To live is to die

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"God's finger touched him, and he slept." - Alfred Tennyson
     As a kid, I used to see nightmares. Someone close to me would die and I would wake up drenched in sweat. Perhaps, the fact that I was exposed to corpses in movies only added to the discomfort. I was 15 when death struck out its lasso close to me. We had had dinner at my best friend's place while watching the '99 world cup. The next morning, his mom was no longer a part of our lives. I couldn't muster enough courage to visit the hospital mortuary and my parents, on their part wanted me to remember her smiling face, not the expressionless one lying under a shroud. The only challenge I faced was in talking to my friend and his dad. It was horrible because I could open my mouth, but sounds failed to emanate within.
     A couple of years later, I saw a corpse for the first time. A neighbour had died and it was only fitting that I dropped in to pay due respect. He had died of old age and there wasn't much buzz around the place. People walked in with a mournful grace, murmured a few praises of the man and walked out. I couldn't relate it to the hair-pulling, chest beating scenes from the movies.
    Then on, it became a part and parcel of my life. A lot of people that I knew died, separated by varying degrees of emotion. The man on the buffalo was no longer a myth, no longer part of my nightmares. But I could never learn to console people in grief. I wasn't sure of the words that might affect/brighten their lives.
     Two instances changed my perception of death. A junior from college drowned during a college excursion. He had been part of the college choir, and a favourite among peers. He had been the only son of his parents and it was quite heartbreaking to see the grief in them. When they brought his body to the college auditorium, the whole college burst out in tears. All the music that had cheered them seemed to drone into a melancholy of sorrow.
     A year back, my colleague's dad passed away. The girl had been part of our group and it was disheartening to see her misery. We went to her house to meet the family and it was hard for us to utter a word of consolation. A close friend of mine walked up to her mom, sat right next to her and spoke to the lady. My biggest hurdle was being ridiculed by a simple act of compassion. For me, the moment broke all the barriers within. It was nothing more than an acknowledgement that death is part of life, a continuation rather than an ending.

     "My friend, there will come one day to you a Messenger, whom you cannot treat with contempt. He will say, "Come with me;" and all your pleas of business cares and earthly loves will be of no avail. When his cold hand touches yours, the key of the counting-room will drop forever, and he will lead you away from all your investments, your speculations, your bank-notes and real estate, and with him you will pass into eternity, up to the bar of God. You will not be too busy to die."- Abbott Eliot Kittredge

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