Dead But Alive

They were around me or in my life. Living at some point. I knew them a bit. And now I only have their memories. I felt called to create this space for them…and in some sense an awareness in me about this gift of life till it lasts.

Laloo

I must have been 10 years of age and so would he have been when he succumbed to cancer. He was chubby and very active. I actually do not recall any time that i saw him sad or crying even. We had grown in the same apartment since childhood. There is this distinct memory of his last days. The disease had prisoned his movement. And in some ways he got liberated.

Dhvani

I remember her being very shy. And when we used to play in the group (we would have been in our teens), she would generally agree to anyone’s suggestion and just play. Easily agreeable. Simple. Not pursuing academic or career race. Its a mystery to me till date as to what caused her to commit suicide at such young age.

Shailesh

We would play cricket together in our teens. He was a few years elder. He had a peculiar voice…sharp and confident. He and his brother would inspire in me the feeling that i should also have had a brother in life. I could almost sense “calmness” accompany him always. And one day he calmed forever…again a mystery as to what made him take his own life.

Suresh Mama

I remember the summer vacations when we used to go to his place in Delhi. He was a professor in Delhi University. Always soft-spoken. Composed. Wide sparkling eyes even during his senior years. Sometimes i would feel that he is swallowing so many storms (he had quite a few in his life). I remember him fond of carrying a particular small leather bag…slightly bigger than a wallet. And a specific way in which he would briskly purse his lips with a tchhhh sound.

Dharmchand Uncle

People around me would say that I do not wake up easily to noises when i am asleep. But when he would visit our home (once a year), his sound would mysteriously wake me up. He had something in between of a baritone and wannabe baritone. I always saw him in grey and pepper hair…curled up to its own mystery. In those days, given our family and extended family backgrounds, there were a few men who would have their shirts tucked in…he was one of them. Those days when he would spend at our home, it would be a burst of updates of almost 20-30 persons in the family network. …maybe facebook uploads of that era.

Gaurav

Sometimes some of our facial features stand super salient. His was a smile. He was born to my cousin after years and years of vows to god. He happened. Before we knew, he was 19. And bubbling with energy and experiments. Before one day, an accident took him away. Leaving my cousin into endless trauma and pain.

Sagar

We would play cricket together. Invariably he would get into fist fights for his friends and sometimes on own. He had a way of balancing the cycle in a way to stand still while still being on it…and he could do it for more than an hour. We were enamored by it. His bowling (cricket) run-up was the shortest (like of a spinner) but he would pack the pace of a fast-medium bowler. He would get into problems because of his drinking habit and eventually that became a reason for him to be taken away from this world…a fatal accident while returning at night. And he would play a lot of pranks and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh….

David

He would ride a royal enfield bullet motorcycle. And he had a built to carry that with grace. Soft spoken. He would happily sponsor some snacks or toy or a cricket match so often. He passed away very early in life and left a roaring (much like his bike) vacuum.

Bua (Dad’s Sister)

She had natural pitch dark hair even in her 70s. Would wear a very heavy ear-ring…they had almost stretched her earlobes quite a bit. But she was following traditions as she would say. Mom and herself would have long conversations when she would visit us and stay. I guess they both would have some time-out from their daily pressures of children and house work. I remember that she had a single repetitive dance step and we would see that at all the occassions whenever she would shyfully dance for a few minutes.

Fufaji (Bua’s Husband)

Distinctly remember his legs. He was fair skin and the veins would be seen in dark blue and dark red…as if some of their vein endings have ruptured inside the skin. WHY??? He would run a grocery story in Chirabazaar (South Mumbai). And he would stand whole day long at the counter.

Omi Bhai

His legs were similar to Fufaji (mentioned above). Reason, the same ! Remember him suffering great financial loss because of his partner. But i never saw him angry. He did carry concern on his face but would also tag along hope and optimism.

Nana (maternal grandfather)

He was Head Master of a small school in a small village called Nandrampur Baas. I have faint memories of him. I would have been very very small. He would indulge us in a fruit named as “fuut”. And his kisses on our cheeks and cuddling would be so so loving.

Nani (mother grandmother)

She would wake up very early for her entire life of 90+ years. For most of her life, she maintained a small garden.

Dada (paternal grandfather)

He went through great hardships his entire life. Small village with lots of uncertainties and rivalries could be difficult to live by. Was a halwaai (indian sweets maker) for a great part of his life. But he was perhaps some of the most brave humans in the village. Some folklores of him single handedly confronting looting gang a couple of times….

Dadi (paternal grandmother)

Whatever had to be said to her had to be said a few times. She had lost her hearing by then. A very thin frail. Barely getting by the day. Thick lens specs. She would keep staring through her glasses for minutes and minutes. And my frown would get knittier and knittier. ..

Geeta Aunty

I look back at life and realize that it is also littered with a lot of mistakes and sins. One of them being my own inability to reach out some people and create and hold space and have deep conversation. She always treated me with so much of warmth and respect and like a son. However, i couldn’t live up to her kindness and generosity. I have conversations with her now (after she has gone)….but they are largely me talking and her witnessing.

Dolly Mummy

If regret were a teacher, one has to be a self-learner. For those days and months go by, and one feels that things will improve on its own. But then a day arrives, where all the potential collapses. The rubbles are heavy. And one carries them through life, only to throwpile them in the abyss of death.