Death strikes my parivar again

                     

How  does it feel on losing a beloved member of a family? Pain. Sense of loss. Remorse. Regrets... You turn philosophical overwhelmed with thoughts of sheer meaninglessness of life. Hollowness of the hubris: “I am alive and kicking, I am rich, I am this and I am that…I am infallible,” strikes hard at the core of your being. A kaleidoscope of images of days spent together, days of fun and frolic, of joys and sorrows shared, unreels itself in slow motion in your mind’s eye in flashback. And this whole complex mixture of emotions translates itself into sobs and tears or a blank distant stare far into the dark, unfathomable abyss.

I am in the throes of this very state of mind at this juncture: I lost my 77-year-old  brother, Shanti Swaroop - ‘Shanti’ for many, ‘Sarup’ or ‘Sarupo’ for his close and childhood pals  -  on 28 August after his protracted fight with a respiratory ailment called ‘chronic pulmonary disorder’.

How do I describe him for you? A difficult thing to do in a state of emotional turmoil. But some defining, unmistakable features of him I can spell out. He was a simple, easy-going person - a bohemian perhaps - brimming with zest for life, and quite fond of good things in life that we, the members of the ‘Shastri’ parivar, admittedly are. He was very soft-spoken, full of humour, loved listening to jokes and funny or amusing anecdotes and wouldn’t mind some of his favourite ones being recounted to him time and time again. “Bhaso, please, will you, narrate that one about the old patient in the hospital, one more time?” he would implore me often when we sat together at some family gathering. (It was about  an interesting ongoing war of words in chaste, earthy Pahari between an old man on hospital bed defying doctor’s diktat and his doughty wife bent on making him follow it, that I had seen and heard.)  He himself enjoyed recounting jokes and funny incidents– his version departing from the original one on every repetition with his fresh new fanciful inputs- throwing us into fits of laughter. He had a great love for music, had a sweet voice and enjoyed playing on his harmonium as he sang out his favourite songs and bhajans. He kept sadness at bay and even his favourite songs were those that were light, vibrant and sparkling with gaiety...with joie de vivre. He was fond of reading religious and inspirational books and also tried his hand at writing though with limited success. He loved company, gupshup, fun and laughter a lot. Even during the last moments of his life in the ICU, that characteristic, benevolent smile of his never left his handsome though frail face- an image that now comes to haunt us again and again with singeing sadness. He had a soft, kind, loving heart- too good for this overly practical, matter-of-fact world, and good enough only to spoil and pamper and indulge everyone intimate with him- his family more so.

He had his fads and eccentricities too. He abhorred taking medicines and would often chuck them away without completing the prescribed course. He often ignored medical advice and necessary safeguards. If he fancied having a cold water bath even in inclement weather, no one could deter him having his way, his poor health notwithstanding.  He could often be reckless, casual and carefree even in regard to important matters that needed to be addressed with utmost care and attention. Perhaps that stemmed from naiveté that he possessed in good measure– another typical trait of the ‘Shastri’ parivar!
All in all, a gentle soul at times at odds with the harsh realities of life.

Adieu dear brother. I am sure you must be singing bhajans and playing on harmonium and recounting your favourite jokes to the amusement of gods above. Have a good time. Cheers!
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