Saturday morning dawns, bright and happy.
The mustard field on my walls playing hide and seek with sunlight streaming in from an open window, birds chirping on the tree outside and the sound of MS’ melodious voice singing the Suprabatha. Life is as perfect as it could possibly get.
The door opens and I find a dear friend standing at the threshold.
Emotions flitting across his face as he says, “My father passed away last night. The body is in the mortuary.”
I offer my condolences and mention that his father at least did not have to endure prolonged suffering.
Very matter-of-factly my friend says, “Well, he was 90 and this was the only period in his life that he was hospitalised. Atleast he did not have to suffer.”
We continue our chat and references to his father and the body kept in abeyance till such time another sibling arrives float in and out of the conversation.
Unconsciously, the father became a body in the span of a minute.
Disassociation, the human mind does it so well.
Human frailty, our conscious minds unconsciously cushions us from trauma. It is no longer a dear one who departs but its mere mortal remains, which is burnt or buried.
Long after this moment in time, the body no more but memories staying on.
I do not believe in the life hereafter or the cycles of birth and day, moksha or karma though born a Hindu but the concept of ‘Shashwatha’ or perpetuity just unfolded before me.
Sunlight continues streaming in and the mustard field is no longer as bright.