pape Avenue with seemingly effortless ease: Indian classical artists visiting from India, her and Tapan’s colleagues, their neighbours and Bengali friends, and the friends from around the world who would land on their doorstep. Her recipes would have made an excellent international cookbook.

She was the household driver in every sense. She ran the home with independence, managed all the finances and handled everything else besides. When times were tough she stepped up so that Tapan and Anjali would not feel the pressure or the change. In her late forties she learned to play the sitar, so that she could share in the love of music that her husband and daughter shared.

Although she lived thousands of miles from the land of her birth, she helped look after her widowed mother in India and saw her own and Tapan’s families there regularly, including her beloved sister Tripti. She joined her husband in charitable work during their retirement years. They cherished their trips to Europe – Greece, Italy and France – learning and enjoying the history and culture, and regular visits to London for family and friends.

Everyone was astonished by her ability to recall the most obscure details from the distant past, until she was struck by the cruel illness of Alzheimer’s. She bore it with great courage and dignity, setting an example that will be hard to follow.

She was a brilliant listener, interested in everybody. Very occasionally, and subtly, she offered gems of advice you barely knew you were being given. Above all, she treated everyone with great fairness, had no side to her, and expected nothing from anyone.

Panna was a devoted wife and mother; independent, resilient and creative; and a loyal, supportive friend who cherished her friendships. She was loved by many and will be greatly missed.