The Departed

The call came at 00:30. I cut it… who the hell calls at 12:30!! The phone rang again in a couple of seconds. Through blurry eyes I saw the caller ID – it was Mom.. what’s up.. why is she calling me now… something wrong with dad… no … if that were the case, mom wouldn’t be in a position to call me… so then what was it.. was it ammamma..all these thoughts running through my head in a matter of nanoseconds. I pick up the call and mom says “appotten marichu” (appottan is dead). That moment was like déjàvu. I had gone through something like this a couple of years back when lakshmiettathi passed away.

It’s a feeling of immense relief coupled with unimaginable sadness and an unrelenting emptiness that stretches ahead in life. Relief that that a soul who was suffering and who was the cause for others suffering was now gone putting an end to all misery. Sadness and emptiness because the soul was close to me.


Appottan is an uncle of my mother’s. He was a peculiar character. A very handsome man. That’s the first thing that struck you about him. In fact till I was old enough to be told by my mom, I actually believed he was British. He was fairer than most Malayalees, he only spoke English and I though he was very refined. He was not one of those old people that you could cuddle up to and get all grandfatherly with. At least not every one could, but somehow he and I shared a special relationship. Apparently, when I was small, I used to go to him (leaving all other people in the house) and ask for food when I was hungry. Legend goes that he actually used to be so concerned that he went about making every ones life hell till I got fed. Even as he grew old and I grew wise and I knew that not all was so great about this old man.. I always felt a weird kinship with him. I was the only one, I think who had the freedom to run my hands through his porcupine sharp crew cut silver mane. I think I was one of those very rare people with whom he exchanged pleasantries over the phone. I may not be exaggerating if I thought (maybe incorrectly) but I though so, nevertheless, that I was one of the few people in the world that he actually cared about.


I reached Mumbai that afternoon and saw his body in an icebox. A momentary binge of emotions, a few tears and then I was down to business. It was a house with a dead body. There was lots to do, places to clean, people to comfort, tea to be served, phones to be attended. I flung myself into all these tasks and the body lying in the front room was temporarily pushed to a secondary place.. it was not priority anymore… seems strange… but once a person is dead and if that person is not someone whom you saw everyday or spoke to everyday – then its very easy to get over their absence. It seems heartless, it seems cruel, but it’s the truth. It’s the people who are left behind and whom you have to face in future who become your immediate concern. How will they do, how will they manage, will they be all right….


All said and done, it was time for the final goodbyes. This is a moment when I wish I were a man… because they somehow seem to be genetically built to resist tears as far as possible. All of a sudden this realization dons on me that the white haired British demeanored gentleman, one of those few people on earth to love me, is gone and is never coming back. When I return to that home again, his seat on the couch will be empty.. even with someone else physically there… it will still be empty. He will not be there to tell me… see you next time.. call when you get time.. take care…
The tight inner circle of female relatives who pay last homage burst into tears. Everything is bearable but the sight of a grieving widow seeing her husband of 45 years for the last time…. It doesn’t matter how strong you are… it’s a sight you cannot take..


The body is taken away, the family is dragged away and in a few moments the body will turn to dust. It’s then, no matter how many deaths you have seen and how well insulated you think your heart is to such matters of emotion, it’s precisely at such moments you realize what a precious, beautiful bubble like quality life is…. You never know when the buddle bursts and all that’s left is a popping sound and then….. thin air.