November Gloom Is A Creep

For Those Who Grieve
For Those Birthed By The Twins Of Grief And Celebration
For Those Who Celebrate For They Have Nothing Left To Grieve

Shared with readers for the first time, as these dates come around again in 2018

Being in an indefinable space and time that happens to be 1st November 2016 of the calendar, I  have been hopping from one topic to another, toying listlessly with each one before giving in to the pervading gloom that comes back to cling to me. November gloom is a creep. And I mean a real creep. It creeps upon you in the aftermath of the celebrations. It helps to have the festivals stretch comfortably over the first few days of the darkest month of the year. This time they all came in a mad rush at the tail end of October and blew themselves out like a myriad candles that suddenly felt weary of lighting up lives. And it’s horrible for me.

Because I am alone, increasingly lonely and thinking more than ever of sixteen years ago and that dreadful evening of 1st November, standing in the corner behind the door where now stands a switchboard that lights up my altar. Talking on a landline, over a dismally long distance in the twilight, to a melancholy house that had once throbbed with life and hope. From a corner where I had stood barely 48 hours earlier hearing the words that left me numb and trembling inside - Yama’s final stroke in a lonely guesthouse where no one belonged. Suddenly I find that 16 years that were meant to heal and had chances to, have only widened and deepened the dark empty vault of bereavement. Maybe I have been jolted by the sudden death of Maitreyee’s dad. While lighting a candle for him on Deepavali, I was reliving the loss of my brother right after the festival in a way I didn’t these past so many Deepavalis 

Grief is for the grieving, as life is for the living. No-one can order it out. It has a way of leaving its lingering scent in some forgotten corner to suddenly awaken at a touch. What’s worse is that it scatters its seeds in the wake of parting. Tiny and numerous like mustard or maybe like the black sesame seeds we offer the ancestors during Pitru Paksha, laden with mystery and nutrients. A bit like both, because they roll away like mustard into dark unsuspected crannies. Sometimes they sprout unexpectedly. Sometimes we gather them up and toss them out, but there will always be a couple that got away.

Have you ever spilled mustard seeds from a packet and tried chasing them around? The seeds of grief behave the same way. There are times when we pause and gather them carefully and lock them away in a vault where no light or air can reach them. They are sacred; we dare not disrespect them for they are the seeds of connection with those we have lost. They are seeds, they hold the power of life. Amazing for something that connects us with the dead. They hold the power to germinate, though germinate into what, perhaps depends on how we tend them. There are times when we open the vault and a miraculous ray of sunshine and a breath of air that snuck in unseen, have left tiny poignant plants in their place that remind us that we were connected to a living being. 

In these sixteen years perhaps I neglected some seeds, planted and tended others while yet others are locked away in a vault. A clock, a T-shirt, a pair of earrings – the last I ever wore. I have not worn earrings in 16 years – can you believe it? I am never able to, my ears get so inflamed! With anguish?

Why is Halloween, a the day of fun,  at a liminus with All Soul’s Day? Why is Bhoot Chaturdashi as much about spooks and sprites as it is about wishing the ancestors safe passage towards higher energies? I can understand now that while Pitru Paksha brings them to us, this occasion sends them on their way. Returning to those seeds, there are yet others that rolled into corners, some I deliberately tossed out in anger. A still-young, vulnerable lover grieving her beloved, closed herself in unbelievably. She too felt anger after the edge of grief wore off – towards me and my mother because it helps to turn it outwards. Today she is grandmother to teens and little ones! 

Meanwhile a mother passed on without ever venting or sharing her grief. Again a brother turned all his anger towards the wrong people. Sadly those people were us/me all over again. Their emotions have also riddled my home with seeds of all kinds. Amidst these are the seeds that bring sweet harvests. I am gathering them slowly, one at a time, reminding myself that they will endure and take charge over time. There are sweet memories of my brother’s strength and compassion, of the way he carried me aged 10 on his back when I tired out climbing slopes – the first thing he recalled when I got him into hospital and saved his life in the first instance. 

Diwali once in a while cruelly coincides with that day of dumb shock and emptiness – 30th October. Mostly, light has won over those days because I had the youthful energies to suppress the darkness. But as I move towards another threshold that brings me closer to my own end, I feel the pangs afresh. It seems like I have completed my wanderings away from the grief to come full circle and bump into it when I didn’t really expect to. These circles, these spirals, they are the ultimate tricksters. Halloween’s innocent "trick or treat" takes on a painful edge and trick seems to be the winner. And I seem to have more and more in common with those disembodied spirits that lurk around awaiting attention.

I have started and abandoned many editions of Pages since Kali Puja. It seems I cannot write about anything anymore unless I give these abandoned seeds their due and their place of honor. I need to engage with these spirits and tell them it’s ok, we will all find our journey towards peace. After reading a friend’s post it struck me that Bhoot Chaturdashi  which we always thought of as a day for swapping ghost stories, was solemn for those who had lost loved ones. She would know, having lost her dad at a tender age. Today the day reserved for brothers when Yama is worshipped all over again  (Bhratridwitiya,) just 4 days after Yamadeepam, this time with Chitragupta in tow. That’s a lot of death gamboling amidst us during the festival of light. There’s Kali the destructor as well. I didn’t think of it at all. 

The only time my family engaged with Yama was to celebrate Savitri’s intellectual victory over him every March. On Kali Puja I had savored the closeness of Kali as protector (she is considered Vishnu’s twin). But the day after, it was all gone before I could write it down. My vacuum has been all the more poignant on seeing the celebrations of others, the conversations around family and friends, the bonding in groups. Even though I tried to find joy in their joy, I felt more alone than ever with the lamps and their shadows, Chloe and my camera for company apart from the horrendous noise. I recalled how decades ago we would set out in the evening braving the fireworks, driving carefully through risk laden roads where rowdies placed crackers in the path of cars and lit them, abruptly bringing vehicles to a screeching halt to serve their demoniacal capers. We risked it all because we wanted to meet two lonely old souls who were alone at Diwali and light up their lives and fill them with a sense of home and family.

I never felt this way before. I guess old age awaits me at the threshold. Thank you Yama, you didn’t let my brother experience it though he got more than a taste through that bitter illness. Today is your Deepam again and this time it’s your sister Yamuna cheering for YOUR long life. So shall we say Happy Birthday??? Keep well and keep sane. And interpret that CG dude’s ledger with compassion!

PS1 I wonder why Bhratridwitiya is not celebrated in South India. Pretty much as Yama Deepam is not.

PS2 It was painful bringing this post out of my system. It comes through as intense but you know it is not meant to hurt anyone. I emphasize this as I post this publicly. Know that I love you all deeply.

PS3 The picture has the diya-candle for my brother. After the two naughty ones that drowned I decided not to float the boat but to anchor it! Behind it you can see the Ganesh stone that represents the brother I have left*. He brought it from Ganapatipule beach and gifted it to me. On that bitter November morning in 2000 he had the toughest job of all - to send his brother across. The 3 black Ganeshs are the ones my older brother would play with which he suddenly decided to install in his grandma’s altar for worship. I like to keep these 3 and the stone Ganesh together. They somehow represent the bond between us siblings.

*There are no brothers left to lose. He left us on 3rd January '18*