The real beginning.
Yesterday was
at Wilson Garden crematorium along with a few friends from Tranquil, our
semi-closed gated community. I did not
know the dead person that well. Might have exchanged a few words in the last 4 years. But he did have a dignified presence in most
of the tranquilite’s life like that neem tree in front of J Block. They both blew a cool breeze on the turmoil
of tranquil.
Most of us
might have been there for his bereaved son who is the ‘intel inside’ dual core chip
in our community. Absolutely objective and rational he was quite instrumental
in getting many things done in our community and neighboring school. I have not
seen many with that kind of commitment and zeal in every task they undertake
and one who carry their great academic and professional achievement so lightly
on their shoulders. Though a teetotaler he added fizz to our once in a while
get together @ holiday village, our neighborhood watering hole. More on him later as this is about dead than
those who are still living.
As we waited for the ceremonies to get over, SPR
told us about the undertakers in NY. Let me quote the story as I heard it about
the undertaker in an US town. Mr. X ... the only undertaker in his town. When
someone died and the family wanted to call Mr. X to do his thing, they rang up
the operator and she would plug them into X’s line. Being the only undertaker
in town, Mr. X had all the business he could handle. Suddenly his business
began to slack off. As he scanned the newsprint and read the obituaries, he
realized HE wasn’t taking care of all the bodies in town any longer. He began
to investigate and learned that the new undertaker in town was
"seeing" the town operator and she was giving him preferential
treatment. Mr. X began to wonder how he
could overcome this so he went down into his workshop and created a little box.
He is said to have the built the first automatic telephone switch. Which infact
automatically transfers calls between death and life. It was at this point Joby, the only qualified
quack in our community spoke about investment and return. He had bought small piece of “resting place” in
the church cemetery for INR 15,000 and now it is valued at 5 lakhs or more. His
euphoria might have reduced a bit when someone reminded him about the missed opportunity.
Had he bought a few more spots, now he could have harvested the profit.
Someone came and requested Sheik Iyer to give a lift
to an old man from Chennai to crematorium. The old man was a cousin or friend of
the departed soul. He asked Sheik Iyer, as if to break the ice, whether we all
will come back from the crematorium. Pat came the reply from Sheik, “Not really
sure. No one knows for certain, what will happen in the next moment.” That
made him search for another driver and car.
We proceeded towards Wilson Garden. Dwaraka “the
designer” knew the way to crematorium and traffic free bylines quite well. We
reached there in no time. The professional pujari, who was leading the last
rites, had asked us not to pay anything to the personnel @ the
crematorium. All payments have to be
routed through him. A single window of clearance
operation. And I should add that it was smooth as a whistle. The matter of fact
nonchalant way they went about their work was striking. It was another
transaction in their books. Not sure
they had any KPIs to be kept track and reported.
But for our friend, it was real and the moment of
agony. Probably every cell in his body, oozed sorrow. He was silent and sad. His
forlorn eyes were eloquent and told us the story of his mind. Maybe he was
reliving every moment he had with his dad, before the cremation. It is those
moments that will teach us time is really relative. One can see 40 50 years in
a few seconds.
As the flame went up, tears rolled down, it occurred
to me that Death is the real beginning. Next time as u drive along the Ulsoor
lake, if u happen to see a beautiful fragrant flower standing alone with silent
dignity, or neem tree rustling in the wind, remember death is the real
beginning.
