These days, I see elders dying alone. Day by day, day after day, children seeded by them, nurtured by them, tolerated by them and for whom there is always a prayer in auto-mode in their lips, leave them/ditch them/let them die in pretext of their wives who hardly know the difference between a regular donut and a gourmet one, who device those devious plans to keep their slave of a husband as far as possible for reasons they creepingly whisper which seems to justify their actions, in an attempt to save themselves from guilt. The self obsessed, selfish, characterless world of their middle-aged male counterparts, is so damn busy that it has "no time" to think about neither the old nor the just borns. It is during trying times do we get to understand who people are or rather whether people are even remotely humane. “What is the point?!” I wonder. This is a land where we have faith in the karma. What goes up, comes down and what goes around, comes around. I marvel at these glorious, remotely female species that not only trigger yet also provide maximum support to these ill-actions of their partner so proactively; these creatures who can flash that fake smile, before, during and after the stabbing at the dying. From where do these creatures emerge?! I wonder. Why do these cockroaches still crawl?! I wonder.
One of my grand uncles, a doctor, recently died under pitiable circumstances, ironically denied medical care and incidentally has children, children-in laws and grand children who are doctors too. What a predicament! Every single person expected to take care of this man, those who were busy before his death and expected to be understood and excused from their duties of taking care of this old, sick man, found time to come together for a family get together over his dead body and discuss in leisure how the property he left behind was to be split between themselves. Hurray! I truly applaud a genius in the crowd, one of the dead man’s nephew, another doctor, whose finger waved in free air, pointing at people who erred and who got his tongue wagging, condemning and criticizing those he claimed had erred.
Well, as sweet stories of all Judas Iscariots go, this genius from the crowd has a father too, a doctor too, and right now, he is in his death bed too. Where is this little boy who looks after the sheep? He is in
London to serve
the queen. He chose to ignore his folks, beckoned to his woman’s call, found
that his son’s life was better off in the “cultured” white man’s land that he
boasts of and shoo he flew. He will be back to bury the dead too and will
definitely carry an excuse too.
It is usually said that only in a death house must people leave without saying bye-byes lest it sounds “We shall be back for more.” It is also said that when a child is born, the “human beings” in the house do not leave the house for 11 days. This is usually to keep people intact to take care of the crucial, initial days of a new born with more hands to help the recovering mother and child. It is also expected that children do not leave parents-especially those old, sickly and vulnerable ones-alone. I wondered where I was a few days ago when my just born was brought to a brick-mortar-sand structure called home where events of some unmentionable nature took place along with unsaid goodbyes. An unforgivable and forgettable episode and people. To cut the long story short, at times when families come together, some decide to separate.
At the end of the day, I remember telling one of my grandaunts who felt that she was too big to relate to the world that if she would remember that it takes “atleast” 4 people to carry her out when her D-day comes, lest she rots, she would try to be nice to atleast 4. In normal course of life, I would have preferred to spit at the sight of these filthy, stinky, walking human excreta yet recently the Good Book taught me not to curse people who hurt you… rather pray for they that do evil to turn good, that they realize how bad they have been and what bad they have done and have a chance to change for good. I pray.