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Day 915

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A simple source of hot water in Delhi is the sun heating up supply pipes. Very eco-friendly.

Another simple yet highly un-eco-friendly source is an immersion rod. I used it today after about 3 decades. It was like revisiting my university days. The plastic bucket and the broad clip reminded me of the 2 parallel burn marks on the edge of the light blue bucket in college. The soft hissing sound of the frantic molecules was all too familiar. Seeing the little eddies set off by the heat waves made me smile. All those times when I had completely forgotten about the water and got distracted only to come back to the horror of half a bucket or less of absolutely boiling hot water! Adding just the right amount of cold water was crucial especially at the peak of winters.

The geyser with a red and a green light is another old friend. My brother lives with his family in a rented house in a little village in India. The landlord and his wife live in part of the house with a separate entrance.  For some reason, the guest-room (my room) bathroom geyser is shared with the land-lord. The switch happens to be in their house.  This is never a problem as most people are around most of the time. We forgot to ask them to switch it on in time, hence the immersion rod.

This kind of arrangement between neighbours, land-lords and tenants is normal here. It’s no problem. It’s perfectly workable. There is no desire to change it. I suppose things like this make it a close community. It would be quite unthinkable in more ‘advanced’ settings.

Fact: 4 days is the time it took for our next-door neighbour to find out that Saagar had passed away.

Ref:
Dying alone:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/jun/27/anyone-can-die-alone-isolated-age-uk-loneliest-country

Britain, loneliness capital of Europe:
http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/features/britain-has-been-voted-the-loneliness-capital-of-europe-so-how-did-we-become-so-isolated-9566617.html

Day 897

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If someone we know had a broken leg we would not say to them ‘Well if we don’t talk about it, things will be okay.” That would be unhelpful. Yet some people think that that is the way those who are grieving should behave and be treated. They genuinely think that if they don’t mention it then we’ll be fine.

An autistic child was visciously attacked by another student for “looking at her a funny way”. Her head had been repeatedly banged on the floor until she lost consciousness.

When the mother of the attacker was confronted , she revealed that the child who perpetrated the attack had lost her father in a violent stabbing incident some time ago. The mother said, “We don’t talk about it and she’s (the daughter) okay.”

I guess my point is about the unhealthy attitudes that demand that grief is put away, that the sufferer soldiers on without ever processing their feelings, without absorbing them into their daily life, without being kind to themselves. These attitudes would seem to be at the root of much trouble and strife that we see in our world today.

“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

(This is an except from a piece shared by a parent from The Compassionate Friends.)

Day 894

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The sun, the moon and all the colours gathered up in the sky. The slanting light made the evening luminous . Each element did its magic and together, created a harmony. Children played freely and the motors of peak hour traffic moved noisily in the background. It didn’t seem to matter at all. The world went on with its business as usual while we sat still with our worlds that had vanished.

We gathered in this open green space sure to be met with compassion and understanding. Alan’s sister read the same poem, by Mary Elizabeth Frye that she’d read at his funeral:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

John’s brother, Fabio’s mum, Rene’s sister, Jake’s dad, Saleem’s mum, Ruth’s Mum, Clair’s mum, Saagar’s friends and so many more came along for a quite evening, being in nature, in the company of friends, with what is. The radiant faces in the pictures, the flowers, the candles held centerstage. Love flowed in abundance.

Each one of us, a rainbow in the other’s cloud.
Each one making loss a little more bearable.
Each one being with their own healing and offering hope.
One world. One people. One silence. One togetherness.

Be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud by Maya Angelou

Day 893

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It was an evening of sharing Saagar’s story with a group of lovely young women. We talked about the art of listening non-judgementally. We practiced the skill and found it tricky. We noticed the strong urge to jump in with solutions and ‘fix it’. We found silent pauses awkward.

We explored the things that stop us from listening – a thousand things knocking about in our own head already, our own stress levels, fear of having to take action, fear of saying the wrong thing, I am not qualified, it’s not my job, and so on. Most of the reasons came from a judgement of ourselves or the situation.

Out of the blue, a thought ran clearly through my mind and before I knew it, I was speaking it out loud. I was reminded of a constant grievance I used to have with Saagar. I would request him to not leave utensils in the kitchen sink after use. How difficult could it be to put the dishes into the dish-washer? But, I often found dishes left in the sink. That small thing pushed my buttons. I would tell him off for being lazy and for not respecting this small request I made of him. I judged him. I couldn’t see that he was depressed.

Judgements come from the head.
Connection comes from the heart.
Harsh judgements create great distances between hearts.

I must not judge myself too harshly now. I am learning. Mindfully and heartfully.

Day 891

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Top-notch lawyers, world famous comedians, glamorous musicians, householders, super-talented actors, mental health experts, nurses, educational psychologists, teachers, doctors, secretaries, students, the homeless and ordinary folk like you and me have been lost to suicide or have lost someone they love to it. Sadly, no one is immune.

By definition ‘vigil’ means an act of staying awake especially at night in order to be with a person who is very ill or dying or to make a protest, or to pray.  This will be the third vigil of its kind – an informal gathering of people coming together in a public place, to express love for those who have tragically departed, to cherish their memories, to sing and reflect, to enjoy being in the open on a spring evening with their thoughts and feelings.

Venue: Near the café at Hyde Park, Speaker’s corner. London
(Nearest Tube station: Marble Arch)
Date:  Thursday, 6th April 2017.
Time: 6.30 pm.

Please come along and bring a picture, a song, a memory, a candle, a wish, a blessing, a prayer, a poem, a refection, your silence or tears. Join up with those who understand – Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide (SOBS).
You are not alone.

Ref:
SOBS: http://uk-sobs.org.uk/

Map: https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Speakers’+Corner/@51.5118942,-0.1593661,15z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x0:0x9f5b6cc453d910f4!8m2!3d51.5118942!4d-0.1593661