the now

Day 197

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A beautiful young lady sat opposite me across the table on the train. She took out a little sequined rectangular sachet from her big huge black handbag that could have housed a small Romanian village. She dipped into her handbag and produced a packet of hand wipes, pulled one out and thoroughly cleaned her hands. She proceeded to unzip the sachet. Out came 3 little differently sized beige coloured make up thingies. She opened one, poured a dollop of the fawn coloured thick creamy fluid on to her left index finger and dabbed it all over her face. She opened the mirror that was on the inside of the lid of the square pot and spent the next 4-5 minutes just working the stuff into her facial skin with both hands. She took great care and made sure that her hairline was fully integrated into the face. She checked and rechecked for perfection from various angles. Her fingers twitched every now and then like an artist anticipating her next stroke.

Thereafter she proceeded to the next layer, then the cheeks, the eyelids, eyes, under-eyes and finally the lips. All done meticulously! This routine was only interrupted by periodic cleaning of hands, worktop and the various pots. She was completely immersed in her ritual oblivious to everything around her. She spent 33 minutes doing what takes me 2 and a half minutes at most. To me she looked beautiful before and after.

For those 33 minutes I was completely taken in by her ritual. I thought of it as her sharing something very personal. I was grateful to her for taking my attention away from my own thoughts for a while. Stepping into someone else’s world is refreshing. May be I’ll see her again sometime. May be I won’t.

Day 194

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In no particular order I remember

  • the ‘bandana’ phase when he loved music by ’50 cent’ and his later embarrassment at the memory.
  • a little black dot just outside the cornea of his left eye.
  • not being allowed to touch the shopping trolley in the supermarket when he was ‘in-charge’ of it.
  • me teaching him to cook spinach and cottage cheese (palak-paneer) the Indian way.
  • him wearing swimming goggles while chopping onions in the kitchen to protect his eyes.
  • me trying to dissuade him from licking his plate after a yummy meal.
  • him checking out his hair every time he happened to see his reflection.
  • the hunt for a perfect double-pedal for his drum kit.
  • him imitating my funny pronunciations and encouraging me to repeat myself.
  • the Kindle he bought for my birthday from his ‘own money’.
  • the Antonio Forcione music he introduced me to. Our favourite piece ironically called ‘Tears of joy’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEwHoW1yCB8

As the days, weeks and months go by I feel as if the distance between us is increasing. I fear that I will forget a lot of things about him and about us.

Sometimes I cannot believe that I am still here, eating, drinking, working and socializing while he is gone. The world goes on as though nothing happened.

Life after suicide is bearable if we remember not just how they died but also how they lived.

 

Day 192

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It seems like I am developing a double personality.

As soon as she enters her place of work she assumes the persona of a professional who is an old hand at what she does. She looks after her patients and watches out for subtle unsaid messages from them, reassures and informs them, pays attention to clinical details, jokes with her colleagues, teaches her students and goes about organizing and assigning resources around whatever needs done. Sometimes she even tells her juniors off for ineffective communication and for causing wastage of time.

The moment the working day comes to an end, she finds a quite place where her grief can find expression again. Her sadness demands her attention. It does not like to be set aside for too long. The questions start reappearing. She absent-mindedly leaves the hospital and falls asleep on the train often overshooting her stop. Some days she boards the wrong train by mistake. This person does not sound like the same person in the previous paragraph but she is.

It’s like living with one foot in each of two worlds.

They are both real. Or, are they?

Day 189

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‘Social isolation’ predisposes us to depression. Hence, the significantly higher incidence in the unemployed, single or divorced.

Whoever these ‘socially isolated’ are, they must live somewhere. They must have neighbours. I remember a time when neighbours used to take care of one another. But that no longer seems to happen. Is it really because people are preoccupied with their fitness programmes and television sets, cars and computers?

Even in the poorest villages, people drop in with whatever they have. Mostly, their time and empathy which is enough. It is ironic that as people get richer they cut themselves off from the richness of life.

Is falling ill or feeling low something to be shameful of? In some cultures “altruistic” self-sacrifice is encouraged among the elderly and the sick. Among the Yuit Eskimos of St Lawrence Island, if an individual requested suicide 3 times, relatives were obliged to assist in their killing. The person was dressed in a ritual death garb and was then killed at a place specifically marked for this purpose. To save resources such as food or to allow a nomadic community to move on, some societies gave approval to suicide.

We are given to believe that such rituals only existed in primitive cultures. Yet we isolate the sick, the vulnerable and the different even today. Same thing. Isn’t it?

Day 187

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“You will go straight to paradise” said the dry-cleaner after he heard our story. It made me smile. Oh, what a consolation! He is a devout muslim and a very sweet man. He spoke with complete conviction. His unquestioning faith was pure, transparent and other worldly. Very endearing indeed.

I looked up the word ‘paradise’ and this is what it means: heaven, as the final abode of the righteous; an intermediate place for the departed souls of the righteous awaiting resurrection; a place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness;
a state of supreme happiness and bliss.

It has been my belief that heaven and hell exist here on earth. They exist in our internal environment and our state of mind. They are not beyond this world. They are both present in the here and now. We move between the two at various times to varying degrees. Often they are our own creations and sometimes we feel they have arisen due to other people.

For me, the ultimate responsibility for our heaven and hell lies with us.

This evening a friend phoned to say she had gathered a lot of useful information from this blog. It had helped her gain a deeper understanding of her teenage daughter. She felt she was more aware as a person, parent and neighbour. She thanked me profusely for this as she knew many others who have found it helpful in one way or another.

There were tears in my eyes as I held the phone to my ear. To be able to touch someone’s life – this must be paradise.

My son lived in paradise and he still does.