I know I haven’t shared my regular dose of ‘Sense and Sensibility’ with you for precisely two months now and I do apologise for the silence. But it isn’t that this has been on account of writer’s block or a lack of commitment. In fact, quite ironically and in keeping with the ethos of this column, I have been trying to grapple and make ‘sense’ of a personal life event myself.
Of suffering bereavement. A vital loss. In the middle of March, I lost my father. Having lost my mother more than a decade ago, his passing away felt as though the final curtain had been drawn on my chapter as a daughter. Yes, he had lived a full life only to have become particularly weak in these last two months. Yes, he had to be put on the ventilator towards the end and never came out of it despite the doctors trying everything. Yes, he had given it a valiant fight along with the entire family including his many friends extending every possible support. But, unlike a few times in the past, this time, none of it added up. He bid us adieu.
The consensus within the family was that we had tried our very best and perhaps it was time for him to go. Nature had taken its course. It made sense. It would have been far more difficult to see him suffer or be further reduced and be forced to carry on. Some even termed it a blessing.
And yet, it was difficult for me to accept that he was really gone. And that instead of his booming voice and infectious laughter, I now had his smiling visage as a mute photograph, framed and sitting in my room. Family and friends visited and sent in their good wishes and strength and their support certainly counted. But though I gathered and invoked all my resilience and good sense, I found myself missing him terribly and breaking down every now and then. The void was unbearable.
Interestingly, I also noticed that every time I thought of him, I missed and thought of all his oddities the most. The habits and practises didn’t make any great intellectual sense but made him who he was. His ability to remain connected with every single person who had come into his life. His penchant was to compliment people on their smallest efforts and make them feel good. His ability to tell stories, laugh heartily at his follies and recite his favourite poems in a singsong tune that hadn’t changed in five decades. His ability to trust one and all. His appetite of keenly watching every ball and keeping score when India played international cricket. His childlike joy at tearing and opening his favourite bar of ‘Cadbury’ chocolate every day after dinner and devouring it along with the day’s headlines and countless others.
Soon after his demise, somebody took the initiative and formed a ‘WhatsApp’ group that included several relatives and his close friends. The idea was to share our fondest memories of him and celebrate his innings. Every day, we relived his life through a collective repository of stories, memories and photographs. Decade-old anecdotes came tumbling out as though they were incidents only from yesterday. People who had lost touch with each other got re-connected with his memory serving as the glue.
My overpowering sense of grief came in touch with a deep sense of gratitude and a realisation that a human life well-lived is one that touches others and brings a smile even after it ceases and that we had all been tremendously fortunate to have been connected to and indeed be born to such a life.
I was in two minds when I was penning this column. Should I be sharing something so personal and putting it out there for strangers to read? But as I sat down to write, I knew I wouldn’t be able to proceed to a more general comment next week until I had put this down for myself and owned my sensibilities.
While writing this column, a friend pinged to inform me that the film ‘Piku’ is re-releasing in the theatres this week. She doesn’t say more. She doesn’t even offer to watch it together. She knows that I will need to go and brave it once more and keep the seat next to mine vacant for dad. And I will be watching it for him.
Supriya Newar is a Kolkata-based writer, poet, music aficionado and communications consultant. She may be reached at connect@supriyanewar.com, Instagram: @supriyanewar, Facebook: supriya.newar and LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/supriya-newar