My Companion of Grief!

The Grief Corner

This view is from a window in a room where I have recently shifted my table -chair to read/write/grieve.

And the tree on the extreme left is me, my tree companion who is now a part of an extremely organized, manicured n privileged small ecosystem, which I have been blessed with.

However, its roots are spread till behind the unconstructed or can even say dilapidated buildings, which can be seen between two front towers.

This companion or a reflection of mine smiles at me, waves at me, cries with me as well.
Every time its leaves rustle in a pattern, which I only know- it speaks to me in language which I only understand.

The Bridge

This companion of mine reminds me of my mornings of my home in my hometown which has/had 5 lawns of varying sizes, umpteen number of plants, creepers, trees like Mango n eucalyptus as well.
Every morning, after getting ready for school, I remember seeing my Chacha watering plants or talking to our gardener, Ganga Ram Bhaiya, who later started coming once a week.
The grass reminds me of him reading newspaper with a cup of tea, which he used to make himself. My youngest Chachi, his wife used to say – you make one cup n spill two cups of tea n soil the gas top.

So, this tree companion reminds me of my home, my base, my people, my roots as if it’s a bridge between my past n present. On this bridge, I walk, when I feel – everyone around me is clueless about me, my grief, my state, my being.
I sit by this window to hug this tree virtually, share my grief as it only knows my churnings. They have left this world – but I think I will keep seeing them with a walk on this bridge, which I felt can not be cut, divided, damaged by any.

And when it rained for 24hrs in the last two days, I feared for it, of losing it to the fury of nature, the way I lost my family.

I, now know the value of acceptance in a different way with so much pain, uncertainty, losses in my chest.

Continued String of Losses

My eldest Mamu wasn’t given the last bath, ghusl, and was wrapped in plastic cover instead of ‘latthey ka kafn’ and just two people -his son and son-in-law buried him with so much haggling n utmost effort with police in a Sarkari graveyard. And these two were also allowed as they too had symptoms of Covid.

And believe me, in this second wave, his going away in front of his just one child and rest everyone in the world – his wife of 40yrs, a daughter who cared for him for years, and 4 brothers and sister (ie my mother) could not even have a glimpse of him for one last time. Or could go there to be with the family.

Death or Divorce?

Everyone felt a part of their heart missing with their going. This time death does not look like death- it’s like divorce in our culture- where there is no ritual, no assembly of family, nothing, NOT even deathly silence, just void with moronic hollowness.

My tree companion listens to my all such thoughts, accepts my metaphors, and it still waves at me.

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