On
the first day of 2016, my last surviving grandparent, my father’s mother, had a
stroke. For almost a month she lingered with extensive damage and paralysis,
almost oblivious to what was going on around her before, finally, breathing her
last.
My
father, who had already shuffled back and forth to her city a couple of times
during this time, decided to fly back there again for the “Shraddha”. This was
a little surprising, and a little upsetting to me. For one thing we are both
atheists, me having kind of imbibed the basic idea from my dad. As such we
definitely do not believe in the soul, last rites, rest in peace, for her
Atma’s sake, she is watching kind of stuff.
Secondly,
neither one of us has ever cared much about “what people will say”. So, it made
no sense to me that he would spend so much time, effort, and energy, and miss
work, to go to this religious ceremony. After all, he had already said his
goodbyes on the day of the cremation! It could not be to appease gossipy and
criticizing neighbours and “larger family” at all.
So,
he went, and I wondered. Until I texted him one morning to ask how he was
holding up and what was going on. His answer suddenly made something very
clear. He was sitting with his four brothers, all five of them together after
something like 25 years, and probably for the last time in their lives.
That
shook me. I simply hadn’t thought of that! I was thinking religion, social
standing, misplaced sense of duty, etc etc, and not once did it occur to me
that this need dad felt to be at the funeral rites had nothing to do with all
that and everything to do with love for his brothers, a desire to see them all
– one more time – and an attempt to relive or recapture happier memories when
the five of them had been boys in that city, in that house.
Considering
how close I am to my brother, how much he is a part of my thoughts every day in
everything I do, it gave me nightmares, this thought. Having gotten to an age
when my own mortality is not such a far-off, almost unbelievable, almost untrue
entity, it is keeping me awake at night and giving me the heebie jeebies.
I
CANNOT imagine never seeing bhai again. Nor can I imagine a situation where we
would have been apart long enough and meet infrequently enough for people to
forget that we might want to! Sure, for the last 12-15 years, we have managed
to be in the same place at the same time something like once every two years,
but so far, the intensity of my resultant neglect for the partner and offspring
surely drives home the point quite adequately of how much bhai matters to me
and how much our shared time is important? To think that someday, life, time,
distances, and circumstances can create a situation where this is no longer
true is something I don’t know how to handle.
My
kid brother is my best pal. One of the few people on this planet that I can be
myself with, who knows me, where I need no pretense to be loved and
appreciated. More than that, he is, or at least used to be, my sounding board
for ideas, my vetter of creative theories, my tuning fork resonating with an
equal craziness, my middle of the night coffee partner, my wild imagination
story spinning companion.
Already,
in the last decade and more, I feel bereaved in many ways. Every time I get
super excited about something and want to tell bhai about it, every time I want
to sit at home and wail and tell bhai about it, every time I read a new great
book, hear a new great track, find something (anything) fascinating, or intriguing,
or disgusting, or anger inducing, I want to turn to bhai and say “did you …”
and I can't. Hundreds of thousands of miles, years of distance, they take a
toll. Busy lives, commitments, responsibilities at both ends, they take a toll.
Something as simple as time zones…. When I email/message him, and when he can
see it and reply … makes a difference to the ease and comfort of communication.
Even
when he visits, or I visit, I find that time simply gets swept away in the
seeing and doing and frenetic activity, so that I am left feeling vaguely
dissatisfied and craving just ONE good, long, deep conversation in the end. And
it feels like an amputation almost. This absence of a part of me that was so
vital and integral, and the phantom pains of feeling that it still remains, is by turns painful, depressing, normal, mundane, and simply weird. And I am
sure this is just the beginning. Much as one may love family and friends, life
does get in the way.
As
more years go by, I am sure it will get wider and deeper, this gap, this
absence. It is something like what happened to Dad and his brothers, it is
something like what happens to most grown up siblings. And yet, I have always
imagined (and valued the fact) that bhai and I are so close, so much more really
good friends than just brother and sister, that we are so much a part of each
other’s lives and minds and opinions and thought processes.
I
am sure it will happen. One day it will be like this. Accepting that distances
and life and circumstances and responsibilities and the simple process of
having a life has inevitably taken something away from the intensity of the
sibling bond may become necessary not too far in the future. And I dread that
day.
Even
the very thought of the slightest possibility of there EVER being a “last time
in my lifetime” meeting with him is something that is – frankly – driving me
quite insane.
