[His School] Leaver’s year Book 2012.
One of the many books in his room.
Here are a few excerpts from his page.

Personal school memories:

Exploitation of my Indianity on the cricket pitch. Ramblings about previous life in Northern Ireland. Scandal. Late arrival in Montpellier due to lack of visa….That sucked. Real bad. Illegal immigrant banter. Hilarious. Cricket. GYM. Not a single detention in like 5 years. Patball. What a weird game.

Quote:

“Safety. My bad. But I said safety so you can’t punch me. Ha.”

What he’ll be remembered for:

Curry incident on the bus…. Ability to bring exams to a halt with his sneezes. Lightening pace, whirlpool off-spin and agility in the field. Ability to perform with a bat when pushed. Just kidding. Being a keeeeeeno. Flatulence. Appetite of a hungry whale (resulting in the fine physique which he boasts of today). Massive deadlift. Usain Bolt guy. Saying dude. The “belly”. Mum’s curry. YUM. Sudoku champion of the world. His brilliant laugh. Switching to an Indian accent instantaneously when his parents call. Laughing at absolutely everything. Being friends with everyone in the school.

In 10 years time:

Retrained as a medic. Still with 22 inch arms, 56 inch chest, 180 kilos and no neck. In Switzerland. Possibly powerlifting for the Indian team in the Olympics. Session drummer for some bigup musicians. First winner of Mr Olympia of Indian origin. Eating from someone else’s fridge. Still “not going out with” [his girl friend] while having secretly married her. In the Gym.

Bless him. 🙂 xxx

Today, 30th March is World Bipolar Day (WBD).

The vision of WBD is to bring world awareness to bipolar disorders and eliminate social stigma. Through international collaboration the goal of World Bipolar Day is to bring the world population information about bipolar disorders that will educate and improve sensitivity towards the illness.

Check out the WBD Facebook page (www.facebook.com/worldbipolarday).

All day yesterday I was collapsed in a heap with a properly raised temperature and flu-like symptoms that psychosomatically and subconsciously caused the postponement of the inevitable task of clearing up his stuff. Finally got down to it today.

T-shirts from various parts of the world and from several local stores, a number of them with a story attached, a little conversation or a comment. Favourite ones a bit faded and worn at the neckline, gym ones with the sleeves roughly cut off, full-sleeved ones for winter, a few well fitting ones to show off his arm muscles, especially triceps, which he claimed ‘could dam a river’, some with a musical theme and others with tiny skulls, mostly plain ones which is how he liked them. Just plain cotton t-shirts. I could almost see him in each one of them as I looked at them. One by one they all went from his wardrobe into a box.

Next I found myself frantically looking for a reason to postpone giving them away – we shall have to wait till we find the right person or the right charity …..

Then came his rugby ball, his badminton racket, his sleeping bag, his djembe, his backpack, his shoes, belts, jeans …..

More than enough for one day.

Back in London, from 32 degrees C to 12, from the warm cocoon of close family to a cold and dark house, from sumptuous wholesome homemade meals to an empty refrigerator, from warm sunshine to grey skies, from a safe distance from bitter-sweet memories to bang in the midst of them, from loud Bollywood music to BBC Radio 4, from not having anything on my “To do” list to having 21 things on it, from comfort of one kind to comfort of another. A whole mixed bag of stuff. Missing my folks back home while delighted to be re-united with our two gorgeous cats, our home, our neighbourhood and our city.

Once again the lines between dreams and reality are blurred. Was the past a dream? Is this a reality? Is the nightmare a part of the dream or the reality? Are these two separate entities? Where does one end and the other begin? Is there a deep gorge between the two that has a craggy old rope bridge across it that sways wildly in the wind – the bridge I often walk across , holding on to the flimsy bits of cord in the blizzard bringing heavy rain with it, with all the strength I have?

I need to remind myself about keeping my happiness on top of my list at all times, irrespective of my surroundings. He would want that. The colours of the world seem faded but I am grateful I can still see them. The fragrances of the flowers are very faint now but I do somewhat recognize them. All the muscles in my body are fatigued but I can still smile. My dreams have died a quiet death but I do have beautiful wreaths of memories to embellish their graves with. So many riches! Lucky me. 🙂

One hundred and fifty people died in an air crash this morning in one of the most scenic parts of the earth, the Swiss Alps. I wonder what happened. I wonder how the ‘karma’ of so many people unknown to each other can be so strongly linked. It is intriguing how various destinies can be so closely intertwined, the passengers and their loved ones.

“”Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.” – Chief Seattle, 1854

Each of those people would have had a story. Just like the rest of us. We all have our narratives about our lives, each one completely unique and distinct from any other.

I can’t help but think of those left behind. This must be living hell for them. Once again I quote O’Rourke:

“The first systematic survey of grief, I read, was conducted by Erich Lindemann. Having studied 101 people, many of them related to the victims of the Cocoanut Grove fire of 1942, he defined grief as “sensations of somatic distress occurring in waves lasting from twenty minutes to an hour at a time, a feeling of tightness in the throat, choking with shortness of breath, need for sighing, and an empty feeling in the abdomen, lack of muscular power, and an intensive subjective distress described as tension or mental pain.”

Grief is a physical experience in the short and the long term. In short bursts there is a physical sensation of pain and hollowness in the chest which is sometimes incapacitating. Every now and then it feels like I am drowning. At other times it is sheer inexplicable exhaustion. At least half my hair have fallen out. On the whole I feel really old.

I find my thoughts and feelings are with all those who lost their lives and those who love them who are just beginning the nightmarish journey that is grief.