Part I
Language like life and death has a way of molding itself as per the circumstances. I noticed while writing during the lock down period how language was getting a life which it did not have earlier.
Recently a young guy died by road accident. The mother is known to me. Inspite of being in the same city, I was not able to go due to lockdown. After writing to her a few days later I started looking at my feelings about death and gave words to it. I had not met the guy but he seemed to be making a relation with me after his death! He kept occurring through different mediums, paintings, Facebook messages, through people who knew him, of course it is all in my head!
My first reference of death was when I was barely four in 1961, January 21. Inspite of my illusive memory I distinctly remember my grandmother profusely howling over her dead son, my 21 years young uncle, Monikaka. I did not understand then why she was crying but empathized with her, simply because I loved her. People from different walks of life filled the courtyard and spilled over on the road — Monikaka was loved by many. I also remember not being affected by death and the feeling has stayed with me through all the deaths thereafter. I love my Monikaka till date as much as I loved him then. A sportsman, who could lift my plump well built mother without missing a heart-beat! Her love filled bashful face floats in front of my eyes when he in his exuberance lifted her and her appeal to put her down before anyone sees and starts their indecent vagary. My uncles and aunts were kids to my mother but society has its own norms. I was speaking of death and love took over before societal norms laid its claims.
Death could not create its normal response in me so as to rule over me. Fear of death, the major fear which takes various forms, big and small, to curtail thought and mobility, did not bog me. I wonder why. Even that the thought — wonder why — takes shape is also surprising to me. I presumed that it was a natural process to not have a response to death. For a four years me, death was not distancing, so till date Monikaka lives in me, as alive as was then. If death is not distancing then the rest of distancing, social, emotional or physical, also does not matter.
It is not that death does not affect me! Even though it does not create fear, it does generate emotions which I prefer avoiding — anger for one. I felt anger when Guttu died, no committed suicide. In 1972 when I got married and came to Bombay he was just a baby. He literally grew up under my eyes. We lived in Khar, Bombay, then in the same building. We moved out of that place and returned back in 1986. I lived on first floor with Punu and Tunu (my sons), Jeetu and Rakesh with their parents in the opposite flat, Neetu and Guttu on the floor above. All kids had a special relation with me, so did Guttu. When he would come at night with a long face I knew it was his final exam and next day was his Math paper. I would wind up kitchen and we would sit to study. He was probably in eighth then. I have no idea how he got through, year after year, with studying for a couple of hours at night and an hour in the morning. We both were relieved when he cleared tenth as he would not have Math exam thereafter. He joined college and simultaneously went to shop to help his father. Usually for youngsters in Bombay this is a common practice to study and earn in one of the opportunities available in the metro. Every night he would enter our home first as the door would be open till he came. He would chit chat with Punu then while going would ask me to close the door. His sister got married and then he. We had shifted to Kalina by then selling the house in 1995. Jeetu Rakesh had shifted earlier with their parents to Kandivili selling their flat. One morning I spoke with him and decided a day when he would come with his wife for dinner. There were others too who had got married. Later in the evening I called Khoka to invite them too. Khoka hesitantly said that Guttu is no more.
I could not believe. I was angry first with myself. Why I did not know that he had issues? Why did I not make space for him to share whatever issues he had? Then I got angry with his family who did not understand this sensitive child. I immediately went to see him at night. I was so angry that I was indecent to his family. I do not know why I was not angry with his wife. I also contemplated that he was probably killed and it was set up like a suicide. Punu and Tunu were not in town. I was alone at home. I kept seeing/feeling Guttu trying to comfort me and appease me. After three days my anger dissolved on its own. I made peace with myself on this unresolved death of a dear child.
Death is just another side of life, thankfully I too will die one day, as we do not have the curse of immortality like Ashwathaama, given to him for burning Pandava’s children in sleep (refer Mahabharata). My lack of fear remains as death is acceptable process as much as life. I could not reach my parents-in-law when they died, Mummy in 1974 and Daddy in 1990. When my Baba died on 1 February 1987, I was the only woman, along with two trucks full of men, to leave him at the medical college to donate his body. On 25 January 2013 an extremely cold Jaipur evening when my mother passed away I took her alone to the crematorium in an ambulance. I sent my sister home, who was by my side through out the day, as she was not feeling well. I doubt my women friends would be able to come to the crematorium that too in the evening and anyway I just did not feel the need to call anyone. Socialization goof up I say! All the so called dead people continue to live in me to smile with me in my solitude and gatherings.
