It was supposed to be a routine Sunday morning. I was in my maternal grandparents’ house. It was a two-story house, with my grandpa’s
office room at the far end of the upper floor. I woke up a little earlier than usual for a
Sunday. The 8th grade final
exams were round the corner. I was
especially keen on doing well in Math, a subject that I loved, but a subject in
which my recent test score didn’t exactly reflect love. Or even infatuation, for that matter! But the reason why I woke up early was not that
test score. India was playing a one-off
Test match in New Zealand. India was in
the process of bundling out New Zealand for a paltry 187. (No, I did not have
to check the score on Cricinfo.) And I
was following the game with intense, unwavering focus befitting a student. Student of
the game, I mean. Only to be disturbed (!) by my
parents, who said to me that we had to leave for our apartment.
I grudgingly turned off the TV. And I walked downstairs. I took my backpack, put on my slippers, bade
my goodbye to my grandma and got into the car.
As my father was about to drive away, I said, “Wait, I need to say, ‘bye’
to Thatha.” And I ran upstairs all the
way to his office room, hugged him and said, “Poitu varen, Thatha.” (“I’ll
leave, grandpa.”) Mind you, this was not
a routine for me and him. I have no idea
why I did what I did. But little did I
know that that was the last time that I would see him alive. He died in a freak accident later that
morning.
As people who know me personally (or even through my writing)
know, I have never really made peace with that loss. It was the first time in my life (and
unfortunately not the last) that I had to deal with a loss for which I was scarcely
prepared. But that hug has always meant
something to me. As much as it was a chapter
in the book of my life that had a shorter than desired length, the last
sentence of that chapter was not incomplete.
I recently revisited portions of the beloved Julia Roberts
film, “My best friend’s wedding.” In the
film there is a lovely little line uttered by Dermot Mulroney that goes, “If
you love someone, you say it, you say it right then, out loud.” He adds, “Otherwise, the moment just...passes you by.” Of course, in the
context of the film, it is about romantic love.
But if we think deeper, it applies to all forms of love and
affection. Sometimes, we look back at
people who are no more. Or not part of
our lives anymore. And we bemoan the
things that we wish we had told them. Be
it expressing affection, gratitude or repentance. Sometimes, we obtain closure, even if delayed. Otherwise, through circumstance or quirk of
fate, we do not. Especially in the case
of the latter, it is more difficult to make peace.
After my grandma suffered a heart attack in India in 2013, I made it a point to call her every day (mostly) until she passed away in 2018. Because I had this feeling that I might not have her around much longer. Sometimes my Aunt would pick up the phone. And I would say to her, “Shoba, I have almost reached work. Please give the phone to Thathama. I don’t want to miss talking to her today.” What I didn’t realize was that my Aunt was going to pass on before my grandma did, in 2016, aged 49.
After my Aunt passed away, I tried to consciously avoid the
regret of not talking to her more. Simply
because I had no idea that she was going to leave us prematurely. I just took comfort from the fact that in the
last years of her life, I was uniformly nice to her unlike in my younger days
when I used to argue, fight or occasionally be insensitive. As I grew older, I understood the depths and purity of her character better. And I would spend quality time with her whenever I visited India. After her passing on, I do things in her
memory such as donating blood around the time of her death anniversary. (She died of hematologic complications.) With
this way of thinking, I am essentially being kind to myself whenever I reflect on her. After all, fate sometimes forces
us to discover, on our own, the avenues where coping mechanisms reside.
Of course, I would be remiss to not acknowledge the power of
action and how it can be a lot more powerful, meaningful and enduring when
compared to words. It is not always
about expressing something in words. Thoughtful actions and gestures can make a lasting impact on someone’s life. It is just that we must make
every day count when we have the power and the ability to do so.
I love Paulo Coelho’s line that when we want something badly, the “universe conspires” to make it happen. It’s just that the universe doesn’t always bring about neat and tidy ways to close out certain narrative arcs in the story of our life when we want it. Sometimes it does. At other times, we must place the faith in the power of goodness. And bide our time, with a pinch of acceptance and dollops of patience. When we do that, we give ourselves a chance to experience peace without expecting that it will be handed over to us on a platter. But really, we want to ensure that in our book of life, there are no dangling ellipses…and that we can have chapters that are, in their own way, complete.
