I write a lot about death, but I don’t know how to condole with words. I only know that every life is precious and has contributed in some manner to another.
I am reminded about a wonderful 'celebration' of death. On a visit to Chennai a few years ago, a friend had asked me to join in for a barsee – death anniversary. He said it was not the regular thing.
I had not carried appropriate clothes so wore my pink blouse with black slacks. It seemed a tad better than wearing red...
I needn't have worried. There was no mourning; the friends, in fact, introduced me to him in his room, which was left untouched. There was a small table on which his picture stood surrounded by a few diyas and all the delectable stuff he loved to eat...and a glass of vodka...
He died when he was in his mid-30s in a car crash. I watched as his mother, brother and sister-in-law went about being hospitable. I was the only stranger there, but for some reason I felt that I knew him, such was the strength of their connection that they could bring him alive.
We later sat in the balcony after a nice dinner sharing jokes, talking about people I did not know, and watching the stars in the sky...
It was dark no more.
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