I recently had the chance to relish Zakir Khan's new stand-up special titled "Tathastu". It was sublime to say the least; it had witty humour, immaculate storytelling but, most of all, it had a soul. That is what you get when a philosopher does stand-up comedy I suppose. And, having lost both my paternal grandparents in the space of eight months earlier this year, this one ended up being extremely close to my heart. When Zakir asked how people can just go away so suddenly, I felt it because that is how my grandmother went - all of a sudden one night. When he talked about how his father felt, I instantly visualized my own father in tears when my grandfather finally let go.
Why - the quintessential question
Both my grandparents were doing relatively well till April. They were both in their early eighties and were marred by a bunch of old-age issues, but neither of them had any signs of anything life threatening. Then, one April night, my grandmother left us in her sleep. Needless to say, everyone was distraught but none more than my grandfather. After all, losing a partner of more than six decades must be truly devastating. He wasn't the same man since but he was trying his best to rebuild till a mysterious infection landed him in the hospital in October, from which he could not recover.
In both these instances, all those left behind had an overwhelming sense of loss and also a plethora of questions, primarily "how", and more importantly, "why". I suppose the "why" is more confounding - the bigger question to the cosmos on how the terminal point of a life is determined. How do the powers that be decide to pluck away a living, breathing, vivid person in an infinitesimally ephemeral instant? What of all the desires they still had? Of the places they wanted to see, of the people they wanted to meet? Of the smiles they still had to smile, of the tears they still had to shed? Why is the yardstick different for each individual? That is the nature of grief though; it is accompanied by an entire range of emotions and thoughts that one has to work through. Some believe there are seven distinct stages to it, but then, academicians are prone to reducing the most chaotic things into symbols written in ink on paper. What it feels like is chaos - a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions bearing down on you in constant fury.
I wish…
Amidst the storm of emotions, there is a hailstorm too often too - a hailstorm of regret. There are always a bunch of things we wish we would have done or said before a person went - if we had called the person one more time or met them once more or shared one more meal with them or had not broken their heart that one time. In my case, I had not called my grandmother the evening she passed because I was occupied with some office chores. And, no matter how many office tasks I accomplish now, I would never get the opportunity to talk to my grandmother again.
My grandfather was in the hospital for a while. People say that those in touch with the divine know when its time to go; perhaps my grandfather knew it was time. After all, he was as devout as any person can be. The night before he passed, he grabbed my shirt and pulled me close, almost as if to plead to take him off the machines and drips because he wanted to go in peace. Neither my father nor I had the heart to accept it and make that hard call. I will regret that - not being able to give my grandfather peace in his final moments.
I just wish that regret has a silver lining. So far, all it is is a constant burning sensation at the core of my soul that smolders away incessantly. There is no Ctrl+Z to life.
Ephemeral immortals
There is something inexplicably life-altering in seeing the lifeless body of a person you were close to - witnessing their ever-sparkling eyes without any traces of brilliance, their ever-warm hands incomprehensibly cold to the touch, their often smiling face inanimate in a morbid expression. If you are a person with any trace of practicality, you realize that what lies in front of you is not the person you loved but a complex carbon-based form. The last rites of Hinduism further drive home this very concept - the burning of the body, the bursting of the head, the collection of the remains. But, no matter how practical we become, our emotions take time to accept this transition; we still feel the pain of the searing skin, the heat of the dancing flames, the crunch of snapping bones - and the meltdown of every conceptual element associated with the person. It takes a significant amount of time to dissociate the person from the carbon-based lifeform no matter how practical you are.
In those moments, we often contemplate on the nature of life and how we live it. Collective wisdom states that human life is extremely fragile and yet, individually, we each live like immortals. The only indicator of mortality we perhaps accept is life insurance; other than that, we are slaves of providence, ever in pursuit of providing sustenance across generations.
The void
The loss of a loved one does not set in till life returns to normal after all rites and rituals; it is when you think of things like "why has grandmother not called today?" and then realizing she is no longer around that you feel the void created in your life. Our lives, as they are, are a complex structure of blocks constantly being added and removed; the core, however, is made of a few important blocks set up early in our lives. When one of those blocks is removed, the structure still stands but it has a visible void that is apparent every day, in everything we do. There is no replacing the block, no way to fill the void. How do we cope with this? How do we keep living knowing that a hand that shaped us is no longer there?
Coping and growing up
And yet, we live on, don't we? The key is knowing that we carry a part of them with us - the rhymes they taught us, the lessons they gave us, the joy they shared with us, the pesky little habits we picked up from them and, the human beings we became because of them. But it takes months to reach this level of acceptance, through tears and pain. As we trudge out of the other end of this tunnel, we know we are not the same person that entered the tunnel. In passing away also, our loved ones gave us a few lessons, and laid bare the threads of life itself, how it is spun and how we adorn it with frivolities hyped as necessities.
Perhaps the academicians weren't all wrong - the cycle of grief ends with acceptance. But then, does it really end? This loss reminds us that we are just dust animated by magic and the moment the magic leaves us, we are but dust again. Seeing a loved one turned to ashes and dust in front your eyes sets things in perspective - what is important, what is not, what is soulful and what superficial. It allows us to re-evaluate priorities, relationships and habits. The loss of a life is a reminder of life itself.
