Last night, I woke up with a deep ache in my heart. I was in Bhubaneshwar for the very first time in my life without Ma. I would be meeting so many cousins, uncles, aunts...after ages. The first time after Ma's demise. They are her family after all. They would look for her in me. I wondered if they would find her. Sometimes I do think...what of my mother do I have? (Maybe the certainty that I am a delight to be around. 😊)
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In the last couple of months, I lost my uncle and another aunt. Today, I visited both their homes. In both places, there was so much love, light, and affection. We missed the people who passed on and celebrated our time together. I was the first in the group to have lost my mom. So I know the heaviness my aunt, cousins, and nieces would feel when they come across the departed person's half-read novel or handwriting in the dhobi book. Any evidence that there was a life entrenched in this reality and now it's just not there. That kind of grief comes like a sweet slow embrace. But life fills a void with strange, crazy mundaneness. My cousin told me about jackfruit pickle. My aunt gave me a gorgeous pink and white cotton saree and fed me to the gills with all my favorite Oriya foods...chenna podo, rasgullas, pitthas (some steamed in haldi leaves - my faves) - topping off with great chai made by my little nephew. My other cousin who had lost her mom told me about some Uttam Kumar retrospective. I ribbed her about her archaic taste in actors. I also made fun of her Bangla, which is rich, considering I know next-to-nothing myself. My young niece who was close to her grandmother and is coping with so much told me about the place in Italy she wants to visit. I also met her pet turtle and took a work call in her absolutely delectable study.
R was there. She'd made such brilliant snacks - mushroom chops, soyabean cutlets, a mayo and shredded veg sandwich, and soft as whispers dhokla. She was so happy to see me (and I her). For a brief second I forgot that I was not at my home. I had barely finished my call when a steaming cup of coffee was in front of me (without having asked for it) and I was getting a head massage.
These are homes that have seen bereavement recently. We all met, a congregation of people who had chunks of their heart blown away to make place for a stubborn emptiness.
Yet we laughed, ate, took in the beauty of a cold first day of December. It is amazing just how much sweetness life brings in. It doesn't just go on. It takes you with it, like a good sport.
I have always loved this song from Masoom and at various times in my life, have understood the depth of the lyrics. And today, between mirth and melancholy, I remembered the words again, "Tujhse naraaz nahin Zindagi, hairaan Hoon main."
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