An Emotional journey - literally

My grandfather died 7th july this year. He was a 94 year old man who had had a good whole life and so we should not really mourn his death. But, human nature does not allow that. When some near and dear one leaves you, tears come and flow out of your eyes. The four brothers - my grandpa’s sons - cried too. I saw my father shedding tears for the first time in my life. And most of all I cried, more because I saw my babaji’s face after death. Eyes closed, mouth open and head hanging when no support is given to it. People had told me that a dead body looks like its sleeping. I couldn’t disagree more. Babaji definitely did not look like he was sleeping. A white bed sheet covering his body from head to feet that was kept on large blocks of ice, another sheet covering his face, wool stuffed in his nostrils and incense sticks burning to keep away the flies and the stench. I have never witnessed such a haunting scene before and would not wish to witness it ever again.

My father had already bought 4 tickets for a JetLite plane that would take my parents, didi and me from Mumbai to Lucknow. This was on the 6th when my grandpa was still alive, though we knew that he was on his death bed. Tickets bought; packing almost done we left from Dahanu, a place 3 hours from Mumbai and where my dad is posted. We were in the train on our way to Mumbai when the wretched call came on my sister’s cell phone. It was from my tauji (my dad’s elder brother). The moment I knew who was calling, I knew too the news that that call was going to get us. The grave look on my mom’s face said it all and believe me, trying to stop your eyes from leaking in a crowded lower berth of an even more crowded train is no easy task. My dad who was in another bogie of the train did not know about his father’s death till we reached Mumbai. And when mom did break the news to him at the Mumbai central station’s platform…the shock on his face at being told about it will not leave my memory soon.

We reached home two hours before it was time to leave for the airport. Finished packing clothes for 15 days and left. 45 minutes in the taxi, another hour at the airport and our plane was ready to take off. I have traveled in a plane before on a number of occasions but the exhilarating feeling you get when the plane’s wheels leave the runway is something I love. Of course, this time the feeling was quite subdued..

The enormity of the loss did not descend on us until we reached my oldest tauji’s home in Sitapur- a small town near Lucknow. That was where my grandparents lived. We landed at the Lucknow airport at around 7 and left immediately for Sitapur by road. Another one of my taujis, who lived in Lucknow, had sent his car for us. We reached home by 10.30 and the first thing I saw; rather felt when I entered the house was cold water. It was due to the ice blocks that were melting and my eyes were directed to where babaji was lain.

At that moment I felt as if the world had frozen. I did not want to see it but I could not take my eyes away, I did not want to go in but my legs automatically took me inside. All of my relatives were there- my uncles and aunties and cousins and my nephews and nieces too (some of my cousins are quite quite older than me and have kids)… And once I was seated with the mourners, tears that had threatened to flow out since morning finally won the battle and did flow out. Soundlessly, effortlessly I wept. Those consoling me were weeping silently themselves. All this sounds quite dramatic, I agree, but if u have seen one of your dear one in this state…you’ll understand what I mean. Next day the last rites were performed and the mourning period that lasts for 13 days had begun. Restrictions were put on all the bahus of the house, which included my mother, my taijis and bhabhis… The daughters of the house had none to follow except restrictions on what you could eat and what you could not. You could not eat chapattis and anything spicy…that is, nothing fried… Well, this was the toughest part to follow… I am sure my babaji wouldn’t have wanted us to give up good food whatever the reasons… but traditions are traditions and you cannot break them at my tauji’s home.

This continued for 10 days and on the 10th day, good food was finally made at home when the home gets purified of all the negative energies following a death. All these traditions are so queer and strange. I mean, everyone was sad about the death, obviously, but death is a natural phenomenon, something inevitable…how can you associate it with any kind of “negative energies”? Whatever, babaji meant a lot to me and so I did not mind following these rules.

Of course, the intermittent 10 days were not spent crying. I noticed one thing about us, humans; I mean… we get over tragedies fairly quickly. We were missing the patriarch of the family, yes we were…but life did not stop…the same routine was being followed as it used to be earlier, people were laughing and smiling and talking and everything and this is quite amazing really…

All those 10 days were spent playing with my 4 nephews and 1 niece who simply wouldn’t leave me alone for a second. “bua, bua, bua”(bua is your father’s sister) were the screams I heard wherever I went in the large house. Of course, the 10 days also passed away in swearing…swearing at the climate, swearing at 8 hour power cuts, swearing at the mosquitoes and swearing at the hot climate. I don’t know how I survived and lived through all this…

Here are some of the pics….

These are the kiddos with my elder sis…aren’t they adorable?

These are two hand-and-home-made fans you can't live without in Siatpur. My constant companions during the hot days and nights...

We returned 15 days later, by train this time, leaving behind the memories, the people and being left behind ourselves by my grandpa…