There are some years in our lives which we all wish to erase from our
memories. The year 1992-93 was one such for all in the family. Majju
bhai, my eldest brother-in-law had passed away in an accident. At 45,
for anybody, it is a wrong age to die. One leaving the family when the
time comes to be with them is certainly not the time to go. And in his
case we all echoed this sentiment
because he had touched our lives in more than one way. He was always
like a son to his in-laws. To my sister apart from being everything, he
was also a friend. For his children....I have seen him becoming a kid in
their company. How I still wish he was around just to see all the good
happening in his family. I wish he could see my sister age with such
grace. I wish he could see his children leading their lives with the
amount of dignity with which he had led his own. All said, I have yet to
meet another man who can even distantly resemble his personality and
qualities.
Though we all had to deal with this untimely tragedy in the family, there was one person, whose grief was more profound than all of us. It was my father. He had always loved his eldest daughter the most. He had always stood for her whenever the need arose. We knew he could do anything for her. It will be impossible for me to put in words the pain he was going through to see his beloved daughter, only 33 years old then, having to go through such sadness and pain. it was during those days that he had asked me once, 'How is she going to deal with all this ? This mountain of a life now. If only I could help her overcome her loss...' his eyes had welled up after this. He so often left his sentences unfinished. We knew what he wanted to say or was refraining from saying, but it was his abrupt silence that made us worry for him. It was slowly taking a toll on his already deteriorating health. He cared less as he said, 'Allah should have called me, it is time for me to go as there remains nothing for me now. Why he had to go ?"
Some nights he would keep awake and pray in the loneliness of such vast nights, silently crying his heart out. My mother would console him and would end up crying in turn. He would tell her, 'You know, she doesn't sleep properly. See, it's three clock and she is still awake. I've seen her keeping awake like this so many times. God knows how she is dealing with it.' They would listen to each other without having consoling answers to their unending and intriguing sorrow.
I remember, six months after Majju bhai's death, his belongings came from Saudi Arabia. They were all used belongings of him and my sister wanted to have them with her as part of her deceased husband's memories. Bombay was under its usual spell of rains and I would accompany Baba to Ballard Pier to the agent's office for getting the consignment cleared from Bombay Port. For people who've been in Bombay know well, how difficult it is to travel in trains during the rains. But still nothing deterred him and he would travel unrelentingly, though would grumble how difficult it had become to travel in the crowded trains. We traveled everyday for about 15 days till the shipment was cleared. All through this his health was failing but the love for his daughter kept his spirits intact.
Grief, after a time, occupies a corner in your heart and stays there forever. We learn to live with it; it becomes a kind of compromise that we do for our good and we move with it. Gradually, my sister and her children found ways to deal with this tragedy and their life took a turn from the place which was looking like a dead end of their lives.
But for Baba, the grief didn't move. It stayed with him for two years.
Two years later he passed away leaving behind his simple, contented memories with me to last a lifetime. He loved his family, worked for them tirelessly and led a very simple life without asking for much.
Even now sometimes when I get up in the middle of the night and find the quilt away from my daughter, I move it to cover her.
And while doing so I find a part of my father's heart beating in me.
And my love for her grows as never before.
Though we all had to deal with this untimely tragedy in the family, there was one person, whose grief was more profound than all of us. It was my father. He had always loved his eldest daughter the most. He had always stood for her whenever the need arose. We knew he could do anything for her. It will be impossible for me to put in words the pain he was going through to see his beloved daughter, only 33 years old then, having to go through such sadness and pain. it was during those days that he had asked me once, 'How is she going to deal with all this ? This mountain of a life now. If only I could help her overcome her loss...' his eyes had welled up after this. He so often left his sentences unfinished. We knew what he wanted to say or was refraining from saying, but it was his abrupt silence that made us worry for him. It was slowly taking a toll on his already deteriorating health. He cared less as he said, 'Allah should have called me, it is time for me to go as there remains nothing for me now. Why he had to go ?"
Some nights he would keep awake and pray in the loneliness of such vast nights, silently crying his heart out. My mother would console him and would end up crying in turn. He would tell her, 'You know, she doesn't sleep properly. See, it's three clock and she is still awake. I've seen her keeping awake like this so many times. God knows how she is dealing with it.' They would listen to each other without having consoling answers to their unending and intriguing sorrow.
I remember, six months after Majju bhai's death, his belongings came from Saudi Arabia. They were all used belongings of him and my sister wanted to have them with her as part of her deceased husband's memories. Bombay was under its usual spell of rains and I would accompany Baba to Ballard Pier to the agent's office for getting the consignment cleared from Bombay Port. For people who've been in Bombay know well, how difficult it is to travel in trains during the rains. But still nothing deterred him and he would travel unrelentingly, though would grumble how difficult it had become to travel in the crowded trains. We traveled everyday for about 15 days till the shipment was cleared. All through this his health was failing but the love for his daughter kept his spirits intact.
Grief, after a time, occupies a corner in your heart and stays there forever. We learn to live with it; it becomes a kind of compromise that we do for our good and we move with it. Gradually, my sister and her children found ways to deal with this tragedy and their life took a turn from the place which was looking like a dead end of their lives.
But for Baba, the grief didn't move. It stayed with him for two years.
Two years later he passed away leaving behind his simple, contented memories with me to last a lifetime. He loved his family, worked for them tirelessly and led a very simple life without asking for much.
Even now sometimes when I get up in the middle of the night and find the quilt away from my daughter, I move it to cover her.
And while doing so I find a part of my father's heart beating in me.
And my love for her grows as never before.
