It goes on........

Hi folks.... The day before was Siddiqui Bhaiya's death anniversary. I had written this earlier but just posted it in the community where I blog. Rather than directing you guys there I'm reproducing it right here. I guess most of you are familiar with the characters. But I don't think many of you know the gory details....

It goes on.....

It happened exactly four years ago. I term it as a dark October, for it was after many, many years that there had been yet another tragedy in our family. Not that after my Daddy died there had been no deaths. But they were mostly of the distant kinds. Of Aunties and Uncles. And even if some happened to be very dear to us, there was however one common factor. They had all belonged to the previous age bracket. This time however, it was the turn of the generationext- our generation! Probably that what was why it had me totally rattled.

We got the message that Siddiqui Bhaiya, my eldest brother-in-law was no more. In a more florid way, he had what people term as left for the heavenly abode. If we thought this news was shocking, the bizarre circumstances that led to his death was even more so. It was then I understood that maybe in reel life the director is God. But in real life God is definitely the director.

When my sister Naaz Apa and her husband were posted in Khandla, a port in Gujarat, despite all rational thinking, there was slight apprehension in the family. Perhaps now it would have hardly mattered since not an inch of our nation seems to be a safe zone anymore. But the funny thing was Siddiqui Bhaiya would always extol the port that he was stationed in. Whenever he spoke of the State and its people, he assured us that the picture there was not all that oppressive as it was painted out to be. He and Naaz Apa both simply loved the place. Moreover, he said, Death could strike in so many ways. How true his prophecy was!

Some time or the other, every house is touched by tragedy. But it is only for the immediate family that time then begins to be measured in bitter chapters. This time it struck Naaz Apa's household. The couple was traveling in a train. Siddiqui Bhaiya went to the toilet and after waiting for an hour Naaz Apa decided to check. No amount of banging on the doors helped and when she peeped in through a crack she found his glasses lying on the floor. When she panicked, the helpful passengers somehow managed to break open the door. They found him on the floor. What happened will always remain a mystery-a heart attack, a diabetic attack, a blood clot, or just plain accident. Perhaps the uncertainty makes it all the more difficult to accept. But accept we did, for sometimes one does not have a choice. There are umpteen ways that Divinity peeps at you with a cryptic message. This one probably was- ‘I am mysterious. And you better learn to live with it.’

Anyway, for immediate medical attention they had to take Siddiqui Bhaiya out in the next station. That happened to be Baroda. He was immediately rushed to the hospital. But it was too late. A young couple, complete strangers, took my sister to their house. When we got the news of the disaster, our first reaction was naturally that at a time like this we should all be with Naaz Apa. She was alone in a strange place, with a deceased companion- one with whom she had spent more than three decades of her life. But since there were no direct flights to Baroda (two flights to change and then another nine hours journey to finally reach Kandla) every one of us was advised to be more practical than emotional. Saif, Nishi and Shehla, her three children(who luckily were stationed in nearby places) and the men folk (all our husbands and brothers and whoever else was capable of handling emergencies and formalities) immediately rushed to the spot. The weird thing was that a death in the family is supposed to bring everyone together. But here we all were, so terribly strewn apart.

We waited for the body to be brought back to our hometown. But unfortunately it was registered a case of accident and a post mortem was called for. All this was so unreal and for the next twenty- four hours, phones had become the only constant link between all of us. Apart from a stark helplessness that permeated from within the static lines. The godsend couple not only housed the congregation of our entire khandaan that had landed there but also gave them food and shelter for three whole days. A gesture, which belies the myth that humanity or hospitality is completely extinct!

After the post mortem it was simply not possible to carry the body all the way back- either to our hometown in Orissa, or to his hometown in Madhya Pradesh. It was just not practical. So, even without wanting to, the no-nonsense, matter of fact decisions had to be adhered to. And finally, a dear member of our family had to be laid to rest in a totally alien place. A place that had nothing to do with his roots or his attachments!

Everyone was anxious about what was happening out there in Baroda. Everyone was worried how each would take the news. We were worried about our Mummy. What great a punishment for a bedridden mother than to see her daughter become a widow? Our children, some of whom are scattered all over the globe, were worried about us. Maybe they saw in this tragedy, a cue that all mothers and fathers are not immortal. But maximum concern was naturally for Naaz Apa.

It is really surprising how the direction of a life can change its entire course with just one small breakdown. Especially if the person involved is the one in the driver’s seat. It is really nauseating that even with all the cracks and fissures, the wheels of this earth still keep on rolling, as if nothing has happened. It is also astonishing that within a span of a mere twenty-four hours a life can be snuffed out, formalities taken care of and normal affairs simply forced to continue.

Earlier Baroda was a place I hated because when I had to accompany my husband for one of his orientation courses, I was subjected to some very distressing moments in my life. Something that I have never spoken about to anyone and most probably never will. So after this incident Baroda should automatically qualify as a name I should forever detest. Yet I cannot. For the fact that a few of the families settled there, regardless of caste and creed, went unconditionally out of their way to help some unknown souls who had landed out of nowhere. And also for the simple reason that something dear, which belongs to our entire family, now lies buried there!

Even though each of us knows that we have miles to go before we sleep, no one knows exactly how many miles it will be. The numbers on that milestone of life is a blank that only fate is in charge of . Sleep is expected of everyone. Yet when it comes, for those that are awake, it becomes a living nightmare. And even after having written a tome on it, I’m yet to understand its weird phenomenon. But the law of insomnia is so entirely different. It is predictable. It is clear. It is brief. To quote Frost again- ‘In three words I can sum up what I have learned about life. It goes on!