Reminiscence of a loved(?) one

While it is not easy to mourn the death of a loved one, I do recognize the void, sense of loss and helplessness. What I cannot fathom is THIS emotion! What do I feel while I mourn the loss of my uncle? Am I even mourning?

I go through the motions, all the while reminding myself that this is just tradition; I don’t really feel the loss; there was nothing left to lose! My practical husband reminds me that I could do away with the rituals — we are a hemisphere away for anyone to notice. I nod my head but continue anyway… somehow, this seems right.

“Religion and rituals…” begins the rationalist in me. I start chanting loudly — that ought to shut her up!

Late at night, after the day is expended, I find myself tossing and turning in bed. The cicada singing outside in the full moon is loud and out of tune. There is a knot in my chest that needs unraveling. What IS this feeling? Surely, I can’t be sad!

My memory unwinds back to those lighter, easier days. Dussehra celebrations… I can almost see the saree that Uncle bought for me. We had gone together to Mohini’s, at Police Bazaar, where I chose the saree — vivid blue, chiffon. I had never worn the traditional Indian wear before. Looking at myself in the store mirror, with the saree draped over my torn jeans, I suddenly felt like a grown up. He had asked me to keep it a secret from aunty.

“Was there an ulterior motive?” whispers my suspicious, adult self. This old crone should just shut up with her unfounded insinuations.

Another festival… I remember Uncle singing jauntily during Kul puja. Every year, all five brothers and our whole family would gather together for the feast. It was always a happy, boisterous day, filled with music, good-hearted banter and all sorts of conversations, aided in good measure by the unlimited flow of spirit (aka Whiskey). Uncle was the best percussionist in the family, and loved playing the maadal and tabla. Those were some of the happiest days of the year and Father always looked forward to it.

“Pfft! Father was an emotional… ” starts my jaded, adult self. Hush! Every time her voice grows louder, the fist in my chest clenches tighter.

My memory scrolls to another day… this brawl between Father and Uncle, both hot-headed men (although admittedly, Father had the shorter temper by far). They really had a go at it — Uncle stormed out of the house and would not visit again. Father was really torn. He wanted to reach out but he was the elder one; why should he apologize? He held out for all of two days! On the third day, he ordered me to go out and close the door behind me, picked up the phone and dialed Uncle’s number. I, of course, slid right back and attached my ears firmly to the door. “I am sorry,” I heard Father say, “No, you are not under your wife’s petticoat.” Uncle came over that evening. I swear I had never seen the brothers grin more broadly.

Finally, when Father passed away in the midst of my brother’s exams… Uncle stood in for my brother and helped perform the last rites. That was his final gift to his eldest brother.

“Errrm…” begins my cynical, adult self again. I quickly divert my attention to the cicada, who seems to have gone silent. May be he got lucky…

Uncle was a responsible, respectable man all his life, who suddenly outgrew his halo. Perhaps, after a certain age, the veneer of respectability seemed too heavy and superficial. His vices overpowered him… were they vices? Either way, there is no doubt that he badly hurt people who loved him and for whom he meant the world. And did he pay the price!

We have had an uneasy relationship for close to a decade now. I confess that I have not thought about him often — positively, negatively or impassively. I don’t remember the last time he entered my consciousness… then why THIS feeling today!

“He was no angel; he fell out of his pedestal…” — May be he stepped out of the pedestal, have you thought about that?

“He caused a great deal of grief to his family…” — Does it mean I cannot grieve him or feel this sense of loss?

“He only thought about himself…” — Oh, go away! Fine, I am not grieving. Will you let me reminisce in peace!

The cicada resumes its song, somehow managing to sound forlorn. It looks like there are no answers for either of us today.