Memories

Day 603

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Historically and mythologically, India has a named God for every force of nature – the sun, moon, stars, rain, wind, you name it… After a long exasperating summer, rain is much desired and romanticised as it brings relief, cools things down, settles the heat and dust. It is good for crops and cattle. It is refreshing and life giving and most welcome. Indian classical music has ragas (sets of musical notes) dedicated to invite and celebrate the rainy season. Miyan Tansen, one of the most accomplished musicians of his time (1506-1589 AD) is famous for being able to beckon the rains by singing Raga Megh Malhar. No Bollywood film is complete without a sing-song in the rain.

The sun on the other hand was quite terrifying. Sunglasses, head scarves, shady trees and umbrellas were life saving! Going out in the sun was avoided if at all avoidable except for a few weeks in winter months when the sun was mild. When Saagar entered our house in the UK for the first time, he immediately commented on the absence of ceiling fans. Until I moved to the UK I never quite understood the meaning of the phrase ‘you are the sunshine of my life’. I still cannot get myself to complain about the rain. I love it.

While out on a walk this afternoon, we got caught in a proper heavy shower. After a long time I found myself out in the open getting gently rinsed and rejuvinated by Mother Nature’s playful energy. It was so wonderful! I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for quite a while. The heavenly fragrance of the newly disturbed earth wafted up and filled all my senses with nostalgia. I remembered the time when Saagar was little and we lived in Delhi, the moment it started raining we would run up to the terrace, dance and sing and splash about! It was heavenly!

Whether India or UK, rain is just rain and sun is just sun.
All else is in the interpretation.

Day 600

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Craters on the surface of the earth indicate something magnificently terrible happened here.

A hundred days have gone by six time over since the crater in my chest was created. I have surrounded myself with the ruins and cherished them ever since. I have held on to every scrap as tightly as I could, painfully parting with a few as if I was giving away fragments of myself.

Today I felt ready. It was a day of going through Saagar’s jumpers, t-shirts, shorts, scarves, ties, belts and shoes, looking at them and remembering how he looked in them, putting them down on a white sheet and taking pictures of them and then putting everything lovingly and neatly into cardboard cartons, loading up the car with 4 such boxes and driving to the Mind charity shop nearby, telling the story to the lady at the counter in about 6 words: My son had Bipolar. His things…

Although I thought I was ready, it was still like giving away a big chunk of myself. Another crater. I still hold on to a few scraps – a school tie and a university tie. I think he would appreciate that. May be not. No idea.

Well, these are only his things that I give away.
He is right here. In my heart.

Day 599

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Saagar’s death has brought me face to face with my own mortality. One day I will die. My time on this planet is limited. Of all the people in the world who were alive yesterday, many thousands did not make it to today but I did. All my near and dear ones did too. Isn’t that wonderful?

Being conscious of my mortality for a few moments everyday keeps me grounded. It reminds me of what is important. How do I want to spend the little time I have? Do I want to be miserable? Do I want to be calm, creative and joyful? Do I want to continuously complain or do I want to be grateful for all the blessings that have come my way over the years and continue to arise everyday? Is it worthwhile holding grudges against anyone as one day they will be dead too.

Life is a brief happening. It is too short for love. It is my mortality that makes me want to know the nature of my existence. Saagar lived his life in a rich and enriching way. He filled it with all things nice: learning, music, friends and laughter for himself and those around him. I have so much to learn from him.

“As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.”
― Seneca

Day 590

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Another day!
Sorting out the house.
Discovering his drum sticks.
His linen trousers.
Wondering when it all started.
Cup of tea and toast.
One more and one more.
How could he not think of me?
How am I to carry this now?
I unpack another box and another.
Put things in various piles.
For charity, for school, for friends.
Yes. It is what it is.
But sometimes it’s too much.
Like today.
Distractions don’t work.
If at all, they make it worse.
I can see his face.
It’s here – just beyond my reach.
I hear his voice in my head, not my ears.
I feel his energy.
He wants me to smile.
Be happy.
I want him.
There are no answers.
Just the burden of time.
Another chai.
Life must go on.
I forget just why.