Prompted by Death

Sometimes, the callousness with which I think of death, startles even me. At other times, I am too callous to notice it at all.
My first experience with death was when I was eight years old. Nothing actually happened to me, but my Grandma died that year. I was too young then to remember much of it now, but I think I really loved her.
Now, in my culture and probably in some others too, dying is a very elaborate affair. There’s a flurry of rituals that need to be performed and only then is the soul of the person is assumed to be at rest. Well, what happened, happened. To me, most of it was a series of occasions in which I couldn’t understand where my ‘Nani’ was. I kept hoping she’d turn up now and take charge of the house. After all, how could someone be just ‘gone’ forever.
In a few years however I got used to her absence. But her absence is still felt. Particularly, Grandpa has never been the same again. He is quieter, more self absorbed. It is apparent how much of an ordeal it is for him without her. So is it for the rest of our family too.
In one of my reclusive moments when I am wondering what to write next, and I get lost somewhere in my own depths I feel as if she is still there around me. Her memories give life to her. And then it hits me that someday my parents are going to die too. My father, who’s ever so strong and stern is going to become a part of that presence around me and be enclosed into these very kind of memories. My mother, so much like her own, will simply be ‘gone’ someday. I will be gone someday. Probably a part of someone else’s memories.
The thought however, doesn’t frighten me.
There will be some explanation to all of our deaths and those explanations will be the end of our stories. But why fret upon how the story ends when we are still living the story.
Someday, my son or grand daughter will be writing about me in a blog somewhere and I shall be alive in her memories.
Isn’t that what life is all about?

Finite Creatures

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