I am sorry for your loss.

As a self professed ethnographer, observing people in their natural environments is riveting. Out of all my experiences, the startling revelation has been watching human minds lay bare  at the time of death of a loved one. This was 2009, in Bastar, researching the Muria tribe known for their wood-carving skills. It was a hot summer afternoon and we had been walking around endlessly with a local boy taking me around the village, scoping patterns of life and their livelihoods. I was about to call it a day when a little boy ran up to us, muttered something to our guide in his local dialect and pointed to a hamlet closeby. His gesture bespoke urgency owing to a summon from the sarpanch/headman for baithak/baatcheet (chat) or from someone waiting to offer tea/milk/sweets/coconut to the outsider (me). None of the above were true. 

An old man of the clan had passed away and all visible beings in the vicinity were expected to assemble at his doorstep to pay their final respects. How exactly do I “pay my respects” to someone I did not know? Nonetheless, I showed up and watched in awe the beauty of after-life (death, if I may say so). The survivors huddled together in groups, a few sobbed, some held hands, embraced and the men and women folk turned up in their finery. They spoke, chanted, sang songs, lit lamps and tossed flowers. Visitors were offered tea and snacks. I couldn’t tell if this tradition was any different from another festival. Towards the end of the ceremony, an old lady walked up to me, tucked a betelnut into my palm, hugged me, said a few words implying that she was grateful for my presence and the spirit blesses the bereaved with peace. It was a very unsettling moment when I transitioned from an outsider into a mourner. Later that evening, on my long drive back, I was reminded of how funeral attendance in our times is declining and how tempting it is to skip one amidst the time constraints we face. There are perspectives which only the experience of grief can bring, reminding us of wrong things we often overvalue as opposed to  the real ones worthy of our time. 

My father is over 80 now and continues to attend every funeral he hears of in town, often at the cost of his own frailty. I have scoffed at it for years while he'd brush off my sneer and go about this business offering his presence and condolences to the bereaved families. He says that it is his way of reminding the family that they aren't alone and that the person they lost was loved by those near and far. They remind him of the vanity of life, that nothing can save us from a tragedy and that we should not be deceived into thinking that death/grief will not impact us. Funerals allow us to be more aware of our mortality, so that we do not lose the context of our lives. It teaches us to choose our issues, actions and battles more carefully. Our lives become more meaningful once we know that.

When my young nephew passed away, it was an unthinkable tragedy. How do you picture a loved one motionless? It paralyses you. I remember taking an unreserved berth in a train that night to reach my town and staying up all night flipping through his Facebook and text messages we exchanged. At the doorstep, my mouth dried up, heart raced, my knees shook and I had nothing to say. I just showed up and sobbed.  

Showing up at the doorstep of someone I lose, reminds me of what is truly important. It challenges me to fight for only those things which are truly important. In doing so, hopefully, it helps me become a better parent, wife, daughter, friend and a better person.

You may not match their steps in their moments of jubilation, but when misery and loss comes knocking, show up and partner in grief.  

What was your watershed moment that made you who you are and choose values that define you?

Please do share your comments, even a few words will be encouraging. Thank you.