Morning Walks

A thrilled child learning to ride a bicycle.... A vigilant father patting his son's back, asking him not to pay hid to the vehicle coming from behind and focus on the road ahead.

An elderly couple walking down the footpath...the lady following footsteps of her man ... the man, vigilant, concentrating on each step, making sure he doesn't land his foot wrong on a slippery surface... lady suddenly stops near attractive flowers .... the man stops, to her, tracing back 5-6 steps with a cloth bag to put the flowers she had plucked wearing an honest smile.

Visit to a Cemetery

I was at a funeral today.

The person who died was an elderly in his 90s and was bedridden since a couple of months. His son seemed strong, had no tears throughout the ritual and till the end of funeral. His grandson, a dentist by profession though was in tears the whole time.

May be that was because his upbringing was done by his grandparents and the memories flooding in his mind led way to those tears. I remember before he got bedridden, his grandson without a miss used to take him out for a walk.

The news of his extremely deteriorated health had reached his native village, and people were pouring in since a couple of days to see him.

People who speak at someone's funeral are either their son's friends and extended relatives(गावकी  in Marathi).

As per Hindu traditions, women are not allowed to witness the funeral ceremony at the cemetery. They have to say goodbye to the dead body after performing rites and letting the gents take the body to the cemetery. It is quite depressing to see people asking the family members to perform religious rituals and not to cry while doing so owing to bad omen. 

On the way to cemetery, I was walking among the relatives who had come from his native to. I could hear them talking about how his family had done everything in their power to take care of the man till his last breath. I could hear their plight, How they had to take unreserved seats on the way to Mumbai. May be people after all adore the start and end of your life. But people who adored and witnessed your start don't necessarily exist to witness your end unless of course you die an unnatural death. May be that is why No one talked about how the man took care of his family when he was the man of the house.

At the cemetery, to fasten the burning process, hydrogenated vegetable oil (Dalda) was poured all over the funeral pyre. As a routine job, the cemetery staff put it in appropriate places. When accompanied by enthusiastic helpers among the attendees, the staff has to loudly give them instructions on where to put and the right amount. How pained would it feel to listen to people saying those things loudly to the relatives? No one cares. 

In any case I feel, what is left of anyone is their daily routine. People who attentively gather for someone's funeral are the ones whose lives he/she had touched during his days routine.