I remember that evening in August vividly. I was happy. My fifteen day leave had been approved. I had had this long conversation with my sister and aunt about Rakshabandhan and my visit home. I’d planned everything- meeting my grandparents , gifts for my brothers, bank work. I was finally ready to take that monsoon trek post COVID.
It was around 21:30–22:00 when I received another call from my sister — all I could hear was her sobbing, and Mothebaba… I understood the context, said I am coming and disconnected the call.
My grandfather was no more. It was a … shock. He had health issues due to his age, but was better than ever, or that was what I had heard from the people. I hadn’t seen him in 6–7 months, hadn’t talked to him for three. There wasn’t any issue, I was just busy with my life at an entirely different place.
I was planning to visit him for three months then. Every time, I would postpone it citing stupid reasons- flights are expensive, I am working on something, I’ll go after this, and blah… That night was different. I had no option but to go — and there were no direct flights.
Everything after that is hazy, but I remember those few moments- I remember trying to frantically book my flight home. I remember my card getting declined numerous times. I remember my roommates packing my bag- and me thinking- ‘That’s not how you pack the bag’. I remember my roommate shouting at me — “Cry Stupid… don’t keep it in”. That taxi, layover, announcements... I remember how I hated the rains the most that day. I remember how desperately I wanted to be home. I remember talking to multiple people- relatives, cab drivers,friends- over the phone and planning a trip to… my grandfather’s funeral.
I wonder how my brain registered (and still remembers) random things from that day- like I can still feel the taste of all the condiments from that stale sandwich at the airport. That barista making coffee and the whooshing of the coffee machine. The random books that I picked on the airport waiting for my flight. I remember the cab I took from the airport, the flash flood, bad roads, and what not.
When I finally saw my grandfather that day, I realized how frail had he become since I had last seen him. I wished I could hear his voice again. I wished I could reverse the time just by 24 hours. I wished… I remember seeing his funeral pyre. I remember how hard was it to see my grandmother without her big kumkum bindi and mangalsutra. I was mute, numb and holding back the tears. I had to be strong to handle everything that was going around.
There is a belief in Hinduism — that for 13 days after the death of an individual, he is around his household in spirit form, before his transition to the other World, Paralok. For the next thirteen days, I would find excuses to be around his room, wistfully thinking to see him once, to say my goodbye to him, to say that I was really sorry for being an idiot and sweating on the small stuff , to tell him that I loved him deeply in my own non-expressive way. I wish I could have talked to him once. Everyday, there would be some visitor, who would speak about him- how they met him on the day he died, a week before that, a month before that- and those were total strangers… and there was I , his eldest grandchild , who had no memory of talking to him for three months- a quarter- companies gain or lose crores in that. If there are moments in life when I wanted to hit me with my own shoe, this one topped the chart.
If you rummage through the religions and philosophies throughout the World, they speak about death in different manners- from it being a portal to the heaven , something that releases you from the sufferings on the Earth, and even as a part of Universal cycle of Birth, Growth and Death.Indian philosophies have this beautiful concept of Srijan, Sthithi and Laya- Conception/Growth, Steady State and Senescence. We are prepared to accept the death from the day we are born,yet when it comes to death of a loved one- we do not have a list of do’s and don’ts. We just fall flat on the face. We cannot- and definitely — cannot handle it.
When I came back from home, everyone around me was supportive in a way I cannot explain- yet it was incredibly hard for me to move ahead. I was distracted. My work suffered. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt. Every time I tried to speak about it, I felt like cutting it short, lest I make the other person uncomfortable.
It was hell of an experience. I couldn’t understand why I could not deal with it at that moment- but all I felt was guilty, angry, violated , vulnerable and definitely not the part of the World around me.
When I finally came in terms with it, I realized that it was a part of me that was lost- something I would never get back. The lessons I learnt were the most valuable and the only gain in this experience, and I would like to share those with you.
There’s no end date for mourning
It just simply doesn’t work like that. You might accept it in a day, a year or never. However, there definitely comes a point when you make peace with it. You stop trying to change it. You understand that it cannot be changed. You understand that no one can bring back your loved one to you,but no one take away your memories either.
Your feelings don’t have to make sense
No one can feel sadness like you. We all have different experiences, tolerance levels, and sensitivity towards our surroundings. Some of us are expressive, some of us have bottled up feelings. Some of us mask our sadness by anger,guilt and other emotions. It is just our brain trying to make sense of the happening. Allow it to do so and don’t judge yourself for anything.
People around you won’t always understand
Though there were people by my side throughout, I wouldn’t say that I always felt that I could express myself. They loved me, cared for me and would never want to harm me. Yet, when it came to processing the incident, I felt utterly lonely and misunderstood. Sometimes, people don’t get you. They don’t have the right things to say or do. Stop expecting that, and be grateful. Sometimes, we realize that people around us value us in their own , unique way and that doesn’t have to make sense to us.
It will change you in an unanticipated way
It changed me. I think hundreds of time before procrastinating anything. I try to communicate more, even on the days I feel like locking myself up. I’ve distanced myself from a few , and I became close to others. This change will often blow your mind, and would be hard to process for many around you, and like everything else , you have to accept it.
My grandfather was a simple,eccentric man, with his own views on the World around him — both good and bad. He was a typical grandfather, who would use my grandmother as an excuse to tell me that he missed me, and wanted me to visit him. He was the one who taught me basic arithmetic by making me survey his cattle every time I visited him. He must have never told anyone, including my grandmother, that he loved and cared for us- but I know that we all felt it in a way we could not explain. He was the one who would give me a Rs. 500 note every time I visited him,jokingly telling me that it is his ‘savings’ for his old age… It is for me to take care of him when he gets old. I didn’t get a chance to do that.
When I had moved to Chennai, he talked to me for 15 minutes about this transition. (That was the longest conversation I had with him on phone.) There was a pride and concern in his voice, and he reminisced his visit to the state in the ’80s. He told me many things and just one thing stayed with me:
“People there have different culture from us. They speak different language, eat different food, wear different clothes. Most importantly, they might not accept you as you are. Remember that , deep down , they are good people. Take a step forward and accept them as they are. One day , they will surely reciprocate, many fold.”
Indeed, I was accepted here in Tamilnadu, more than I had expected. During all this chaos that had ensued in my life, many people stood by me, making sure that I was okay. Yet someone who would always stay at the top of the list was my mentor. As soon as he got to know about the incident, he took it upon himself to make sure that I reached home safely, by booking my tickets, by ensuring that someone drops me to the airport , by talking to me all the way till I reached the airport. That day , he taught me the most important lesson about caring and standing by the people you call your own, and I must say that’s hard to imbibe. There’s a list that we have about people we will die and kill for. Although I respected and appreciated my mentor earlier, I added him to that list that day. I would end this with something that he told me that day:
“It is hard… and it is hard to lose someone so close, I know… Remember that he would always stay with you ,as your memories, as the lessons he taught you. That’s what you get to keep… That’s what is not taken away… Cherish it… Treasure it…”
That’s all, folks. Death is inevitable, and so is the feeling of loss that follows it. All I hope is that we find the strength to face the storm and find our calm when it is gone.
Keep Going!!
