There are not many good things a telegram can bring. Especially not when the postman takes dad away to deliver the news.
"Uncle just left to Hyd, maybe he telegrammed to tell us they reached safely" I thought. Big events, and earth shattering news still resided in the domain of "Chitti" or "Bold and the Beautiful" for me. My mundane life would be just that - Mundane.
Disbelief, is the word. As I read, and re-read the contents of the telegram."Wake up sang, It is a bad dream", I told myself. I stared , and stared. It did not sink in. No, this cant happen to us - a quiet family on a weekend - grandma was recuperating, we were all just spending some quiet time after a strenous stint at the hospital. No this can't happen.
He was gone.We were born 40 days apart.We were 14. Flashes from our childhood together - how we used to bring pails of water home for paati to cook,how we sang "Joote do paise lo" from HAHK at the top of our voice, how I was the only one he did not see on is very last visit, a week ago... "Why me?"
My first tryst with death. And pain,and hurt.I was still struggling to come to terms with it.The enormity of it all - how trivial fighting for the remote seemed. I stared at his lifeless body. He was peaceful. Where was he? What was he thinking? Did he know I was standing near him? Did he know how my life would pan out? Is he watching us from beyond?
I visited his grave on every one of my visits.And then they became less frequent. And one day they stopped.He is a distant memory now. I look at his photo - a small passport size photo, yellowed at the edges.
Uncle and Aunt could not go on. Or so it seemed. I was a mute spectator to their sorrow.And then, there was another day, and there was a small little kid, to brighten their lives.
Ha ! How ephemeral human bonds seem. Even the greatest sorrow tides over,the morrow comes, and life goes on.
