Burrying the dead has never been easy but keeping the dead alive is a hell lot more difficult. Recently, I lost my maternal grandfather (baa). The world around me has been convincing me that he being at the opulent age of 83, it is okay to accept the fact that he couldn't make it to 84. "He saw life for decades altogether", they say, got his children married, saw his responsibilities settle, even saw his grandchildren grow, what more does one except from life. Sounds convincing right?
No, I would never settle for those answers. He wanted to live and for that he was willing to try. He was willing to take care of himself to the extent possible so that he doesn't have to die and now that he is gone, now that I see his walking stick left unattended in a corner, I don't want to buy any of those reasons that people have been putting forth. I miss his deep yet subtle voice, his warm smile, the life lessons he always had in abundance to share. I know he has left us but to burry his memories has become difficult. As long as I remember him, as long as I hear his voice in my mind, as long as I realise the clink of his laughter : he would never really be dead.
The very moment I heard the news of his demise, a thousand emotions hit me hard. All deaths of my near and dear ones became vivid and I realised though the wound of losing people heals, the scar in the form of memories never lets you forget about it. It comes back to you in the form of an old forgotten tune which you have long stopped humming but the moment you hear it, it comes alive all over again.
While the world offered him fire, I chose to offer him a room in my heart where he would safely settle between half baked memories and a handful of realisations.
Even in death, you will be kept alive baa:)
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