belonging

Day 415

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The winter is here but autumn is reluctant to leave. It is lingering around in the fog surrounding the skeletons of trees, playing hide and seek with winter.
Another season has come and gone.
This is the first autumn that Saagar has missed.
Wonder what the weather is like where he is.
Does he get to play cricket matches and show off his fast bowling? (Should be fabulous after the many videos we shot of him perfecting his bowling action last summer.)
Has he made new friends to have a laugh with, play table tennis with and watch ‘Friends’ with?
Does he still secretly aspire to be Doctor House from ‘House’?
Could he be catching up with some of our old friends or learning Punjabi from his great-grandmother?
Is there a new band he drums for? Wonder if he likes the drum-kit. Is the double pedal good enough for him?
Is there a good gym there? Wonder if he can still dead-lift 140 kilos.
Wonder what the food is like?
Does he get to practice his French and Arabic?
Does he have a new wardrobe? Are there any pretty girls around?
Does he sometimes beam down to the earth and watch what’s going on?
Is he watching out for his friends and me?

Has he forgiven me for being so ignorant.
Or is it a place where none of this matters.
I wish he would beam me up.

“There’s a whole n’other conversation going on.
In a parallel universe.
Where nothing breaks and nothing hurts.
There’s a waltz playing frozen in time.
Blades of grass on tiny bare feet.
I look at you and you’re looking at me.

Could you beam me up?
Give me a minute, I don’t know what I’d say in it.
I’d probably just stare,
Happy just to be there holding your face.
Beam me up.
Let me be lighter, tired of being a fighter.
I think, a minute’s enough.
Just beam me up.

Some black birds soaring in the sky.
Barely a breath I caught one last sight.
Tell me that was you, saying goodbye.
There are times I feel the shiver and cold.
It only happens when I’m on my own.
That’s how you tell me I’m not alone.

In my head, I see your baby blues.
I hear your voice and I,
I break in two and now there’s one of me with you.
So when I need you can I send you a sign?
I’ll burn a candle and turn off the lights.
I’ll pick a star and watch you shine.

Could you beam me up?
Give me a minute,
I don’t know what I’d say in it.
I’d probably just stare,
Happy just to be there holding your face.
Beam me up.
Let me be lighter, tired of being a fighter.
I think, a minute’s enough.
Just beam me up.
Could you beam me up?

-By Pink

Day 412

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The young lady, possibly 25 years old, sitting 2 tables across from me in the restaurant was alone as was I. Her phone was of course keeping her good company. She paid a lot of attention to it. Every few minutes she called a number and held the phone up to her ear. She got no response. Or may be she got the answer phone message. This happened again and again and again. Each time her face fell further and further to the floor. The light in her eyes diminished a little each time and she went pale and then paler still.
I watched her as discreetly as possible, wondering if she was ok. I wondered if she had called the same number each time or a different one. I wondered if someone was unwell or there was a wobble in a relationship or she wanted to make an appointment with her doctor or …… the possibilities were many.

After half an hour of this process repeating itself she got up to leave. There was no bounce in her step. It looked like she had dragged herself out. Her head hung by her neck. She was visibly upset. I was so tempted to reach out to her and ask her if she was alright and if I could do anything to help. I wanted to offer to stay with her and listen if she wanted to talk about anything. I would listen – no judgements, no advice. Just listen. But I didn’t do that. Or shall I say couldn’t do that? Living in big cities often doesn’t allow for offers like that. That kind of behaviour is far, far away from the norm. In fact, just making proper eye contact with a stranger is tricky. What I was thinking of doing would have probably scared her and she might have thought of me as a ‘freak’.

How come we live in a world where reaching out to someone in distress is not normal? Even if we don’t know each other, we know the human condition, the ebb and flow of life, the value of connectedness between beings. The next time this happens, will I do anything different? What is the worst that can happen? They might not accept my help, which will feel like rejection.

If I can be ok with that then I can do it.

 

Day 411

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Support groups have an important role in the management of mental illness. People support each other on an equal basis to offer something based on shared experiences. It has a long and honourable history. People create a space that is open, allowing for sharing from the heart. It can happen in all sorts of places, in one-to-one settings and in groups. Within local communities these groups can be a basis for campaigning and activism.

Peer support offers many benefits, for example: shared identity and acceptance, increased self-confidence, the value of helping others, developing and sharing skills, improved mental health, emotional resilience and wellbeing, information and signposting, challenging stigma and discrimination.

For the last 8 months I have been attending SOBS meetings once or twice every month. (Survivors Of Bereavement through Suicide).

I have met some wonderful people there, learnt a lot and found solace in knowing that I am not the only one who is in so much pain that I think I am loosing my mind. To my utter surprise some other people in the group have found my sharing useful.

On the International Suicide Prevention day (10th September 2015) we held a vigil at Hyde Park in London remembering our loved ones. This is what one of the bereaved parents wrote:

Private grief in public places

 “Private grief in public places: that is
What it was; us sitting on the grass
And cotton-wool clouds, sparse
But tinged with gold, drifting out west
This September 6 o’clock.
We tried our best
To look serious, solemn as one wiped a tear
As some of us shared our private grief without fear.
Yes dear, yes. We know the pain as we move a chair,
Was it his, or her, footstep on the stair?
Or the comb on the floor,
Near the bathroom door;
And the cyclists sliding silently beyond the trees
And the buses, and coaches, trucks and cars.
Are they all going home
While we sit on the grass recalling….?
What were we recalling;
The traces of grief
On the faces or the shoe-laces undone?
The yellow ‘candlelings’ on the grass twinkling
Like in some forgotten ritual of yonder years.
No, we do not forget
Nor forgo the pain we feel;
The frog in the throat
Nor the remembered smile in the wind,
And this gathering of strangers
Now bonded with a common theme.
So thank you friends, thank you,
For helping me off the ground
And sharing your pain,
Lightening my burden
Is my joyful gain.”

Day 406

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Everyday I think, may be today is the day I start referring to Saagar in the past tense. I haven’t been able to do that as yet. I don’t know if I ever will.
Everyday I think today may be the day I will focus on all the things I am grateful for and then the pain might be a bit less. I am ever so grateful yet the pain is no less.
Everyday I think may be I should change all my passwords so that I don’t have to think of him everytime I turn my phone or computer on but that wouldn’t work because he will still be there.

Now, his absence is as present as his presence was. In fact, much much more so. The things we take for granted!

I love to read what his friends have to say about him. They meant the world to him and through them I am getting to see him in a new light. They are a source of strength and solace for me. Their love for him seems pure and unblemished. I wish to immortalise Saagar even though he no longer lives on planet Earth.

“Saagar had a truly unique ability to leave an impression with everyone and anyone he ever met. He transcended social cliques and instead got on with everybody individually – a testament to which is the variety of people who showed up today. For me, the only way to explain this is with reference to how genuine a person he was. By this I mean, he was not concerned with trivial trends or social point scoring – but was instead truly interested in things that matter. There seems to be a culture that is rife at the moment whereby our conversations are dominated by the insignificant and the contrived. Take a moment to eavesdrop next time you are in the Nova smoking area and you may notice this repetitive humdrum: People insist on sharing with the world how much they have been drinking, how much sex they are having and how many drugs they have been taking. Our obsession with the trivial has become endemic. Saagar shared my frustration with this culture and was able to call it out for what it really was: infantile bullshit. As a result, a conversation with him was incredibly refreshing. He was genuinely opinionated about things that actually matter, and used his razor- sharp wit and unwavering rationality to expose things as the way they really are. I felt – like I am sure many of you have felt – that every conversation with Saagar was a blessing. A pinprick of sanity to burst the insane student bubble in which we live.

​As I stand here, still struggling to talk about such a presence in the past tense, I am comforted by the fact that the lessons we learnt from Saagar will never leave us. The most important one he taught me was pride. No matter what, Saagar remained unapologetically proud  about so much in his life, and this pride was truly contagious. He took pride in his upbringing, and the sheer courage it took for him to move from India, to a period of racial bullying in Belfast to the drastically different setting of one of the country’s leading public schools (although speaking from experience – public schools are perhaps not the best place to seek refuge from racism!). This did not affect him in the slightest however. In fact – he remained so proud of being brown that he resorted to smoking out of liquorice rolling papers that were as brown as he was. Proud of the friends he made, and proud of the experiences he shared with them. Whilst he may no longer be with us, this pride lives on in each of us – as we are all immeasurably proud to have known him, and prouder still of how he chose to spend his tragically short time on this earth, leaving little more than the wisdom he imparted, the compassion he shared and the untiring friendships he made.”

Ooooodles of love to you and all your friends Saagar. xxx

 

Day 399

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Sometimes the situation is such that everyone is left speechless.
There are no words.
Nothing anyone can say or do can make it better or go away or somehow make it less.
Everyone is stunned into silence.
The awfulness of the situation is just too awful.

At times like these what should be done? Keep quiet? Do nothing? Stay away?
Text? Whatsapp?

I find that all we need to do is – show up. Be present.

Being there says everything.
It’s ok to say you don’t know what to say.
It’s ok to just sit in the same room.
May be hold hands, hug or have tea.
May be cry, sing, laugh or talk about what to have for lunch.
It’s ok to offer to go for a walk or to get some groceries.

For the first 6 months after Saagar died by suicide, I could only keep myself together when someone was around me. Left alone for 5 minutes I would completely disintegrate. I clearly remember all the people who came to visit, especially those who said nothing. Their body language said it all. The lines on their faces, the three hours it must have taken them to drive to my house, the empathy in their hand shake, the compassion in their gentle hug spoke louder than any words could.

Actions do speak louder than words.
Showing up is enough.

 (PS: I am practicing saying he ‘died by suicide’ as it is much harder than saying he passed away. In fact he didn’t just ‘pass away’.)