I have wanted to write this piece. It has taken me 3 months
to finally get to write it. Every time I thought of writing about this, I
shrugged it off saying it was too heavy for me to blog about this.
I lost my grandfather in October. It was sudden, it was
uncalled for and it was quick. Nobody had time to assimilate it. Specially me.
It happened at my uncle’s place in Hubli. And I thank my stars for that because
I have no idea how I would have reacted to that situation. It was my first
encounter with death. And it was…… WEIRD.
Weird sounds rather inappropriate I know, but that is
exactly how I felt at the funeral. I was not present for the cremation so when
I got there I was lost in this sea of relatives sobbing and reminiscing about
Ajoba (that’s what we call grandfather in marathi). I was not crying yet.
It is funny how when you are gone, people only talk about your good side. Don’t get me wrong, I love(d) my grandfather but he was not
as perfect as he was described at the funeral. That was because the people
closest to him were silent and it was the guests who did the talking. If there is a time when awkward silences are the
worst, it is at a funeral. So it was better to let the guests talk.
I am an atheist. I question all possible rituals of my religion.
But it was here that I realized how important they were. For the first time,
these rituals made sense to me. They were designed so perfectly for the family
to cope with the death of a loved one. To get some closure. It was at one such
ritual when I saw my father, the most prominent and strong male figure in my
life, cry like a baby, that I found myself tearing up for the first time. My
mother sobbing herself was somewhat glad to see me like this. She considers me
to be an emotional wreck because I don’t cry every now and then; which thanks to
the stereotyped females of the TV and movies, girls should do. (Moms!)
Back to the point, I found myself connecting to the rituals and
my religion in a new way. As far as dealing with the death was concerned I was
still not there yet. Who would be? If you were surrounded by all your relatives
and cousins making it look like a wedding house instead. My mom
wanted me to comfort Ajji (grandmother). Again, awkward! What could I possibly
say in this scenario… I found myself tearing up again… It’s funny once you
start its hard to stop.
And before I knew it, I was back home. Now I feel it. The
emptiness. The weirdness. Every time when we have a family dinner and Ajoba’s
chair is not taken. When I realize I am watching the TV at 7pm without fighting
with Ajoba for the remote as he wanted to watch the news. When I walk around
the house without the sound of his radio playing natya-sangeet or the AIR news
in the background. When I realize there is nobody to constantly scold me for
spilling my food or raising the TV volume in the afternoons. When I change the
batteries on the wall clock remembering the last time I did it with him holding
the chair down as I stood on it. When I look through his stuff with my dad. When
we have to give away his stuff…..
The memories flood on. I don’t cry anymore. I just smile. I
finally understand why at the funeral it was only the good stuff they talked
about. Because that is the only part you remember about the person. I can finally
understand that it is not so cheesy or clichéd when they say, “It is only your
good deeds that are remembered.”
